Fakon part deux: This time, fakon means business

If you haven't read tonight's earlier post on fake bacon or what I've dubbed "fakon," please scroll down, read about it, then continue on with this post.

After eating the fakon, I let it sit in my stomach for about an hour like a wad of fresh cement and then decided to work it through my system at the gym. And work it, I did.

I went to the weight room for my usual 20 minutes, as legs and abs were on my radar for the evening, then jumped on the treadmill for a good cardio warmup. I was on the treadmill for about 20 minutes and was doing so well I jumped onto the elliptical for another 30 minutes before I passed out. 15 minutes and nearly two miles onto the elliptical portion of the workout, and some asshat walking past the gym windows thought he'd be a comedian.

As we (myself and the other folks on the row of trainers, not "we" as in, "the fakon and I") were there sweating our guts out inside the gym, this guy thought it would be funny to make fun of everyone. He took a drag off his cigarette and jogged around for a bit, then leaned over with his hands on his knees like he'd just finished a marathon, then he took another drag and blew the smoke at us in the window before he jogged around again and repeated his schtick. I finally turned to the girl next to me and asked, "Is that a friend of yours?"

"Uhh, no," she said with mutual irritation.

So what do I do when I'm kicking ass at a great cardio workout while getting mocked? Yeah, I flipped him off and mouthed the appropriate matching words. He blew another smoke ring at us and went on his way while the girl next to me chuckled at the whole raunchy scene.

Then it happened. It was like karma was a little pissed off at me for gesturing to the stranger while suggesting just what he could do with the remainder of his evening. As I neared the hour mark on the cardio portion of the night, I felt a little off, like the fakon was rebelling. The universe and the fakon had created nuclear fission in my belly and the reaction was staggering. 

"Woooooah, that fake bacon isn't sitting so well," I thought. "Oh. My. Sweet. Baby. Jesus. The faaaaakoo..." I couldn't even finish the thought before I flew off the ellliptical trainer, and with my hand over my mouth barely made it across the gym before the wrath of the fakon revisited for round two. This was decidedly worse than the time I drank a 32-ounce chai latte before going to the gym.

Now here I sit, researching Morningstar Farms fakon, trying to figure out why I could've had this kind of violent reaction to such a seemingly healthy product. Then it hit me, their Web site is seeveggiesdifferently.com and I realized they were right. Tonight, I certainly saw veggies differently.