Styrene Athlete

Never was much of a sportsman. Played some soccer when I was a kid. Well, I was the goalie most of the time, so other than getting my knees dirty when I “dove” for the ball or leaning against one of the goal posts, there was not much activity taking place to grow some muscles.

Then when I was in my teens, I went through the phase of becoming a professional bicycle racer. Unfortunately, that didn’t pan out either because I was born with antelope legs and could hardly move the pedals around!

I played Ping-Pong, did some Judo, tried to run or did gymnastics but any physical sport was wasted on me. I was lean. Actually, I was very lean but I was always a muscle short where I needed one to win a medal.

When I was in my thirties, I became a passive aggressive competitor. I was going to do this or that, pouted, thought about my next endeavor while gathering the accouterments, dreaming of glory that never came.

In my forties, I was ready for a change and was going to do something about my physical condition. Chuck Norris sold me a Total Gym Workout bench and when it arrived, I was just plain ecstatic. This was the wonder machine that finally would transform my body into a physique à la Jean Claude Van Damme! After an evening of bolting and screwing the contraption together, it was moved into the spare bedroom.

There all the magic started to happen almost immediately, until after two days when I pinched some of my chest-hair in the cables when I was flexing. When I released, a pluck of skin with enough hair follicles to cover Barbie’s head, fell on the ground next to me and I had to shove three-quarters of the bath towel in my mouth so my wife wouldn’t hear me scream! Needless to say, after that, Walker Texas Ranger could take a hike as far as I was concerned and since then, we are the proud owners of one expensive drying rack.

In my early fifties, I just gave up. I had no aspirations anymore to be converted into the poster child for brute force and snacking became the new occupation to pursue my happiness. Being a model builder doesn’t help. Testimony of that is the amount of candy wrappers in my wastebasket underneath my bench.

Now, hitting sixty and realizing that putting my socks on is becoming a big problem, I have two choices. Either, I gear up and prevent the bulge around my waist to expand or go through life from now on, wearing sockless loafers! A visual that is enough to make my stomach turn.

So, I’ll start tomorrow with a fresh mindset and an outlook for better times to come. But first, I’ll consume my last Kit-Kat!

King-size me!




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