Super Bowl XLV was the most watch television program of all-time. The nip-tuck game which saw the Green Bay Packers defeat the Pittsburgh Steelers 31-25 drew 111 million viewers. I thought the game was great but why were the commercials so dang loud?
A 111 million people watched the Big Game and I think I ate enough food to feed about half of them. That's not unusual. I generally eat a lot during a football game and even more during the Super Bowl, but this year was different. This year, because I'm OLD, I'm not snapping back as quickly as I once snapped back. Nearly 36 hours after the Packers hoisted the Lombardi Trophy I'm still in recovery mode.
I woke up in the middle of the night and feeling what can only be described as hungover--but I had nary a drop of alcohol, just victuals. I was sweating for no reason, my throat was parched, and my stomach was doing cartwheels. I felt like I was going vomit.
I remember returning to bed and mentally chanting to myself, "you're not going to puke, you feel fine. You're not going to puke, you feel fine..." It was the same mantra I used when I had been over served. And in effect I had been "over served" but not with spirits, with snacks.
Hitherto, when I had overeaten, I would feel painfully full for a couple of hours before being able to resume to normal "stuffing of face." It's now Tuesday morning and I'm still full, still sick, and still looking at food with revolt and disgust. All I ate on Monday was dry toast and jello.
I suppose a day or two of eating like a nursing home resident will counter a football game's worth of excessive consumption. I just wish I could shake the constant nauseous feeling, the inability to maintain a comfortable body temperature, and the lovely stomach cramps.
This growing old stuff is worse than Christina Aguilera's rendition of the National Anthem.
