And Then The Alarm Clock Rang...

There comes a time in every man's life...

Yeah I should write anything so profound. Not gonna happen. But my bell has been rung, and it's time to climb out of this dream I've been living. Or more appropriately, the hallucination I've been experiencing.

I bought into the whole "Be comfortable with who you are" thing. And you know what? For me, it's a crock. One big, fat crock. "Being comfortable with who you are", for me, is a cop-out. An admission of defeat. I was going to rant and rave about how the whole country is going soft, but, not this time. Nope, this is all about me.

And I, for one, am not comfortable in my own skin. Matter of fact, I'm pretty damned uncomfortable. Why?

Because nothing fits, dammit.

A couple of years ago, I got my body almost to the point of being what I considered acceptable. I was a fat kid in my pre-teen years. And you know what? I was miserable. Miserable because I couldn't keep up in sports, which is half of what boys that age are about, and I couldn't keep up in the girls department, which of course, is that other half of that equation.

I made my mind up that this wasn't going to work. Then with a combination of some hard work, some motivation by the opposite sex, and a timely growth spurt, I got in shape. REAL shape. Muscles and all.

I carried that into college, and then into the early part of my marriage. Since my wife was a "high-risk" pregnancy, the Doctor told me to keep her well nourished and well fed. And hey, can't leave her to eat alone, now, can I?

Well that was the beginning of the decline, which lasted a lot of years past the 3 pregnancies and deliveries. I have a teenaged daughter now. Time to let go of the baby fat, pal.

So, by about two years ago, I had accomplished a lot. I almost had a body again. I was doing the whole gym thing, knocked off some poundage of fat. And, as Mother Nature has a sense of humor, at the same time, some major parts of my body decided the warranty was up. Knees came apart, lower back exploded. Beautiful. There were malfunctions in body parts I didn't even know I had. So much for the comeback. Disability sucks. And the weight found its way back to me. Not all of it, but enough.

Now I'm not considered obese. Even by those insane Met Life weight charts. But this body is in tough shape. I don't like the way it looks, and when I see Matthew McConaughey running around like an adonis, I very much like my shirt on, thanks.

Now I noticed that a lot of the people spewing all this "love yourself" crap typically had their shirts on, too. And everytime I would read about someone "curvy" or "real", it was a sure bet that within two pages of that article was either another article about "amazing weight-loss stories", or a full-page ad for some diet plan.

Now, I'm not speaking for anyone else. No, folks, this is all about me, as I said earlier. If you're good with who you are, that's wonderful. Me, I think I let myself get soft, and then got really adept at rationalizing. And settling. For less.

I'm classified as "disabled" now. Oh yay. Got the blue parking thing to hang on the mirror. And I'd have every excuse to turn into a behemoth now. But it's all crap. I have a great rehab guy who is more than willing to chart out a fitness regimen for less-than-optimal bodies. And I have some friends who are more than willing to motivate me at a moment's notice should I ask.

So, I'm sorry, Dr. Phil, I can't buy it anymore. Men in good shape are every bit as "real" as the guys with the bellies. And let's face it Ladies, with all this "natural" "real" women stuff going around, don't think I didn't notice that People ran a "sexiest bachelors" issue recently, and there were no jelly rolls hanging over any of THEIR belts. Let's just keep it completely "real" here, ok?

I don't like the way I look. I don't like the way I feel. Obesity didn't suddenly become less dangerous to me because a bunch of life coaches figured out how to cash in on The Great National Insecurity. Cholesterol will stop the heart of someone who absolutely adores himself as quickly as it quits on the self-loathing types.

I'd much rather have a washboard under my shirt than a washing machine, thanks.

So yeah, I'm going to sleep tonight with the realization that it's time to wake up, stop kidding myself, and crank it up. I might bore ya more than usual now, by including the occasional progress report, but my brain is still Stupid, so I wouldn't count on that too much.