The Problem With Being Fit

A few days ago a friend of mine asked me a question that gave me pause.  I was explaining how I was going to take boxing class on Sundays and was fitting that into my workout regiment along with karate classes, p90x2 workouts and trying to jog once or twice a week.  I told him I wanted to get ripped essentially.  Then he asked why.  I was taken aback for a moment.  Why wouldn’t I?  It’s the goal of all people to be physically fit and in peak performance, just some of us want to be there but we choose not to devote the time or effort., right?  Then I thought a bit more.  Why am I really doing this?  Is it worth it all the time all the effort?  Am I doing it for me or just to fulfill some societal itch that’d fed down my throat by media and culture.

As per usual I over reflected, over thought and mulled it about in my head for longer than might be healthy.  It ate my mind and I had to put it to rest so I could sleep soundly.  That night as I walked Mac I spent most of the walk arguing with myself.  First I thought maybe I’m just doing this because when I was younger I was made fun of for having put on some weight.

I remember exactly when the weight happened, or rather when my attitude towards food changed.  It was during fifth grade and I started to pick up the bad habit from my friend Marten, the crosswalk ladies son.  He snacked incessantly.  They always had a Slim Jim or chips or something else.  Up until that point I simply ate when it was time to eat, there wasn’t really much more thought put into it.  I didn’t seek out food, save, of course, for the occasional cookie which I would either sneak or cajole out.  My childish brain figured out the best way to get cookies.  It was simple and, most importantly, it worked.  Mom was far more stringent, or rather actually adhered to the rules, whereas Dad caved.  A five year old is very aware of these facts and is ready to exploit them.  So I’d first ask mom for the cookie because she might say yes and then there was no need for childish subterfuge.   But if she said no I’d wait a while and sneak the cookie.  I’d run upstairs to Dad and ask him if he wanted one.  He’d say no.  Then I’d say well can I have one?  He’d say yes.  Obviously as an adult it was completely transparent plan but it worked.  I’m sure being a cute little person helped the matter.

The problem was Marten’s food habit rubbed off.  I started snacking.  I started looking for junk food.  I’d eat and not really stop.  I didn’t think about it so much I’d just have a bag in front of me and I’d probably finish it.  It didn’t help that I was rather picky about food for a long time.  My main food groups being spaghetti, chicken tenders, peanut butter sandwiches and grilled cheese.  But when I didn’t snack it was okay. I ran outside constantly and was a whirlwind of energy.  I was a twig.  Weight wasn’t something I thought about.  Then I started playing outside less and playing video games more.  I started snacking in front of the television.  The one good thing that came about was I slowly started to really enjoy food.  I expanded my eating menu.  I was still eating junk food too often but I could eat all manner of foods now.  I wasn’t quite adventurous in taste just yet but I getting there.  I think all Hochberg’s have a love of food that lies dormant within them.  A deep appreciation for good taste no matter if it means a great hot dog or a fine steak or coq a vin.  But even with growth and puberty the whole not exercising as much and eating a lot did not bode well for me.  So I gained weight.  Quite a bit of it.  Of course I started gaining weight at the worst possible time, middle school.  Also to top things off I moved right before sixth grade so I knew no one. I was the new kid and I was starting to get chubby.  For quite some time I had a love and shame relationship with food.  I hated being overweight but I was bad at eating well.  When I went to college it started to change.  Freshman year I dropped a lot of weight.  Partailly because the food sucked on campus but also because I didn’t have junk food in my dorm room.  I didn’t go the groceries every week and pick up snacks.  It’s normal at my house to have a full candy jar or cookie jar.  And most everyone in my family is good with it.  But I tend to forget what I’m doing and end up with pile of wrappers or crumbs in front of me and the feeling that I just ate and large unnecessary heaping of calories.  Around the end of sophomore year I starting hitting the gym reasonably regularly.  I was finally kind of skinny again.  We’re talking a difference of over 200 pounds to somewhere in the 160’s.  I’d use the metrics system for weight but my country is obvious still ass backwards in measurement systems (I heart you metric system and your logical progression and use of math).  But for the next decade or so my weight would fluctuate.  A lot.  One thing that really fucked up my progression was breaking my leg my junior year.  That halted my workout activities rather quickly.  So bit by bit I started gaining weight.  At first I thought my clothes shrunk and then I realized, nope I just gained 10 pounds.  Good job schmuck.  So on and on it went.  I’d lose the weight.  Relax let my eye off the ball and it would creep back.

During my honeymoon (just over two years ago now) I let myself eat whatever the hell I wanted during the vacation.  It was week in Hawaii and I intended on not having any cares.  Calorie counting would not be an issue.  Shortly after this I was back in the 190’s.  I was upset at myself as I had been trying hard for a while, dieting here and there, working out, even cutting back on drinking.  I went as far as to partake in the South Beach Diet when I worked at the bank (four to five year ago) and I was an even 170 then.  I think the South Beach Diet was invented purely to upset me and make me feel bad about my life choices.  This whole no carbohydrates thing is alien to me.  My family would have bread with every meal, regardless if it was pasta, rice or starchy meal.  There was always bread sitting in the middle of the dinner table at night.

Fast forward now and I’m about 168 with muscle.  I finally feel  somewhat good about my weight and it took a long time to get here.  I cut out alcohol entirely for a few months.  I generally don’t eat the kinds of food I want to.  I exercise a lot.  But it was my goal.  I wanted to show those assholes who made fun of me that I could be in better shape than them.  I wanted to have defined abs at thirty one.  I wanted to be skinny and look good.

It’s a major pain in the ass though.  To keep on going I have to put aside hours and hours very week and push off things I’d rather do like write, read, play video games, watch a movie.  I don’t go out to eat as much as I used to and that’s one of the things I love. The food channel is kind of my voyeurism now.  I watch salivating going man I’d love to eat that… but I won’t.

So I think is all this effort worth it?  Do people think better of you if you’re in shape?  Does it really matter?  Are we just influenced by media to find skinny good?  Our culture seems to worship sex and money; the image is more important than the substance.  Being pretty is more important than being smart.  Just look at politics and the rampant anti-intellectualism there to see what we as a country hold dear.  Sadly it miht not be appropriate to call on our politician’s stances are a popular representation of American culture or what it holds important.

This still leaves me with the thought why am I doing this?  Is it a pursuit of the ideal of handsome?  Is it simply to wash away the years of teasing?  Is it because I’m just a sheep?  The sheep idea has some merit in that we create a fetish around being skinny but yet we push the idea of food, essentially the antagonist of being in shape, as needing to bigger for cheaper.  Plus it’s cost prohibitive to eat healthy.  Go to the grocery and buy a bunch of junk food and some microwavable meals.  Check the bill.  Now buy fresh produce and meats.  Its fucking astonishing how expensive it is.  Also I live near some dangerous wonderful specialty stores that like to wallet rape me.  I walk into Fresh Market or the Meat House and hear the song from Gene Wilder version of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

Maybe I take things a little too far with fitness and place too much importance on it.  But it’s taken me years to regulate my eating habits and it’s a constant battle reminding myself not to sit down and just eat.  It doesn’t help that I’m always hungry.  Maybe it isn’t worth it.  Maybe I’m just obsessing.  But I guess I’m okay with that.  I’m going to hit my goal of being visibly defined at least for once in my life.  After that who knows.  Oh, and I fucking miss pizza.  I think I’ll have some of that after I get those abs.

Ben