Ladies. Gentlemen. You have eaten well. You've eaten Gotham's wealth. Its spirit. Your feast is nearly over. From this moment on—none of you are safe.

Well, it just goes to show that Batman's foes are endless, because I was floored by a cold yesterday and had to cancel my Combat class. I vacillated about this all morning, since I really was excited for it, but at the urging of my wife, cancelled it and made a doctor's appointment instead. It was the specter of the Super Death Flu/H1N1 that made me do so, since all my symptoms corresponded, but a friend pointed out that it may be that I, sans alcohol and with a much-reduced cigarette intake and with the first real exercise I've had in a long time, was probably just detoxing.

The doctor scoffed at that, as doctors tend to do, and after swabbing my nostrils confirmed that I didn't have the flu. "You've got a bug," she said. (I know, right? A lady doctor! What is this world coming to?) "Rest, fluids, etc."

"What about exercise?" I asked. "I'm doing this whole ridiculous thing where I'm trying to become Batman."

After a long and quizzical look: "It should be fine. Use your best judgment." Well, the joke's on you, Lady Doctor, because clearly I have none.

Anyway, I'll return to the gym today and to my rescheduled Combat Conditioning class tomorrow. I think I've already lost a little bit of weight—which is a damn good thing, since at the doctor's office yesterday I was weighed and came in over 200 pounds. This scared the hell out of me, and reinforced my reasons for doing all of this in the first place. Namely, that I'm unbelievably out of shape. Tremble before me, Gotham-Coz. Tremble indeed.