A couple of weeks ago, after getting the cash conversion from my vacation and sick leaves, Cathy and I went to the nearby mall to buy me a good pair of pants. New pants, like new shoes are items I only get to possess when their predecessors have been used to the point of being embarrassingly worn out. So we went to a store where I surveyed the wall of fresh denims on display and quickly narrowed down my choice. I then asked the sales lady for my size and proceeded to the fitting room to enjoy how it looks.
I was putting it on and was about to pull the zipper all the way up when it suddenly came to a grinding halt half way its end point. “What the...!?!” I quickly checked the back label to see if I was perhaps handed the incorrect size. But there it was, clear as daylight, the exact size I have specified. Still convinced that I must be doing something wrong (though of course how dumb do you have to be to screw up wearing a pair of pants), I inhaled deeply and forced the zipper all the way up and buttoned the jeans. I lifted my shirt and was able to see in the mirror how much waistline I actually tried to stuff in the pants before I realized I was in a state of apnea and nearly blacked out from the lack of oxygen going to my head. I conceded defeat and got the pair that was two sizes bigger. Yes, two sizes bigger! I don’t know to what extent my old jeans must have stretched, but I did skip two sizes.
I guess it’s true that nothing can make you accept that you are getting fat the way clothes does. I just got my first real wake up call. Sure I hear people telling me I’m getting a little huskier these days, I just thought it was an illusion created by the long hair I’ve been sporting for the last 3 years. I told my best friend Jon that I thought I reached an age where my body structure, particularly my waist size would trend a straight flat line. “Are you kidding?” He said. “If Bob Parr gained weight, what makes you think you are any different?” I didn’t quite follow, “Who the heck is Bob Parr?” “You know,” he said, “Mr. Incredible.”
But when I think about it, I shouldn’t be as surprised. Back in college I was quite the outdoorsman. I was an active mountaineer and I also did a lot of skin diving. I even swam once with a few environmental buddies for four straight hours in open water. I was a drummer for a heavy rock band I formed with a couple of friends. While my band mates brought extra guitar strings and cables, I brought an extra T-shirt because it was almost a full body workout every time I was behind the drum set when we rehearsed. I also did a lot of commuting back in college, where nearly a total of 5 hours a day was spent chasing after jeepneys, buses, tricycles and Metro Rail Trains. During the first few years here at work, I was so into Free Diving and even practiced basic Pranayama where I was actually able to hold my breath for 4 whole minutes in dry static apnea.
A lot has changed over the past few years, especially after getting married and being a dad. It’s been exactly five years since I had a huge heavy pack back saddled on my shoulders while hiking a mountainside. I can’t remember when I last went scuba diving or Free Diving. I drive mostly now to work and almost everywhere I go. I recently bought a good acoustic guitar and haven’t given up music, but I haven’t played drums in a very long time. So come to think of it, the only thing even close to an exercise I do on a regular basis is typing very fast on a keyboard and flipping channels with a remote.
I am not the health conscious type of person, but I do steer clear of some basic things: I do not drink even during occasions and am one of those people who consider smoking to be a disgusting habit. Still I do know that I am no longer the healthy person that I used to know. I have definitely gone soft. I get tired easily, I get bloated right away after eating something as puny as a burger, plus all I want to do during weekends is just sleep and be a couch potato.
“Face it dude, we are getting old.” Its how my best friend Jon deals with the situation, a person who after stressful and sleepless hours in hospital duty is still losing the battle of the bulge. We were like playing a scene from Lethal Weapon 3 where Danny Glover says, “I’m too old for this shit.” “We are getting old dude. Specially you. You’re a dad now, it comes with the territory.” So is that it? Fatherhood is fattening? Childcare is high in calories?
I know what you are thinking of course, its not rocket science and it doesn’t take a nutritionist to figure out I’ve been missing out on regular exercise and a good balanced diet. But damn, as the tired old maxim goes, it’s all easier said than done.
Still, I think I’ve made the first major step towards self-betterment; I have accepted the fact that I am now in a pitiful physical state. The next thing I need is a good motivation. I found out that one of my officemates has just shun the consumption of carbohydrates and excessive indulgence in deserts because she’s getting married and wants to look good in the wedding dress that she would soon be fitted for. Having been married for 3 years now and recently purchasing jeans that are two sizes bigger I think I am way pass using aesthetics as an incentive.
I know I would sound like a really old dude saying this, but my motivation now is simply to be with Frances and Cathy as long as I could without worrying too much about cholesterol, uric acid, arthritis, and other things that would prevent me from enjoying my later years with my loved ones. Frances is one hyper active little kid and I intend to keep up with her. I think I haven’t really abused my body like some people my age have so I am off to a good start. The final step I have to take I suppose is to celebrate my awareness by putting it into action.
So mark my words, I will get back into shape. I will be fit. I will eat a more balanced and reasonably healthy diet. I will get off my butt and exercise! Who knows, I might even enroll in a gym! Let me just flip the channel to see if anything good is on TV first! Hmm, I wonder what’s on HBO...
