Why Can’t I Eat So Many Oreos Anymore?

I miss being able to eat so much. Puberty, for all it’s worth, mostly sucked. Two rounds of Accutane isn’t exactly what most kids call “fun.” But I loved the days – during puberty and that four to five-year post-pubescent window following – when I could eat whatever the hell I wanted. And by whatever, I mean mostly Oreos – Cool Mint Oreos. They are divine.

Cool Mint Oreos: God's (or Nabisco's) greatest gift to mankind.

Cool Mint Oreos: God’s (or Nabisco’s) greatest gift to mankind.

In all seriousness, how fucking amazing was an inexplicably resilient metabolism? There were points between about 12 and 19 years of age that I was certain I could eat my way out of a Costco if someone held a gun to my head. Hell, I would have done it for fun. Who knows, I might’ve still been hungry by the time I got to the register, where for some godforsaken shady reason you still can’t use a credit card. It’s okay, Costco. I still love you.

I talked a little bit about it in my growing up post, but these days, consuming too much of anything means too many consequences. Lot of booze on a weekend (or weekday, yikes)? Two-day hangover. Scarfing down junk food on a consistent basis? Might as well buy a one-way ticket to the office bathroom stall and hope it comes with a pair of pants that are loose around the waist. Too much Netflixing on the couch? Watch as your stomach expands faster than Netflix’s streaming selection.

I don’t mean to sound negative. I’m just pissed, that’s all. Last weekend I played a flag football game and some volleyball on the same day. Great day, right? That’s what I thought – until Sunday morning, when every muscle, joint, and bone in my body hurt like hell. I have been running and lifting recently, too. I thought that might help. Not really.

I thought I would have at least until 30 years of age before eating right and working out on a consistent basis would be required to feel and look good. Apparently not. I blame 25-year-old athletes in professional sports, many of whom haven’t reached their “prime” yet, for making me think that I was anywhere close to my prime because I am the same age. It must be nice to get paid fifty times more than a public school teacher, have free access to personal trainers and dietitians, and get to play sports for a living.

So now what? I have to limit the amount of Taco Bell I buy – and immediately stuff in my face – every week? Do I have to get up early to sneak a workout in before I head to the office? Must I take yoga so that I can finally touch my toes and not wake up in the morning feeling like I just played in an NFL game?

This guy just doesn't feel any ill affects of anything.

This guy just doesn’t feel any ill affects of anything.

What the hell is this bullshit? I guess none of us our invincible. As much as I hate to admit it, I think there was part of me that used to think I was sort of like Mario. Not Mario Lopez, Mario of Mario Kart. All of my questionable dietary decisions, athletic actions, and fierce beer pong play had no consequences. I’d be able to spawn alive, unaffected the next day in the same way that Mario did after he died in some random green pipe. Turns out that’s not the case.

I guess the rest of life really does involve working hard for what you want. I’ll make sure to get to that. But today, I just want some Cool Mint Oreos.

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