Semi-Sweet

I'm back from Slothville. As promised, I did all of the 32 miles of running I had planned for last week. I should be feeling fit and happy. I do not, and the problem isn't lack of exercise. It's chocolate. Large quantities of chocolate. Embarrassing quantities of chocolate.

To say I have a sweet tooth is the understatement of the ages. I love all sweets -- cookies, cakes, jelly beans, marshmallows, hard candies. And at the very pinnacle is chocolate. I am absolutely, utterly, completely obsessed with chocolate in all its lovely forms. Drinking chocolate, fudge, mocha coffee drinks, brownies, cakes, icing, the range of straight chocolate all the way from Hershey's Milk to 70+% artisan bars -- it's all good. I can even find use for the bastard cousin that is white chocolate. I am extremely well educated on all of these varieties. I have strong opinions of each, ranging from yum to angels have appeared, and they're singing. It is my long-held dream to open a chocolate shop here in Philly, so I can derive a living from being a chocolate guru.

Combining this obsession with a profound lack of self control means I should never be left alone in the house with more than an ounce of the stuff. The only willpower I am capable of demonstrating is not buying it in the first place. Once I have ownership, game over. This week, however, is Passover, which means I am baking numerous items that require semi-sweet chips. I bought the first bag and ate the whole thing before I even broke out the pans. I bought a second larger bag that was supposed to be a sufficient size for all of my Passover baking needs. "Supposed to be" is the key phrase in the preceding sentence. I need a 12-step program.

So, despite running 32 miles last week, I am a big pile of flab. Ever see a defensive lineman grab a fumbled ball, run it in for a touchdown and then need oxygen for the rest of the game? That's how I felt on my Sunday long run. Which I celebrated completing with a Snickers bar.