Trading my Calvins for Hobbes

by Sean Pearson
After a rather enlightening and admonishing conversation with my doctor, we both came to the conclusion that I would begin a more healthy eating and exercise program. I say we, because I feel it’s important for me to take at least some responsibility for improving my health and well-being. After all, I’m sure my doctor has a life outside my maladies and medical concerns. (Albeit not nearly as exciting.)
I agreed to come in for a little blood work, since I actually hadn’t really had anything checked for a good six years or so. Apparently, my blood pressure and cholesterol were a little high. (In fact, I think I may have set the new world record for cholesterol. I’m still waiting for the official notification.)
For those of you who have suffered through my dieting experiences already, you obviously know two things by now:
Those diets didn’t work.
I suck at dieting.
But this time it’s really real. I mean, if the threat of imminent heart disease, stroke, diabetes and heart attack aren’t enough to pry one of those fried burritos out of your hand, it’s quite possibly too late. You might as well start measuring now just how big a hole the fire department is going to have to cut in the side of your house to get you out when you’re topping the scales at 500 pounds.
So there I stood, staring at a very large frozen-food section touting everything from dinosaur-shaped fish sticks to frozen brussel sprouts. It’s not always easy to navigate the market maze if you are trying to start that nutritionally sound diet; especially when they seem to strategically place things like chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and Mrs. Smith’s chocolate cream pie in your way as you look for the Lean Cuisine. In fact, as I was attempting to decipher the nutritional codes on the back of a package of low-fat baked chicken in ginger sauce, I could swear I heard a pot pie whispering something behind my back.
It’s also possible that my current method of just giving up eating isn’t really the healthiest way to diet. Come to think of it, that time in the freezer section is getting a bit fuzzy now. Could it be I just imagined that entire Lincoln/Douglas debate between Marie Callender and Chef Boyardee?
And why did I come home with a kiwi, a jar of Nutella and a 22-pound turkey?
I gotta get a different diet.
I’m looking for one that allows me to pretty much eat anything I want, sleep, and watch TV, while it sculpts my body into an Adonis-like masterpiece of six-pack abs and tree-trunk biceps. (I’m already three-quarters of the way there, too. I’ve got the eating, sleeping and watching TV thing down. I’m just waiting for the sculpting part to kick in.)
Maybe I need to give up on the idea of turning myself into a 22-year-old Calvin Klein model. First of all, I’m just a wee bit over the age cutoff. Secondly, I seriously doubt that I have the intellectual fortitude and overall brainpower to pull it off. After all, as a model, you have to stand. And sit. And sometimes they even make you do something creative…like speak. I really think it’s asking just too much of me to tear so many fledgling brain cells away from things like breathing.
And then there’s the fact that I’m pretty sure a piece of Calvin Klein clothing has ever actually touched my body. I’m really more of a Levis and T-shirt kind of guy. I’m sure there’s no room for me in Calvin’s world. (Unless we’re talking Calvin and Hobbes. I could get into hanging out with a stuffed tiger for a while. It would be way cool to fall into a few frames of Spiff the Spaceman.)
Hmmm. So if I’m not going to take the modeling world by storm, I should probably rethink my plan. Maybe I should set my sights at a more realistic long-term goal. I’m thinking middle-aged mutant ninja turtle sounds good. It has that polished and professional sound to it, and really seems to demand respect.

Subscribe via RSS

Subscribe via email