I have been going to the same gym for over ten years. And over the past ten years my waist has meandered from 32 to 34 to 33 to 32 to 34 (okay, 35… 36) and back down again.
The gym has also gone through changes. Broken equipment. New equipment. Renovations. Brand new equipment.
The men and woman who work out at the gym have changed too. New faces. Faces embracing the joys and horrors of Botox/Plastic surgery. Old faces. New old faces. Young faces getting older. Old faces getting worse.
Let’s not even mention the various big pecs, skinny pecs, cut abs, bloated abs, pot bellies, muscled legs, big asses, small asses, concave asses, and the ever frightening skinny twig chicken legs.
I often asked myself why I go to the gym as often as I do. The answer is simple: Fear. I fear having the genetic pot belly that has conquered generations of my family.
One time I let myself get rather large. I was in complete denial and refused to acknowledge what was happening around my mid-section. I somehow convinced myself elastic waist pants were the next fashion rage. I bought them. I wore them. I convinced myself I looked good. I didn’t.
Denial is a strange bedfellow… and without thinking, I went to a nude beach… oh no… oh yes I did…
While lying naked on the sand I looked down to make sure I wasn’t burning my nether region when I realized I couldn’t see my… thing… my little me. My fat flabby jiggly stomach was blocking the view, a view I loved to see and was suddenly having a hard time remembering.
Shame forced me to grab a towel and cover myself from head to toe. I immediately ran to the gym praying to the God of Pot Bellies to pass over me and let me get back to the size I was before I succumbed to the excesses of sugar, chocolate, peanut butter, and fried chicken.
Through sheer determination and a lot of sweating, I was able to get back into shape.
|Not me... yet|
It was because of this that I realized I’m just like all the other gym folks. I fluctuate and I change and I age and I do the best I can.
As of this moment, my waist is feeling happy at 32 inches and my upper torso enjoys a medium/large t-shirt.
The extra large t-shirts and elastic waist pants are hidden in the back of the closet.
Just in case…
Just in case…