June 14, 2006

• IN PURSUIT OF THE PERFECT BODY

  
  

   

  
  

  

  
  

   

  
  

  We are a nation obsessed with physical perfection. We all secretly want to be swimsuit models, and yet if you look closely at the average clientele of any Wal-Mart store as you walk the isles, you will notice that most Americans are more suited to be tractor-trailer models.

  
  

   

  
  

  As we stand in the check out line with our Haagen Dazs and pork rinds we ogle the magazine covers and the beautiful women and men that adorn them; women with 22” waists and gravity-defying breasts and men with abs so chiseled their stomachs look like miniature relief maps of the Rocky Mountains.

  
  

   

  
  

  The magazine covers promise better health, better jobs, better sex, and better lives if we only buy into the hype. I used to scoff at the hype…I’m now embarrassed to admit that over the last few months I’ve slowly bought into the Madison Avenue concept of perfection without even realizing it.

  
  

   

  
  

  About seven months ago I saw myself in some photos that my wife had taken of me. Looking at those pictures I realized that at 5’ 8” and 190 lbs I could make extra money by renting out the front of my t-shirts as billboard space.  My blood pressure was through the roof and my cholesterol count was a number a lottery winner would be happy to see.

  
  

   

  
  

  My physical condition combined with the knowledge that both my parents died of heart attacks very early in life caused me to take stock of my health. I realized that if I didn’t change I had about 8 minutes to live.

  
  

   

  
  

  My wife and I enrolled in a weight loss program and we were encouraged by the results.

  
  

   

  
  

  Something funny happened along the way. As I began to see the pounds come off I started buying those magazines at the check out line and reading the articles. I started stepping up my exercise routine and I began to try the workouts in those magazines that claimed I could have abs that would cause women to have spontaneous orgasms simply by looking at me.  I began to think that maybe plastic surgery wasn’t the ridiculously indulgent waste of money I had always thought it was after all.  I mean…a little eye job here, a little neck sculpting there, who would be the wiser? I became completely obsessed with looking like the guys on the magazine covers.

  
  

   

  
  

  In my pursuit of this goal I arrived at the following routine: My diet is around 1200 calories a day; consisting entirely of baked or grilled chicken and fish, steamed or raw vegetables, and fresh fruit.  Every evening when I get home from work I hit the treadmill or go running for 30 to 40 minutes followed by another 30 to 40 minutes of weight lifting. I continue to add exercises from the magazine articles, and at this pace I will soon no longer have time to sleep or go to work.

  
  

   

  
  

  After seven months of this there is good news and bad news. The good news is I’ve dropped over 40lbs, my blood pressure is only slightly higher than that of a corpse, and my resting heart rate is 4 beats a minute. The bad news is that no matter how much I work out, when I take off my shirt and look in the mirror my body still looks like cheap mattress stuffing.

  
  

   

  
  

  I find this incredibly frustrating but I finally realized why this is; I’m 47 friggin years old! There is no amount of working out that is going to make me look like the guys on the cover of Men’s Health. Those guys are all 20 years old and spend all of their modeling money on personal trainers named Sven.

  
  

   

  
  

  In fact, I read an interesting article in the very magazine I just mentioned. It stated that the average male has 20% body fat. It went on to say that in order to even see abdominal definition, your body fat has to be below 10%. The last figure was the clincher. It said that the average model in their magazine had a body fat percentage of 5% or less.  When Lance Armstrong does the Tour De France, his body fat percentage is around 4%…after the race.

  
  

   

  
  

  This means that in order to have a body like the guys in the magazines, I’m going to have to ride a bicycle for three straight weeks through the Pyrenees Mountains…it ain’t gonna happen.

  
  

   

  
  

  As I’ve said before, I am the world’s most happily married man. I don’t need a better job or better sex, and my life is great just the way it is. My wife isn’t going to love me more if I look like the magazine guys…she seems pretty content that I bring my mattress-stuffing body home to her every night just as it is.

  
  

   

  
  

  I should just be happy that I’m healthier, and that I’ll have longer to enjoy the wonderful life I have.

  
  

   

  
  

  Wait a minute…I think I just felt an abdominal muscle! Mmmmm, maybe if add another 30 crunches every night….

  • 12:56 pm
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