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I am lazy. I am an eyesore. I am a walking environmental hazard. I must change! I rush out and buy some free weights, clothes an exercise bicycle, and a case of SlimFast. I begin an exercise program that lasts, sometimes, for 10 or 12 weeks. I walk through the faculty cafeteria like Savronarola in Renaissance Florence, half-shut eyes peering sideways. To my right someone slurps clothes a slimy pile of creamed, chipped beef on toast. To my left someone devours a bratwurst that squirts grease when he clothes bites it. Before me a chafing dish filled with congealing pigs-in-a-blanket reminds me of my formerly bulbous thighs. I feel unclean, as if my skin is slathered with lard. The bonfire must begin! I jog for miles every day, burning away my excess flesh in the friction of the road. As the weeks go by, I can see my thinner self emerging in the bathroom mirror like Michelangelo's "David" stepping free from its marble hiding place.
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