As a kid, I had a huge appetite. Historically speaking, most teenage boys eat more than their apparent capacity would suggest. Me? That has always been true—at pretty much every age.

Even now.

Though I will admit, these days it makes me less aerodynamic and decidedly more sluggish.

I’ve been asked how I can eat so much and hardly gain weight.
I’ve also been asked how I can eat so much. Period.

And I say hardly because lately, it doesn’t just pass through like a polite houseguest anymore. It lingers. It looks around. It considers throw pillows.

But let’s clear something up.

I don’t overeat.

I fuel operations.

You see, there are approximately a dozen over-caffeinated brain monkeys running daily operations inside my skull. One handles creative ideas. One replays conversations from 1994 at 2:13 a.m. One insists we start a brand-new project at 11:47 p.m. Two of them specialize in shouting “WHAT IF?” without presenting any workable solutions.

The rest? They’re pushing every button and pulling random levers just to see what happens next.

That kind of internal workforce doesn’t run on lettuce alone.

Which is why I hold near-daily strategic planning conferences with coffee. 

These are serious meetings. High-level. Sometimes they require a cinnamon roll. Occasionally two. Because when upper management is generating ideas at industrial levels, you don’t underfund the sugar division.

The second burger? That’s not indulgence. That’s contingency planning.

The extra-large fries? Emergency reserves.

Multiple Cokes? Hydration for executive leadership.

Don’t judge.

I’m not overeating.

I’m maintaining a powerhouse brain.

Now, to be fair… things have shifted.

In my twenties, my metabolism was basically a 1987 Camaro with no governor on the engine. You could throw two burgers, fries, a Coke, and a cinnamon roll into the tank and it would burn cleaner on the way out.

Now? Now it’s more of a sensible hybrid with a suspicious check-engine light.

The weight doesn’t just leave anymore. It evaluates. It negotiates. It considers permanent residency.

And yes, I’ve noticed.

But here’s the truth: I’ve never been a mindless eater. I don’t graze out of boredom. I don’t snack because I’m emotional. I eat because I’m living. Because thinking hard, writing hard, teaching hard, remembering hard — that takes fuel.

And if you grew up in the 70s or 80s, you understand a thing or two about fuel.

Back then, we didn’t track macros. We tracked how far we could ride our bikes before the streetlights flickered on. We didn’t count calories. We counted innings in backyard baseball games and how many friends we could cram into one afternoon.

Two bowls of cereal before school.
A cafeteria lunch that could legally qualify as construction material.
Baseball until sunset.
A Coke from the corner store.
Dinner.
And maybe another snack or two just because.

And we were rail thin.

Not because we were disciplined.

Because we never stopped moving.

We burned through sugar like it was kindling. We ran, climbed, wrestled, sprinted, and pedaled until exhaustion found us, not the other way around. The metabolism wasn’t magical. The lifestyle was.

Now the movement is more measured. The responsibilities are heavier. The brain runs marathons even when the body sits still.

And those brain monkeys? They’ve aged too.

One wears reading glasses. Another stretches before generating ideas. One occasionally pulls a hamstring mid-thought. They all sit in overstuffed office chairs with wheels and built-in speakers — ergonomic chaos.

But they’re still loud. Still caffeinated. Still swinging from concept to concept like it’s recess upstairs. And occasionally using their rolling chairs like bumper cars while on duty.

So yes, maybe the cinnamon roll sticks around longer than it did in 1988.

Maybe the second burger negotiates a longer lease than it once did.

But I refuse to apologize for fueling a mind that still runs full tilt.

Because the truth is this: I don’t eat recklessly. I eat intentionally. I eat joyfully. I eat as someone who remembers riding bikes under desert heat, playing until dusk, and believing the day would never end.

The brain monkeys may not swing quite as fast as they once did.

But they are still plotting.
Still dreaming.
Still demanding energy.

And if that means two cinnamon rolls instead of one?

Well.

That’s just operational necessity.

There’s more waiting at https://xinkblotz.com. Telling stories, sharing thoughts, and drinking coffee. A blend of fiction, reflection, and whatever’s brewing – one post at a time.