Fat ass
Do you ever feel like, no matter how fit you feel, there is always someone else who is fitter? For some people, this question is irrelevant. For others, it's a daily reminder.
Being told that I am going to work at a fitness expo on Saturday and Sunday is not my idea of quality weekend-time. All of those crazy people around you, talking about their routines and regimes. You're not sure if you're at the gym, or in some Communist country.
Since I have to pick up a set of tickets for the show, and my contact person is nowhere to be seen, I hang around the lobby and common areas. So many muscles on so many people. Yeesh. All I can think of of is, If everyone looked like this, McDonalds would go bankrupt. Well, that's not entirely true. I also think I want to force-feed them Big Macs and watch them disappear for days, while they work out unnecessary carbs and calories from their system.
The only thing you see is skin. Tight skin over taut muscles. Cut arms, six packs, killer thighs, asses that defy gravity. Did I mention these are the women? And, don't get me started on the men.
Unless you're one of the competitors/contestants, you feel out of place. Fuck, even I feel out of place. As fit as I (think) I am, I know I am not ripped (or tan) enough to be here.
God, I feel like a tub of lard. Pass me some bacon, eggs and hash browns. And, don't skip on the grits, honey.
Strangely enough, a high-school vibe is going around. Cliques. One group here, another there. Stake your identity. Everyone wants to be the cool one, the popular one. Yet, no matter how hard you try to assimilate, you're an outsider.
But, I don't care. Yes, I am not really an outsider amongst these protein-shake, fake-n-bake lovers. I don't feel embarassed if I have to walk around in my underwear - I do it all the time. The only thing that sets me apart is the fact I'm not wearing spandex and don't smell like coconut oil.
My contact finally arrives, and I get the tickets. The exchange is quick and painless.
As I walk back to work, I'm feeling hungry. Something fattening. Maybe a burger and fries. Nah, too unhealthy. What about a deep-fried, power bar? Now, there's some good eating.
Who cares if my ass gets fatter? Who cares if my stomach isn't as tight tomorrow? I'll live another day. I'll eat another burger. I'll form my own clique and I'll belong. Somewhere.
Being told that I am going to work at a fitness expo on Saturday and Sunday is not my idea of quality weekend-time. All of those crazy people around you, talking about their routines and regimes. You're not sure if you're at the gym, or in some Communist country.
Since I have to pick up a set of tickets for the show, and my contact person is nowhere to be seen, I hang around the lobby and common areas. So many muscles on so many people. Yeesh. All I can think of of is, If everyone looked like this, McDonalds would go bankrupt. Well, that's not entirely true. I also think I want to force-feed them Big Macs and watch them disappear for days, while they work out unnecessary carbs and calories from their system.
The only thing you see is skin. Tight skin over taut muscles. Cut arms, six packs, killer thighs, asses that defy gravity. Did I mention these are the women? And, don't get me started on the men.
Unless you're one of the competitors/contestants, you feel out of place. Fuck, even I feel out of place. As fit as I (think) I am, I know I am not ripped (or tan) enough to be here.
God, I feel like a tub of lard. Pass me some bacon, eggs and hash browns. And, don't skip on the grits, honey.
Strangely enough, a high-school vibe is going around. Cliques. One group here, another there. Stake your identity. Everyone wants to be the cool one, the popular one. Yet, no matter how hard you try to assimilate, you're an outsider.
But, I don't care. Yes, I am not really an outsider amongst these protein-shake, fake-n-bake lovers. I don't feel embarassed if I have to walk around in my underwear - I do it all the time. The only thing that sets me apart is the fact I'm not wearing spandex and don't smell like coconut oil.
My contact finally arrives, and I get the tickets. The exchange is quick and painless.
As I walk back to work, I'm feeling hungry. Something fattening. Maybe a burger and fries. Nah, too unhealthy. What about a deep-fried, power bar? Now, there's some good eating.
Who cares if my ass gets fatter? Who cares if my stomach isn't as tight tomorrow? I'll live another day. I'll eat another burger. I'll form my own clique and I'll belong. Somewhere.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
1 Comments:
Fitness expos are created to make everyone feel inferior. They hang in cliques because there's strength in numbers, but you know even then...each member is in competition with the others. My summer time 'fatso' cure, is to go to the fair and stand near the 400 lb man who's scarfing down deep fried Twinkies and Snickers bars. I win! (I just can't watch.)
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