Six-pack of your choice
Oh, my poor legs. Argh, my sides. They feel like a Danish embassy.
I've started going to the gym, you see.
I am not, by and large, a vain person. Actually, no, scratch that, I think I'm fucking gorgeous, but I've never felt under pressure to do anything to maintain that. Spending a fortune on my appearance, on clothes, wanky haircuts, etc, is not what makes someone sexy. Being, as we humans are, one step out of the jungle, especially in the realm of sex, attraction is all about attitude, posture, charisma, etc. Some women, obviously think that part of charisma is plenty of cash, which is why Peter Stringfellow gets his end away, but , well, he's welcome to them. Me, I have a smouldering gaze, an air of danger and some cool leather jackets.
So, that doesn't count as vanity in my book. Nor am I the kind of person who will do something just out of obligation. For example, my one and only reader thus far, the delightful Miss Logic, is a Catholic, and she feels her beliefs are helpful and important to her. But I wouldn't pull any punches in yesterday's post for fear of offending someone, for fear of not being polite. I don't do things just because they are expected of me.
So, I'm not going to the gym because it's the done thing, or because the health nazis gasp when I say I don't exercise, or because I want to look good (although, now that I do go, for the reasons that will be explained below, the image of a six-pack and bulging biceps does spur me on). The reason for going occured to me when I started having trouble fitting into my jeans (waist 32, since you ask, but probably stretched out to 33 by wear and tear - like I said, I don't buy clothes often. The jeans I'm wearing today are probably seven or eight years old.) See, not only is buying a new wardrobe compliment of jeans (three's enough for anybody, right?) expensive and wasteful (what do you do with the old, still-good-after-a-decade jeans?), squeezing into too-tight jeans is uncomfortable.
With this in mind (discomfort, expense), and considering that I'm a smoker, a drinker and not the healthiest eater in the world (being vegetarian helps, but does mean I eat a lot of dairy), I decided it was about time I did something about getting old. Going grey (distinguished), getting wrinkles (ditto) and balding (shave it when it gets too bad) are not a problem. However, getting old and becoming unhealthy to the extent that it starts to affect your lifestyle and well-being is a problem - the aforementioned discomfort and expense.
You see, the Special One and I will eventually have kids - we're engaged a year, and we're thinking about thinking about having a chat about having a conversation about maybe setting a date and getting things organised - and it's extremely likely that I'm going to be the main provider, unless of course the Special One cracks the fashion world wide open. On top of that, I'm six years older than her. I'll be in my 30s when we have kids, I'll be in my mid-50s by the time we get rid of them (providing the world hasn't gone kaput by then, as Gaia theorist James Lovelock now believes) and I want to be fit and healthy both for the time I'm bringing them up, and for enjoying my autumn years. So, in a sense, I'm (cliche alert) investing in my future by getting fit. Of course, I could give up drink and fags too, but, you know, I think weaning myself off the crack cocaine is a big enough step for now.
Plus, I'll get a six-pack out of it.
I've started going to the gym, you see.
I am not, by and large, a vain person. Actually, no, scratch that, I think I'm fucking gorgeous, but I've never felt under pressure to do anything to maintain that. Spending a fortune on my appearance, on clothes, wanky haircuts, etc, is not what makes someone sexy. Being, as we humans are, one step out of the jungle, especially in the realm of sex, attraction is all about attitude, posture, charisma, etc. Some women, obviously think that part of charisma is plenty of cash, which is why Peter Stringfellow gets his end away, but , well, he's welcome to them. Me, I have a smouldering gaze, an air of danger and some cool leather jackets.
So, that doesn't count as vanity in my book. Nor am I the kind of person who will do something just out of obligation. For example, my one and only reader thus far, the delightful Miss Logic, is a Catholic, and she feels her beliefs are helpful and important to her. But I wouldn't pull any punches in yesterday's post for fear of offending someone, for fear of not being polite. I don't do things just because they are expected of me.
So, I'm not going to the gym because it's the done thing, or because the health nazis gasp when I say I don't exercise, or because I want to look good (although, now that I do go, for the reasons that will be explained below, the image of a six-pack and bulging biceps does spur me on). The reason for going occured to me when I started having trouble fitting into my jeans (waist 32, since you ask, but probably stretched out to 33 by wear and tear - like I said, I don't buy clothes often. The jeans I'm wearing today are probably seven or eight years old.) See, not only is buying a new wardrobe compliment of jeans (three's enough for anybody, right?) expensive and wasteful (what do you do with the old, still-good-after-a-decade jeans?), squeezing into too-tight jeans is uncomfortable.
With this in mind (discomfort, expense), and considering that I'm a smoker, a drinker and not the healthiest eater in the world (being vegetarian helps, but does mean I eat a lot of dairy), I decided it was about time I did something about getting old. Going grey (distinguished), getting wrinkles (ditto) and balding (shave it when it gets too bad) are not a problem. However, getting old and becoming unhealthy to the extent that it starts to affect your lifestyle and well-being is a problem - the aforementioned discomfort and expense.
You see, the Special One and I will eventually have kids - we're engaged a year, and we're thinking about thinking about having a chat about having a conversation about maybe setting a date and getting things organised - and it's extremely likely that I'm going to be the main provider, unless of course the Special One cracks the fashion world wide open. On top of that, I'm six years older than her. I'll be in my 30s when we have kids, I'll be in my mid-50s by the time we get rid of them (providing the world hasn't gone kaput by then, as Gaia theorist James Lovelock now believes) and I want to be fit and healthy both for the time I'm bringing them up, and for enjoying my autumn years. So, in a sense, I'm (cliche alert) investing in my future by getting fit. Of course, I could give up drink and fags too, but, you know, I think weaning myself off the crack cocaine is a big enough step for now.
Plus, I'll get a six-pack out of it.
posted by exileonpatrickstreet at 11:00 pm
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