Weakness
I'm a weak man.
I've never been what anyone would call "strong". When I was a teenager, I probably had a great strength-to-weight ratio, but that's because I weighed as much as a medium-sized lake trout. My arms were the diameter of a strand of single-mode fiber optic cable. I could eat anything in any quantity and lose weight. In retrospect, it was awesome... except when a stiff wind would knock me into the ditch when I walked to class.
Ten years and 100+ pounds later, my strength-to-weight ratio was not quite as impressive. To be honest, I'm amazed I could carry around that much extra weight all day, every day. I could throw the weight around for short durations, which some people mistook for strength, but I would immediately need to take a nap. What I had was bulk. In spades.
Ten years after that, I had lost some of that weight and the ratio was better. Not great, but better. Without that hyper-charged metabolism of my youth and limited willpower in the face of bacon and simple carbs, the chances of revisiting my translucent body days are slim to none.
I'm weak.
I always get fries with that. When one of the kids doesn't eat all of their food, I'm the one who doesn't let it go to waste. I cave into a lot of bad food choices out of convenience. My palate skews towards everything that's bad and scientifically designed to kill me.
Other athletes I know post pictures on FaceSpace of healthy, balanced meals crafted out of nothing but tree bark and various grasses from the Serengeti. They eagerly consume things like beets and broccoli. As hard as I try, I just can't fully embrace anything that doesn't include the words "processed by-product" somewhere in the description.
That's probably because I'm weak.
The balance I've struck, since I'm way too far down the bad choices track, is to try to eat things that were made with some sort of integrity. If I'm going to eat pizza, I might as well eat good pizza instead of something out of the freezer section. If I'm going to drink beer, I might as well drink stuff made by hippies or monks. If I'm going to go to a restaurant, I might as well go to one where the chef is actively engaged in the kitchen, instead of one where the menu is dictated by a corporate office. I try to moderate my portions and balance things out a tad. I'm not always successful, because I'm weak.
I used to think I made up for my physical deficiencies with bulldog-like determination, but I'm finding my fortress of HTFU is mostly made out of Cheez Whiz. As it turns out, that also describes my abdomen. Maybe there's a relationship. Might as well pencil in mental weakness among my failings.
Whatever. I'm to weak to argue the point.
I've never been what anyone would call "strong". When I was a teenager, I probably had a great strength-to-weight ratio, but that's because I weighed as much as a medium-sized lake trout. My arms were the diameter of a strand of single-mode fiber optic cable. I could eat anything in any quantity and lose weight. In retrospect, it was awesome... except when a stiff wind would knock me into the ditch when I walked to class.
Ten years and 100+ pounds later, my strength-to-weight ratio was not quite as impressive. To be honest, I'm amazed I could carry around that much extra weight all day, every day. I could throw the weight around for short durations, which some people mistook for strength, but I would immediately need to take a nap. What I had was bulk. In spades.
Ten years after that, I had lost some of that weight and the ratio was better. Not great, but better. Without that hyper-charged metabolism of my youth and limited willpower in the face of bacon and simple carbs, the chances of revisiting my translucent body days are slim to none.
I'm weak.
I always get fries with that. When one of the kids doesn't eat all of their food, I'm the one who doesn't let it go to waste. I cave into a lot of bad food choices out of convenience. My palate skews towards everything that's bad and scientifically designed to kill me.
Other athletes I know post pictures on FaceSpace of healthy, balanced meals crafted out of nothing but tree bark and various grasses from the Serengeti. They eagerly consume things like beets and broccoli. As hard as I try, I just can't fully embrace anything that doesn't include the words "processed by-product" somewhere in the description.
That's probably because I'm weak.
The balance I've struck, since I'm way too far down the bad choices track, is to try to eat things that were made with some sort of integrity. If I'm going to eat pizza, I might as well eat good pizza instead of something out of the freezer section. If I'm going to drink beer, I might as well drink stuff made by hippies or monks. If I'm going to go to a restaurant, I might as well go to one where the chef is actively engaged in the kitchen, instead of one where the menu is dictated by a corporate office. I try to moderate my portions and balance things out a tad. I'm not always successful, because I'm weak.
I used to think I made up for my physical deficiencies with bulldog-like determination, but I'm finding my fortress of HTFU is mostly made out of Cheez Whiz. As it turns out, that also describes my abdomen. Maybe there's a relationship. Might as well pencil in mental weakness among my failings.
Whatever. I'm to weak to argue the point.
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