A Reflection, Not A Mea Culpa

06/19/2006

Photo is entitled “Thinker in Bibs”

That would be me…

Given the title of this piece, one might think one is about to read something profound, enigmatic, or wholesomely reflective.  Not!  The reflection of which I speak is the damn sight of me standing in front of a full-length mirror toweling myself off after a brisk shower.  This isn’t something I meant to do; the darn mirror in the hotel room I was in was just in a position so that it eventuated.

The sight of me naked these days just causes my heart to sink.  I have been relegated to living in a body that is woefully out of shape and beginning (I am being kind to myself) to sag in all kinds of directions.  There was a time when I had six pack abs, well maybe a three pack, but nonetheless, there were ripples.  I could do fifty or more sit ups without working up a sweat.  Fifty pushups were a pushover.  I could run – a close friend likened my running to fast walking – for two hours some days, at least an hour on most, depending on the temperature.

These days I get winded lifting a twelve-ounce beer bottle…but I do manage it by using two hands.  I couldn’t run fifty feet without panting like a tired dog.  I have one abdominal ripple, and it resembles more of a keg look than any kind of a pack.  This getting old is Hell.

I was in tremendous shape at the height of my Mid-Life Crisis.  It was also the most miserable time of my life.  I was very bad.  I mean very, very bad.  I did things that hurt people.  I lead a furtive, sneaky and downright nefarious life style.  There was little joy in my life at that time, but at the time it didn’t seem to register. I dropped about forty-five pounds, going from 240 to 195.  One time after an hour run I weighed in at neat 187.  I went from a 40 waist to a 34 waist, and an extra large shirt size to a large – some even mediums.  My suit size dropped from 46 to 42.  I did look good, at least I thought so, but that is where it ended.  I smelled good with my Obsession wafting around me.  Trust me; it was not a happy time. 

My little venture into the world of the unsure and nearly unstable lasted about four years.  My life was dramatically different at the end of it.  Not all of it ended badly.  There are things I would alter, some behaviors I am not proud of and would change, but there were some rewards.  I came out of mid-life thing a much wiser, much better man then when I entered the phase.  Thank God for time, for it truly heals.

So, these days as I look at my much older body (thanks, Mom and Dad, for the genes), I have to laugh at myself as my waistline approaches that forty inch mark again.  I have a keg where a six pack should be, and the scale at home groans when I climb upon it.  I refuse to let my belt out another notch, probably because there is no other notch, and it is killing me.  I need to lose weight, but will have to give into eating correctly, and that sucks.  And, that may mean curtailing my beer intake, or, God forbid, giving it up.  Do I hear laughter?

August 11, 1995 was the last meat I ingested (it stayed with me for a little while, so “ingested” may not be the correct term).  Meat – bovine, porcine, fowl or seafood – does not agree with my digestive tract for some inexplicable reason.  It flat out makes me sick. Medical tests where not conclusive and I couldn’t figure out which kind of animal flesh was the culprit, so I gave it all up.  If I went on the Adkins diet I would starve to death in about a week.  My life is carbs and perhaps that is why my belly could be designated a disaster area and perhaps qualify for Federal assistance.

I do, however, look at the bright side of all of this.  Some of the larger pieces of clothing which I have held onto for the last fifteen years may now be brought out of storage (if the moths haven’t completely riddled them) and worn again.  My weight gain may prove a blessing and save me money.  More money to spend on beer, so I can gain more weight and wear more of the larger old clothes I have already paid for…I may have hit on a gold mine, and all because of a chance meeting with a bad angle of my reflection.  Damn, I am really happy.

And that is all I have to say about that.

An added note:  Since February 28, 2006, the date of the first posting to this Hell-Of-A-Guy website, there have been 11,370 hits.  Thanks for stopping by.  I have had a hell of a lot of fun doing this, and can only hope in some small way I have given you a little joy, cause for thought and maybe even got you to think about the world in which you live.  Ain’t it all so grand?  Feel free to send cash donations.  Come see us in the mountains.