My New Diet: Eating Like a Champion

Because Michael Phelps is my new hero....

Phelps lends a new spin to the phrase "Breakfast of Champions" by starting off his day by eating three fried-egg sandwiches loaded with cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, fried onions and mayonnaise.

He follows that up with two cups of coffee, a five-egg omelet, a bowl of grits, three slices of French toast topped with powdered sugar and three chocolate-chip pancakes.

At lunch, Phelps gobbles up a pound of enriched pasta and two large ham and cheese sandwiches slathered with mayo on white bread - capping off the meal by chugging about 1,000 calories worth of energy drinks.

For dinner, Phelps really loads up on the carbs - what he needs to give him plenty of energy for his five-hours-a-day, six-days-a-week regimen - with a pound of pasta and an entire pizza.

He washes all that down with another 1,000 calories worth of energy drinks.

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Best. Breakfast. Ever.
If I can't compete like an Olympian, I might as well eat like one.

P.S. For those of you who like math, he eats 12,000 calories a day.

O Canada, Our Home and Ill-Dressed Land

Every once in a while, I convince myself that I'm going to get in shape. Of course (perhaps conveniently?), last week I managed to get blisters on the heels and little toes of both feet, considerably delaying my dream of becoming a runner. Or jogger. Or speed-walker. One day I will run a 5k. Or at least walk to work (just short of 10k). I actually enjoy walking everywhere. The trick is to convince my feet and footwear to play nice together. So I did sit-ups while watching American Idol instead.

Watching a professional athlete in his/her element inspires me. I want that discipline. I want that adrenaline. (And to be completely honest, I want that physique.) Which means I find the Olympics quite fascinating and motivational.

Secret of the day: When I was little, I wanted to become a figure skater and then convince Kurt Browning to be my partner. I still can't spin on ice. Or stop. When he fell during his short program in '94, I almost cried. I remember playing a really angry song at the piano that evening....

Today, the Canadian Olympic outfits were revealed. They do not inspire me to any sort of athleticism. In fact, it's the exact opposite. I think I might sit on my couch all weekend just to make sure that I don't become an athlete and accidentally end up at the Olympics, representing my country in red, white and GREEN?!



Remember when Roots designed the Canadian gear? We were the envy of nations. In 1998, the "Canada Poorboy" hat was seen on both Puff Daddy (his name at the time) and Prince Charles. International buyers were just scooping it up. Kids on the schoolyards exaggerated their saunters as they showed off their Olympic wear. Not this year. We will be laughed at. Canadian athletes will be blinded by the dizzying patterns they don. Or just confused as to whether they're in "uniform" or pajamas. The above red-and-white suit would be great loungewear in Miami.

Why? Oh, Hudson's Bay Company, you make striped blankets well. Stick to that.

The Poorboy on Canada's own "poor boy," Ross Rebagliati.
Say no to drugs, kids.

P.S. After staring at these outfits for a while, they're now almost non-nauseating. You know how you smell manure when you first visit a farm but eventually adjust and stop noticing? I'm slowly acclimating to the bizarreness.

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