What on earth was God thinking when he created calories? If there was a need for man to generate heat internally then why didn’t God create something much more efficient than those invisible units that cause a person’s girth to expand so easily? I can think of any number of nifty devices that would raise the body temperature to the calorie-burning level. Why not an internal heater that can be turned on and off at will?
What I have in mind is a simple device that could be worn on one’s wrist much like a watch. But rather than serve as a time instrument, my invention would allow the wearer to activate a button that would allow him to burn calories whenever the need arose. Think how easy it would be to burn calories by merely turning on one’s personal heater. But, if God insisted that calories be the fuel to generate internal heat, why couldn’t He allow man to burn 1500 calories while sleeping? I’m not God. And, I suppose that’s a good thing. I wouldn’t want His job; it’s much too complicated for me. Besides, there’s no retirement plan. But, I don’t want this extra thirty pounds I’m carrying either.
It wasn’t too long ago that I weighed a mere 150 pounds. That is, if you don’t consider sixteen years a long time ago. In 1992, we lived in Bartlett, a city just northeast of Memphis. Bartlett is a growing community in west Tennessee. When we lived there, it was much smaller and quieter than it is now. Traffic congestion was a phenomenon that happened usually one evening a year. The annual Bartlett Christmas Parade was held in early December and the main traffic arteries in the city were virtually blocked during the festivity.
The lack of traffic in Bartlett was great for joggers. Homes and streets occupied the area that was once rolling pastureland. Although the land is not as flat as that of my hometown, New Orleans, it is fine for running, jogging, walking, or riding a bicycle. Calories were not as difficult to shed in Bartlett because my lower extremities did not suffer as much after running as they do now when I run the steep hills of Alabama. Sometimes as I run through my neighborhood, my legs ache as I tackle the steep inclines near my home. I huff and puff and stretch my body and mind to ascend those darn hills. I try to psyche myself by turning on my internal radio and playing the theme from “Rocky” or the theme from “Chariots of Fire” in my mind. I picture myself as the Italian Stallion ascending the steps to the Philadelphia Museum. But, as I reach the crest, I don’t stop and hold my hands high above my head in triumph as Rocky did. My neighbors would probably think I’m nuts if I did so. I would too.
