Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

There’s a throwaway sentence early in The Fellowship of the Ring in which Frodo looks at himself in the mirror before setting out on the first stage of his journey – the walk from Hobbiton to Crickhollow – and notes that his reflection appears to have got rayther flabby.

Earlier this evening, I had occasion for a very similar notation.  I believe that I’m one of those people constitutionally incapable of actually becoming fat (I’m just under 5’11” and about 157 lb.), but I can’t remember myself looking looking quite so, well, flaccid since I was about thirteen or so.

Frodo’s condition, we’re given to understand, is based on indolent self-indulgence.  Not so at Port Swiller Manor.  True, I do have some indulgences, but I suppose the heart of the matter is  a winter and spring full of paterfamilial worry and lack of sleep and exercise.  Back in the day, it wouldn’t have mattered so much to my constitution, but now that I’m within visiting distance of the big 5-0, well, apparently it does.

Eh.  Time to get back on the elliptical.

 

 

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