Here in the Philadelphia region, we are up to our asses in snow, ice, and misery due to the poor weather. It’s had me cursing more than the lovable foul-mouthed 1980’s arcade legend Q-Bert. And as mentioned last week, I am also up to my ass in work, graduate school work, dirty diapers, and stress. And the ass of which I speak has been struggling to get into my wrinkle free pleated cotton Dockers lately. I can’t afford new pants, so it’s high time for me to get in shape!

The harsh realization has dawned on me that I am now fat, not “phat” like the term dorky suburban white kids used to say. I wasn’t always a good natured pudgy fellow, in fact, “back in the day” (another dorky suburban white kids term) I was in great shape. I was a mediocre swimmer, the last guy on the bench in basketball, and as a member of the track team I was fairly quick for a dorky suburban white kid. But as the years passed, I became a semi-professional beer drinker, a buffalo wing connoisseur, and a fat dorky suburban adult.

The downward spiral began my freshman year of college, where I spent most of my time chugging beer, playing video games, and getting the workers at the local convenience store Sheetz to know me by name and order number. Oh, and I spent a lot of time pursuing girls, I don’t want to say chasing girls because that implies physical activity and that certainly didn’t happen. I packed the pounds on quick, but saw the growing beer gut as a badge of honor. It was advertising how much fun I was having at college. And believe me, I had fun. I definitely became one of those people that are whispered about  in shocked awe. “Can you believe how much weight he put on?” was certainly muttered about me. I lost most of it the next summer because I was home, and worked in a dusty and hot lawnmower parts warehouse. And for the next three years, I would yo-yo up and down but never got too bad.

Then I entered the dreaded real world and everything’s been downhill since then. The corporate world tried and tried to rob me of my personality and individuality before I escaped to the higher education world. And my weight, fluctuate as it may, has steadily gone up. I’d hate to see one of my accountant friend John’s self proclaimed “Nerd Charts” made up for my weight progression since 1998. I have been on a bunch of diets but nothing has stuck. I did the Atkins diet in 1999 and still can’t look at a hard boiled egg the same way. I lost 30 pounds earlier this year, and ignored the weight gain back until a few instances knocked me back into reality.  

First, and the most painful, was when my girlfriend (who is 7 years younger than me) joked with our son Jack and asked him “is daddy old?” And he swiftly responded, “no daddy’s fat”. Not gonna lie,that hurt. Next, I heard some ESPN announcers talk about some goliath football player who was 6”5 and 240 pounds. That’s roughly a foot taller than me but only 15 pounds more! The scary thing about that is, I could throw 15 pounds on after a few decadent weekends to Baltimore or Atlantic City. The final straw was when I got a couple wisecrack comments from my buddies who I go to Eagles games with. Now keep in mind, we Eagles fans are a rowdy, macho, and roughed edged bunch. We tailgate all day on Sundays, and eat meat products, drink beer then eat the bottle it came in, and most of us can braid our chest hair. So when my weight was joked about during an Eagles tailgate of all places, the final boundary was crossed.   

I need to make a change, so I have started to look at the things that I have been doing wrong and that have been responsible for the weight. There are many culprits to blame and point a stubby finger at. While my beer consumption is fairly minimal these days (compared to my past), soda is a major problem. While I am blessed with a non-addictive personality to really bad things like booze, drugs, and gambling, I am hooked on the sweet syrupy nectar of a cold Coca-Cola or Pepsi. So I have cut soda down to one a day for now (just so I don’t wind up with cold sweats and the shakes).

I hold Cheez-its in such high regard that I refer to them as “orange squares of excellence” and would surely crush them up and snort them if it would make the tangy cheese and salty flavor enter my blood stream quicker. So I am nixing those as well. And my deep fryer, that at times sweats from the workout I give it, is being retired and put in the basement.   

I have been going to the gym every day, drinking water at the same clip I drank beer in college, and choosing healthy things to eat. The things that motivate me most are Cailin and Jack. I definitely need to keep Cailin happy, I am no fool, I know what side my bacon is buttered on. She is a beautiful person inside and out, who happens to be in amazing, marathon shape. I know how pretty and fit she is and I am lucky to have her in my life. Unfortunately, there is no shortage of people who tell me that as well but just aren’t so polite about it. I never know to take it as a compliment or insult when people say “how did you get her” or “what is she doing with you”. My favorite ever was when the guy who dresses like a leprechaun at the Irish Pub in Atlantic City grabbed me by the arm, looked me straight in the face, and said to me dead seriously “you better hang on to her, cause you ain’t doing any better than that!” So maybe when I lose weight, people won’t question it as much. But I doubt it.  

The bottom line is that I have my eyes set towards being able to take my shirt off on the beach this summer without scaring away half the sun worshippers around me. And I would like to fit back into the stack of jeans now collecting dust at the bottom of my closet. But most of all, I just want to get my swagger back.

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