Lance Armstrong confessed to cheating. Manti Te’o admits to lying in connection with his fake girlfriend. Bill Callahan is charged with sabotaging a Super Bowl. And, just 42 days after the funeral of a teammate killed in a drunk driving accident, Jay Ratliff gets arrested for a DWI.
And in a 2013 already saturated with unfathomable, sensational headlines, I went a week without eating food and lost 17 pounds. Oh yeah, and I got tricked into an aerobics class.
Been a ridiculous year. It’s only January 23.
I know the emotional, knee-jerk reaction to Ratliff’s arrest is to “cut him!” But, technically, the Cowboys can’t release the defensive lineman – or any other player – until the day after the Super Bowl, Feb. 4.
Moreover, if the Cowboys are committed to supporting Josh Brent in the wake of his DWI that killed teammate Jerry Brown back on Dec. 8, how can they now turn their back on a much more accomplished player like Ratliff?
Ratliff’s actions are incomprehensible. There are limo rides or taxis a phone call away. And it’s not like he needed a reminder of what can happen, as he and Brent played the same position and were good friends. Nonetheless, Grapevine police say he wrecked his Ford F-150 pickup into an 18-wheeler at 12:36 a.m. Tuesday.
No one was injured, but police also say Ratliff was so intoxicated he didn’t realize he’d even been in an accident.
Ratliff played in only 6 games because of various injuries. He’s 32, and undoubtedly in decline. He also engaged in a locker-room shouting match with Jerry Jones late last season.
His playing days as a Cowboy are likely done. But not today. Not yet.
Hatched by kooky Dr. Stanley Burroughs in 1941, the Master Cleanser is aimed at ridding the human body of superfluous fat, toxins, stress and everything, really. It’s designed as a “correction for all disorders.” Disorders I got; corrections I needed.
So for 7 days I ingested no food or liquid other than 64 ounces daily of a concoction of fresh-squeezed lemon juice, Grade A maple syrup, Cayenne pepper and filtrated water.
The result? I lost weight. I gained flexibility and energy. Truth.
Worst part of the diet is a saltwater flush aimed at cleansing your colon. Best part is the extra time you gain in your life without food – the shopping, the preparing, the eating.
I started at 178 pounds, immediately dropped to 169 after 24 hours and bottomed out at 161. That’s 17 pounds in 7 days.
The Master Cleanser is radical, and not for everyone. I’ve done it three times now and it simply refreshes you physically and psychologically.
After you control your cravings for a week, dealing with Greggo on a daily basis becomes a waltz in the meadow.
Ah, the things we do for love.
“Hey, let’s spend some time together this morning,” Sybil says to me. “Let’s go to the gym and take a class – half cardio, half weights.”
Can’t be that bad, right?
The class starts at 9:30. We arrive promptly at 9:33.
No water. No stretching. No towel. No instruction. Just … dance! And I mean dancing, and prancing. What the what have I gotten myself into?
Not only am I the lone guy in a room full of sweaty, stretchy women, I’m also the oldest human. Don’t get me wrong, some of my fantasies began with that scenario. But this … all that was missing were leg warmers and Jennifer Beal as I stumbled around trying to imitate the instructor’s Tinkerbell routine.
Grapevine? Charleston? Shuffle? 1-2-3-kick? All to techno-pop music in the form of a ramped-up, amped-up version of Justin Bieber.
And, though it’s her job to be a female drill sergeant, I wanted to bitch-slap the instructor. While I’m trying not to snap an ankle hopping up onto a rubber platform, she’s counting 87654321 in like 3 seconds, pushing a pace that is already level 4 on your TiVo’s fast-forward. But then, when we’re planking, her cadence suddenly slows. 8 … 7 … 6 … C’mon, lower your hips and squeeeeeze. Really push yourself here! … 5 … What?! What happened to Sister Speedcount?
Did I sweat? Yessir. Did I burn calories? Sure. Did I embarrass myself? Absolutely.
Did I earn brownie points? To be continued…
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