Caution: This post contains simple, honest language that is not cloaked in nonsensical, feel-good gibberish.
When it comes to running a marathon, I’m a wuss. Now please don’t head off to the comments box to let me know I’m not actually a wuss. I know this, I’m not a wuss in general. In fact, when it comes to cycling I’m tougher than most. When it comes to the desire to run a marathon however, it’s just not there, I’m okay with calling myself a marathon wuss.
I know, and am quite happy with, who I am in spite of this. I would even go so far as to say that I’m satisfied. Not that I can rest or retire on this, but I’m sexy and I know it, to borrow a line, and that’s good enough.
This is all well and good but being okay with oneself comes with a price tag: Honesty.
If I had a dollar for every time I heard someone offer the notion that I (or anyone else) should be happy with a fat body, I’d be rich. And if I were to actually take that advice and eat myself to obesity, I’d be miserable – there is no dressing that up. I simply can’t grasp the concept, it seems silly (and childish).
Reality is the problem here. I look at it like I would recovering from alcoholism. It isn’t rocket science, I simply can’t drink like other people, so I don’t. Being happy fat would be like trying to “be okay with who I am” while I’m drunk in a ditch.
“Oh, hey, I know you took a piss in the hamper last night, then tried to ear f**k me before you passed out with the plunger sticking out of your @$$, but hey, you just need to be okay with who you are”. Said no wife to her husband ever in the history of Mankind!
Who could be happy like that, and exactly how ignorant would you have to be to believe it? How gullible? Well, the thought of being fat isn’t quite that bad, but being fat will kill you even quicker than being a drunk: My aunt died before she hit fifty and I have no plans on following her lead.
Looked at from the another angle, I own some very nice clothes. The notion that I could be as happy as I am now if I was as big as Rob Ford and had to buy my clothes at the tall and fat store is simply preposterous. Impossible. I will not be happy with a waist size greater than my inseam. I will not be happy as a fat man. I will not be satisfied if I am overweight. I refuse. My friend (and probably one of my biggest inspirational fellows) Jim calls the attempt “Telling each other lies at the donut shop”. He’s one tough old coot who still runs and rides regularly.
I suggest it’s about time we bury that cliché. Don’t attempt the impossible, instead why not look at it another way:
Fitness, much like happiness, is an inside job and is not achieved overnight. Trimming down takes time and effort so motivation and focus are crucial.
Be satisfied in doing the next right thing at any given moment to get where you want to be.
If you’re not doing the next right thing, look at the bright side: You know where to improve.
Last night I had to go to the corner store to pick up a few items for dinner. I, rather stupidly, walked down the cookie aisle where I passed the Oreos. As I reached out for the container I thought, “is this the next right thing?” and withdrew my hand. A dozen cookies would last five or ten minutes and take weeks to recover from. Not today.
I love the News show The Five – it’s just like NPR in reverse: Four conservatives gang up on one liberal. The one difference is that the liberal on Fox is Bob Beckel, not some squishy conservative like David Brooks on NPR. Last night Bob Beckel’s “One More Thing” centered on a story about a Michigan man who was attempting to show his girlfriend that guns were safe by pointing three of them at his head and pulling the trigger. Bob mischaracterized the event by saying the man was showing off three unloaded weapons.
Well folks, the last one obviously wasn’t unloaded because when the man pulled the trigger, it fired and the man died. Bob used this event to leave with the notion that having guns at home is not safe.
Now for the rest of the story: The man had been drinking much of the day. Well I am shocked and amazed, but it gets better:
“(The situation) is pretty unique, as I have never heard of anyone testing out the safety of a gun by pointing at their head and pulling the trigger,” Undersheriff Michael McCabe told the Oakland Press.
Well imagine that, seems to me the Theory of Natural Selection explains this one just about to a tee. Now allow me the dalliance of pointing out a few things that dope did wrong: First, when “demonstrating pistol safety”, one does not treat a pistol as a toy or a prop. It is neither. Pistols have one purpose and one purpose only: To fire a bullet out of the barrel at a very high velocity when the trigger is pulled. It is not a toy. Period, end of lesson one.
Second, and this is literally the first thing taught in a weapon’s safety course: You never place your finger on the trigger unless you are pointing at a target that you intend to shoot. This would mean your own noggin – unless you intend to put a hole in it, don’t place your finger on the trigger. Period, end of lesson two.
Third, and this goes to: “To Thine Own Self Be True”, if you’ve imbibed in an adult beverage or twenty, you tend to become stupid the farther into the bottle you go. You do stupid things in other words. The last thing you want is to be stupid with a pistol in your hand. That’s the second thing they teach you in gun safety.
Finally for the lessons, when handling a pistol, or any kind of firing weapon, ALWAYS ASSUME IT’S LOADED. This point is not rocket science. Clearing a weapon prior to inspection and locking the slide back (or sliding out the cylinder [the round piece that holds the bullets] for a revolver) is always advised.
Having a pistol in the home, Mr. Beckel, is not dangerous if it is handled with the care it deserves. Little boys play with “guns” in the back yard, heck my two daughters, my wife and I play with Nerf “guns” all of the time (and we’re quite the crack shots actually). Pistols and revolvers are not toys, nor are BB-guns and pellet guns. Using an utter idiot, drunk no less, as a talking point example for why pistols are dangerous, is almost as stupid as putting a loaded pistol to your head and pulling the trigger to show your girlfriend that it’s safe – with three kids in the house. C’mon Bob – you’re better than that, and interesting that you chose to leave the drunk part out of your One More Thing, one ex-drunk to another.