Ch-ch-changes
The heaviest I’ve ever been was 260. That was near the end of my freshman year in college. Post that period the lightest I’ve ever been was 215. That was a little over five years ago at the end of a “watermelon fast” that lasted 10 days or so. Today I stepped on the scale and it tipped at 250.
What does all this mean? Outside of context, not much. My freshman year was a very sedentary one. I spent most of it in a bad relationship. My girlfriend was very insecure. I think somehow she thought if I was fat other girls wouldn’t try and steal me away. I was insecure myself and the emotional rollercoaster of our relationship made food an easy comfort source. With both of us working to make me fat it wasn’t long before I’d put on some major pounds.
The watermelon fast came on as I was just entering the fitness industry. I never have had, nor will I ever have, a body fit to grace the cover of a fitness magazine. At least not one published now. Sixty years ago I was a stud, but now I’m just chunky. For those of you who’ve never seen me, think pro wrestler pre-steroids or maybe one of those circus strongmen but with hair and a soul-patch instead of a handlebar mustache. As you can guess I was still insecure and strongly felt the need to conform to the standards of my new profession. I felt I had to “look the part” in order to be successful. So following the advice of a “health guru” I ate watermelon and only watermelon for ten days. I lost twenty pounds. I was weak, I had low energy and didn’t look any closer to the fitness ideal.
Today I weigh 250. That’s ten pounds less than me at my fattest and 35 pounds more than my leanest. Without a doubt I am fitter now than I have ever been. I’m stronger, I have more endurance and more overall energy. I’m also happier. It’s February right now so I’m carrying a little winter weight, not much, but I can feel a little more than say, July. Come July I’ll be a little lighter, not much, 5 or ten pounds maybe. That fluctuation I consider natural and in keeping with the seasons.
What’s more, I’m cool with that. Before I might be panicked, worried how that would be seen by my co workers and clients. What I know now is that I work hard. My body is a reflection of how hard I work, but my body is also a reflection of what I work for. I work for strength. I work for health. I work for stability. I work for longevity. Appearance? Of course I care about it. Everyone does, but it’s not my priority.
Interestingly enough, that insecurity I mentioned earlier? It really doesn’t plague me as much as it did, certainly not as much is it might had I stuck with appearance as my priority. It’s funny. Strength, health, stability and longevity are things I can receive instant feedback on, from impartial sources. The weights on my barbell tell me I’m strong. That I’m able to continually increase those weights tells me I’m getting stronger. I rarely get sick and I recover from hard training days quickly, a sure sign I’m healthy. The exercises I do on gymnastic rings, stability balls and other dynamic bases both build my joint stability and exhibit it. My ease of mind and flexibility in the face of crisis or upset point to a mental stability as well. At 38 I’m in the best shape of my life. I frequently spar or compete with men sometimes as much as 20 years younger than me. What more can I ask of longevity? If I play my cards right I’ll continue to live and train this way well into my later years.
Appearance? I can’t count on the same objectivity, either from myself or those who love me, but my wife loves the way I look and I’m frequently chided by friends and co-workers for some of my more beefier attributes. That’s pretty damn cool to me.
Post Script:
All of the above is absolutely true. However, as it often is with life, I was tested very soon after having written these words. A favored client of mine, for scheduling reasons, began training with one of the other trainers here at the gym. Normally this would be no big deal, except, this particular trainer does look like a fitness model and could grace the cover of one of those magazines. Now my insecurities begin their mad, irrational dance. I started to wonder if the fact that I don’t look as fit as this other guy did figure into this equation. I forgot that we are both competent trainers or that the move was due to a scheduling conflict. Once again those old demons raised their ugly heads and monkeyed with my confidence and self respect.
The upside is that this entire episode lasted less than forty-five minutes. Far less than it once might have. That’s good. It also reminds me that just like with my training, the job is never fully done. There’s always one more plate, one more rep. That’s the beauty of all of this. You can always find a way to improve, not because where you are is bad, but because getting better is–well, better.
