I went for a run the next afternoon in a remorse-fueled effort to make up for some of the excess. Normally I hated running. Okay, I always hated running. It hurt. As a general rule, I avoided things that hurt. By the time I was red-faced and wheezing my way back down the driveway toward the house, I’d sworn off Fat Pants and anything else that might lead to masochistic exercise in the future.
