Friday, April 1, 2011
Sweating the edge off or questioning the Diet Coke
I got into an accident recently and subsequently had to go to the doctor. The nurse that took my vitals told me to step on a scale and per my standard practice, I emptied my pockets (reasoning that the contents could push my weight reading from "Huh." to "Oh hell no", then I stepped on the scale. The scale read 199 lbs. Holy moly, I thought, a wardrobe composed entirely of sweat pants surely lay right around the corner. Doctors call my weight gain a result of "age weight". Saying it just comes with the 30 something territory. I sat there looking at the digits on the scale and thought to myself "who had double crossed me?"
Was it the ice cream? Was it all that pizza I ate? Was it the deceptively healthy whole wheat pasta? I suppose it was a conspiratorial effort aimed at the expansion project that is my waistline. And the real kick in the ass is that I go to the gym and yet, despite all those miles on the treadmill, all those pop videos that seared my retinas, all the ill fitting spandex, all the triangular shaped men, here I was. A fatty in the making, destined to take my place in life's grand tailgate.
And about the gym. Its a strange crossroads for someone like myself to find themselves in in that I watch everything as if it were an ant farm. I can't hear the din of the gym from underneath my headphones cranked up to tinnitus. Its better that way. If you watch all news stations or pop videos without the sound, you can fill in the blanks and take away something more meaningful than 3 wealthy politicians (in all honesty, they're just professional wrestlers in less spandex. But do you want to see Biden, or Bush or Pelosi in spandex? Would they fill it out accordingly? ) arguing over minute details pertaining to a scenario they have dubious interests invested in but the exchange is designed to present the facade that any of these three actually give a shit about you. When they don't.
Or the pop videos where its mostly just a beautiful girl singing a song with a beat, some hooks, some auto tune and generous helping of pelvic thrusts. What choo talkin' bout pelvic thrusts? Well, I think it was NASA that came up with the equation that states that the number of pelvic thrusts in a pop video exists in direct proportion to the level of mediocrity of the song depicted in said video. If the song is truly the aural equivalent of a bowel movement in your ear hole, the number of pelvic thrusts required to generate interest increases exponentially.
Sometimes I see Siegfried and Roy at the gym and sometimes I even work out near them. I sit there working out looking at both of them, wondering if they ever foresaw a day when that tiger would exact redemption for all those fiery hoops it jumped through, all the gold lamé it had to wear, all those weekends it had to work double or triple shifts when all it wanted to do was luxuriate and lick itself.
And the takeaway is right now someones enjoying a baconator with a large fry, and a diet Coke (question, you've already ingested a pile driver to the heart. Why soften the blow with diet coke? ) and they're content. They've acknowledged the fleeting nature and guarantee-less premise of life and have super sized it. I've seen the articles about fried oreos and it just seems like the thing to do if all else has failed you. And maybe that's my calling in life. To try everything I've never tried as an adherence to a code that dictates that if I gorged myself silly of fried twinkies I'd one day wake up only to look down and see that I had lost site of the nether regions. And it'll happen. The belly gets so big it'll obscure the goods from the upwards view, or in more severe instances, it develops into a fanny pack of sorts. But thing about getting fat is, once you're past the point where people say "hey buddy, looks like you're gaining a little" and you enter a new day and age of wearing strictly moomoo's and enjoying the preferred parking that comes with being that size, it opens up a lot of doors. Competitive eating, fat, funny next door neighbor in a sitcom....that's about all I can think of.
What am I getting at, sisters and brothers? Hell if i know. Like I mentioned before, I was rear ended and now my back is aching and I'm heavier than I ever was. The doctor that saw me was wearing a yamaka, and had a huge beard that was jet black the last time someone rear ended me (2008) but now was more salt than pepper. He told me I had " very bad posture". His graying beard reminded me that it's a finite life kiddies, so get out there and grab the bull by the horns. Out lift one, no both of those tiger tamers at the gym and if the mood strikes you, order a deep fried chocolate chip cookie burger (oh yes they do exist) cause life is short but sweet for certain.
Damn you age weight, LMF