A weekend ago we were stayed with friends on the Cape. Both are in their early seventies and in tip top shape. My beloved is eleven years older than me and is still just as svelte and spry as when we first met. And then there's the most pathetic and out of shape human being to ever walk the face of this earth - ME. One day my elders decided we should take a nice long bicycle ride... a lonnnnnng one!
Death defying feats.
The temperature was in the mid eighties, with high humidity. I bravely mounted "M's" mountain bike and after less than three miles, I thought I was going to DIE. Worse than that, I'm pretty sure that Dr "M" was worried that my mortality might actually be imminent. I tried to be brave and keep pushing myself forward. However my body was in no way up to the challenge. Sadly this toddler was holding the adults back. Finally I begged off, encouraged them to continue, and slowly walked home.
Out of control!
OK. Maybe my recount is a tad dramatic. However in reality it's not that far off. You see, being a bon vivant workaholic takes a toll on your body. Somehow consuming massive quantities of delicious food and imbibing gallons of vino is NOT good for me. If one's only physical activity is hitting the sale at Bergdorf Goodman, the pounds are not going to magically melt away. I returned to New York with every intention of getting back in shape but somehow it never happened.
If the suit fits (or doesn't).
I have to do something. My weight has reached the point where my sport coats are going to have to be custom made. While Cucinelli is more than willing to secretly create a cashmere tent on request, they refuse to stock anything on the rack that is above a size 58 (stop giggling, that's European sizing you bitch). About the only thing I can buy at Barneys are shoes. And.. I'd like to be able to see them when I wear them.
There is no magic bullet.
Why can't we bring back the diet pills our Mother's took. Don't we all need the extra energy? In my youth I often took chinese herbal diet pills that not only revved me up, but most certainly almost killed me. While they made me quite "nasty" (to quote Frank) I did shed the pounds. Once outlawed I resorted to swallowing a plethora of placebos and other assorted health store diet remedies. Those combined with a diet of SlimFast and cardboard nutritional bars seemed to do the trick. However that isn't a healthy way to lose the weight nor is it a smart way to develop weight management habits. Why does taking care of yourself have to be so hard? I'm skinny inside!
Honestly, I know what I have to do. It's just that I don't want to do it. My normal "daily requirement" is a bottle of Cabernet. Of course I should simply reduce my consumption to one glass, but I don't want to and that's not enough. In theory the bread basket should not be even be allowed on the table. However it often takes me three of four slices with butter before I realize that. And finally, dessert should be an occasional indulgence not the foundation of one's personal food pyramid.
You see, moderation is simply not in my
vocabulary. Nor is discipline. Nor is self
control. Hence my perpetual problem is
that I won't do the work necessary to
shed those unwanted pounds. While
completely unwilling to change my
lifestyle, habits, and behavior, I do
want to look and feel better. But why
do I have to shamefully display my
"before" in a room full of sweaty,
buff boys? Can't I just take a pill?
It all starts today. I've given in and have hired a personal trainer to whip me into shape. And trust me, I am certain that a whip will be required. One of the reasons we took this apartment was it's adjacency to The Core Club, a posh private enclave known for it's "celebrity" trainers. This morning I initiate a twice a week sixty minute regimen of advice, motivation, and torture. I'm going to win this battle of the bulge if it kills me. And it just may...