Back in the early eighties, fruit smashing comedian Gallagher added a bit to his routine that reflected how his life had changed since becoming a father. He carried a diaper-clad anchor tied around his waist with a rope, and every time he came to a point in his story where someone would invite him to do something or go somewhere – he would throw the heavy anchor to the floor and respond morosely, “I’d love to, but … we have a baby. We can’t EVER go out AGAIN.”
Besides being hell on the stages where he performed, (but what part of his act wasn’t?) the anchor was a great literal metaphor.
I’m feeling a lot like Gallagher since being a part of the Healthy Lifestyle program. I know that eating better and being more active have changed my life for the better. The eating healthy part, more fruits and vegetables (Sledge-o-matic optional) has been a great and easy transition, resulting in a 20 pound weigh loss. But if I want to lose the remaining 20 pounds, the terrible awful truth is, I’m going to have to work it off.
When it comes right down to working out – I still feel like I’m dragging an anchor, or serving out the community service portion of a prison sentence when I schedule time with my personal trainer. Even though he is cute, that only goes so far in providing motivation. I’ve only got three more months left in my contract with him, after that, I’m going to have to find a reason to go there willingly on my own.
If only the rest of my family would join me in this. Things would be different. If only I had support peer pressure encouragement from the people I love so I could work in working out. I would become an energetic, muscular version of myself, with Michelle Obama’s arms, and Syd Charisse’s legs. I’d happily bound through the gym doors, dressed in my stylish Lululemon yoga pants, my water bottle in hand, ready to take my sluggish metabolism to dizzying heights…..
Who am I kidding? The truth is, after working all day, I’d much rather head to the local pub, or park my butt on the couch with a glass of wine. Relieving my frustrations on a treadmill, or some weight machine, while it may be a healthier option, is not my idea of relaxing, and just isn’t the first thing that springs to mind. (I grant you the glaringly obvious conclusion is, that’s how I got to where I am.) But I don’t do it that often, or to excess – usually.
But, much to my horror surprise, for Christmas, in response to my nagging begging request (did I actually say all those things out loud?!?) Downtown Dad got the family a gym membership! And they are using it! Almost daily, when I come home from work, or worse – on the weekend – one or more of my family members will come bounding toward me in full work out regalia, yank the wine glass out of my hand and drag me to the dreaded gym – like it’s fun or something.
I guess from now on, when my friends invite me to go somewhere, or do something, I’ll have to shake my head and reply morosely, “I’d love to, but … we have a GYM MEMBERSHIP. We can’t EVER go out AGAIN.”