On two consecutive days recently, I passed an obese young man trudging along on our riverside trail here in Augusta, Maine. Each time, he was carrying a large, half-consumed bottle of soda . . . at 8 o’clock in the morning! I suppose the good news is that at least he didn’t have a cigarette in his other hand. Or a package of Ring Dings.
Does this guy figure a not-so-brisk walk entitles him to a fattening mid-morning sugar fix? That good cancels bad? That exercise compensates for a poor diet? In which case, if he shows up on the trail next week chomping his way through an entire bucket of fried chicken, should I assume he’s going to run a marathon as soon as he finishes eating? What if he’s single-handedly knocking off a German chocolate cake? Is there a triathlon awaiting him around the next bend in the trail?
Inquiring minds want to know.
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