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.