I've always been a somewhat vain man. I like cool clothes, hats, shoes and when I had it...hair. I admit that I sneak a peek at the mirror more than I should. For decades I was fairly thin even though I plied my trade as a chef. I could eat whatever and not gain anything. Once I raced past 40 though, it seemed like everything I ate translated into bulk. I never had to worry about dieting or exercise to keep things under control. Staying trim and reasonably good looking was effortless. Now is a different story. I have not only gone to seed, I am fucking germinating and sprouting into some sort of human Baobob tree; I worry about it. But I don't feel inclined to do much about it. Mostly I fear that my attractiveness (what there is of it) is diminished and that women my own age will slide their eyes right past me. Even now, my lower limit of age appropriate women (which ain't that much younger that myself) look through me. And that is truly disconcerting for an amateur narcissist like me.
Oh, I know what I need to do to get where I want to be. Diet and exercise. Diet and exercise. Well, the diet I can deal with pretty easily. Cut out late night eating...snacks...more fruits and veggies...cut down starches and fats. The exercise is tougher. I walk to work most days and with tooling around the kitchen ten to twelve hours a day I get a total of about five miles every day. This is alright, but to burn calories you need something more intense. Trouble is, when I was in my teens and twenties I was a jock. A swimmer and basketball player specifically. I spent an inordinate time in the pool for about 15 years thinking I was somehow going to be an Olympian or at the very least, a scholarship college athlete at the NCAA Division 1 or 2 level. Well the Olympics didn't pan out but the NCAA thing kind of did except for the scholarship part. All that time in the pool and the gym left me with a life-long aversion to traditional work out regimes. So I've done Yoga, Tai Chi, and Aerobics. I like spinning on a cycle and going nowhere. But that's about it. I have a bad ankle and my joints are shot from decades of standing and running around on concrete floors so I'm pretty much limited to the pool for any sort of serious aerobic exercise now. Trouble is, the smell of Chlorine brings back somewhat painful memories of spending 8 hours a day in a pool, year 'round for about 6 years straight at the end of high school and half of college. The sense memories are a hurdle I'll have to get over if I want to drop 30 or 40 pounds by Summer's End. Who knows if this will happen? Do I accept myself as I am? Or do I grasp after some ideal of myself that just might be gone forever? A silly conundrum, really, but then again, I am more than a slightly self involved person, so there's a little weight involved here. On more than a few levels. On a lighter note, I had a shot at three women tonight. One told me to call her if I wanted to go out for a drink, one established a standing date if I ever needed one, and the last one just met me but said she enjoyed using my iPhone as a flashlight. Probably could have been seriously intimate with two out of the three, but we were all slightly drunk , I'm sort of a gentleman and my internet order of Cialis hadn't come yet. So there you go
The red loafers I bought myself for Christmas....yeah.