My salty, crunchy siren

I’m a strangely disciplined weak man. I exert great measures of inner strength but I also succumb weakly to ridiculous temptations. It’s rather frustrating.

I am able to say “no” to things most people cannot refuse. I say “yes” to many others most people view with distaste and horror. I find I indulge diligently in the most unpleasant habitual endeavors just because of the aversion I instinctively feel for them. The more unpleasant, the greater the succor I experience.

For instance: tomorrow morning I will wake up at 5:30, skip breakfast because the first of my two weekly 24-hour fasts began 2 hours ago after I finished dinner. It will be cold as shit because I don’t turn my gas heater on in this apartment. In fact, I had the gas company shut it off about 5 years ago. Temperatures here will dip to about 40 degrees tonight, and to the mid 30’s tomorrow night. After having my 8-ounce coffee allowance, I will begin day 1 of my weightlifting routine. I open my rear patio door because I need fresh air when I lift weights, even if it’s frigid out. Fasting makes me cold sensitive, so the coldness will be amplified. Lifting weights when you’re cold and groggy is hell. But I do it. Three days each week. After I push out the last set, about 45 minutes later, I’ll take my shower, a hot, steamy one. I open the bathroom window to let the cold air in. After my regular shower is complete, I don’t get out, just yet…I turn the hot water completely off and let the cold water stream over me for a few minutes. During the summer it’s great. On 40 degree mornings with no food in my stomach, it is skimming self-torture.

Is this peculiar stuff? Why? Why not. I feel certain endurance tests like this, throwbacks to pre-civilized societal architecture, must be re-engaged by modern man in order to build strength and robustness. We are sheltered for our entire life. Roofs, artificial environments, travelling by motor…the challenge is to live an existence of such a rudimentary nature that it leaves us no choice but to occasionally live outside our comfort zone. I do this, and I feel stronger for it. It’s exhilarating and agonizing in the same breath. I turn my back on modern convenience, if only for 1 or 2 days each week.

In spite of it all, in spite of the promises I make to stop spending money on this poison, to stop eating it, I still find myself walking down to the vending machine almost every damn day and buying a bag. I can’t stop. How can I possibly battle with the spoils of civilization and yet find it impossible to resist the allure of a salty and spicy 290-calorie bag of Munchie goodness? Why am I weak? She is demon, a siren, and though I live righteously 23 hours of the day, the moments I spend in her crunchy company overtakes the splendor of everything that came before her.

Damn them. A bag this small shouldn’t pack such deadly pleasures.