I spied an older man with an enormous pot belly extending out in front of him. He looked pregnant. I thought, “Is this part of nature? Women have to become pregnant and then man having MADE them that way in the first place our doomed to possibly suffering BEING pregnant from mid forties until death?
Ugh! I never got a girl pregnant and looking down at my plumping tummy (I can't believe I just typed “plumping tummy”) I DO NOT want to look like that guy. The guy I saw. The pregnant guy.
No. no. Not me.
Forty five.
That is how old I am.
I am at that age when alot of us guys HAVE that beer gut, that pizza gut, that “omigod i just looked in the mirror and what the hell is THAT” gut...
Pregnancy wise, I am in my first trimester.
I am going to make sure that I begin going in the opposite direction.
I don't want to use the word abort as that would be distasteful (oops... already used it) but seriously, I want to terminate my tummy.
I remember the first time I noticed it. I would lie in bed and realize that as I had my hand clutching my stomach, it was suddenly a pillow, a small growing pillow. So I would gage my weight upon how much I could grab while drifting off to sleep.
Then I decided that my means of deciphering how in or out of shape I was depended on whether I jiggled going up and down the stairs. Jiggling? Lay off the pasta. Not jiggling... in shape!
Then I saw a picture of me. One of those taken when I didn't know it. I was ready for a maternity gown. I was more amused than horrified. Wow. A stomach that even posture couldn't fix. I had a gut. Lookie lookie! I'm a fatso!
So now, now that I am overweight (not biggest loser overweight but overweight none the less) I need to lighten up. “Lighten up Rob!!!”
My lunches are Lean Cuisine.
I try to keep the fire stoked by eating mid morning and mid afternoon snacks.
I try and try and try to not eat after seven.
I have pretty much stabilized at 190.
190? God! I used to be 155.
Is this Kharma?
Where did I go wrong?
I used to tease a fat girl in school. When I was in grade school all the way into High School. Yes, high school. I know. What an ass I was. Looking at it from a psychological angle, I was self conscious, closeted, frustrated and poor Penny was my scapegoat. If I could make fun of her weight, it would divert attention from me being called a fem or worse. I could have the same power over Penny as the jocks had over me. Penny was nothing but sweet in grade school. She wanted to be my friend. She was fat since kindergarten. She was always Penny... the fat girl. Looking back on it all, I am very embarrased and ashamed of some of the mean things I did to her. I mean to actually look at this girl as inferior because she was fat? And she wasn't really THAT fat. It was some kind of glandular thing I believe. It was most likely not her fault. So sorry Penny. Sorry I put a sign on your back that read, “Fight Fat.” Sorry I used you as a scapegoat.
So, healing kharma, strengthening my sense of self... oh yeah, and getting my fat ass off the couch and EXERCISING.
But I hate to exercise. Why is it so boring to me? Is it boring to everyone? I think that running might be interesting. But then would my knees turn to pudding? Yoga looks interesting but... no...
I have several workout dvds.
I have several exercise books...
I worked with a personal trainer to some success once. Well more than once, six weeks in fact. It made a huge difference. I was actually muscley.
Several bags of potatoe chips later...
I think I will take up light jogging.
How does that sound?
So, when, WHEN will I do this?
The baby in me says, “when it gets warm out... ”
Yeah, right, so go back and lay down on the couch Larva Rob and ingest the glucose and starch and lie there, eyes glued to “Grey's Anatomy” on DVD and get fatter and fatter... ten more pounds and you're two hundred pounds! Fifty more pounds than you were fifteen years ago. Your knapsack has rocks in it. You're an eightyear old more than you were fifteen years ago. You have a double chin.
Funny.
My self prodding is doing nothing for me.
I want to go to Garrets.