Feed Me Seymour, Feed Me!

My last workout with Adam the Terminator was Friday morning. We jogged just a little to test out the right hamstring and it was so far so good. He instructed me to keep icing it up until the race and said I should be fine.

I was still nervous about it, but I felt like I needed to jog. It’s going on two weeks without running. Over that time, I’ve been caught with trying to cut back my eating since I haven’t been working up the sweat I usually do.

I still made it to the TREC, walked a couple of miles and did weights, but it was nothing like the sweat I would work up while jogging. As I contemplate daily what to eat as I prepare for the race, I constantly hear two distinct voices in my head (and it’s not a medical condition. I think.)

One was Master Yoda, reminding this young Jedi of portion control: “Control. You must learn control.”

The other voice was the Mean Green Mother from Outer Space, the Levi Stubb’s singing plant from the Little Shop of Horrors, reminding me that I’ve worked hard and I should have no guilty feelings at all.

“Feed me, Seymour. Feed me,” that voice tells me every chance it gets.

Lately, I’ve been feeling like the song “Junk Food Junkie,” where at work, I’m able to manage through my banana or McDonald’s oatmeal for breakfast, a nice homemade salad at lunch, only give into my weakness for dinner, thinking I’m about to run a 5K, I’m going to need this to just survive. The song’s chorus said it all:

“In the daytime I’m Mr. Natural, just as healthy as I can be.

But at night I’m a Junk Food Junkie. Good Lord, have pity on me.”

(NOTE: About now, you’re probably wondering “where does he come up with this stuff?” Trust me, you don’t want to go to that dark, cold corner of my mind.)

So I struggle with my addiction, day by day as I walk through the South Campus Courts-D conference room to find someone had devilishly place treats (cookies, donuts and just about everything in between) within smelling distance of my office. How cleverly Sue Honey and Cheryl Erwin would leave their candy jars on their desk unprotected as I walked by. If I didn’t know better, I would think they pulled those out from under their desk only when thought I would come strolling along.

It’s sinister I tell you. I would be blindly hypnotized as my left hand would reach for the Hershey Kisses while the right hand would grab my left hand and pull me away. I’ve had some interesting wrestling matches with myself over the past few days. Luckily no one has seen me or campus police would have been called and one of those Purdue police bulletins would have made out on me.

It would read:

WEST LAFAYETTE, Ind. - Purdue University police are investigating an incident where a man was seen wrestling with himself inside South Campus Court, Building D.

On Oct. 25, a larger than average man was seen on the fighting with himself in the hallway, his right hand holding his left with scores of small candy bars scattered about the floor. A terrified worker hiding under a desk in her office could hear the man scream “Feed me Seymour, feed me,” and then she would hear him scream again “Control, you must learn control.”

“I don’t know what’s going on, but we don’t have a Seymour that works here,” said the worker, who declined to be identified for fear of reprisal.

Police estimated damage to the candy bars and the hall way to be $12.75.

Anyone with information is asked to call the Purdue Police Department at 765-494-8221 or its anonymous tipline at 765-496-3784. The WeTip anonymous hotline, which is used by all Greater Lafayette law enforcement agencies, also is available at 1-800-78CRIME (1-800-782-7463).

Yeah, I would be done – my mugshot on Channel 18 with the prep walk through the Tippecanoe County Courthouse. Maybe I can break free from sheriff’s deputies once outside and race toward the Wabash Heritage Trail.

Do you think any of those deputies ever ran a 5K?