Letting Go

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I walked past an office window and glanced at the reflection. Ahhhhhhh! Oh, my God! Who is that? It wasn’t me. It was Tommy Lasorda.

Why do I look like Tommy Lasorda? Why is it so hard to lose weight? Because our society encourages us to eat too much. I went to a movie last week and I saw a sign behind the concession that said, “FREE REFILL ON 130 OUNCE COKES.” I like Coke, but the last thing I want after 130 ounces of Coke is another 130 ounces of Coke! Hey, can you show the movie in the men’s room because that’s where I’ll be for two hours.

I came up with a song to capture my pain. This is the first verse- it is sung to the tune of “Locomotion”:

MY BODY IS DOING A BRAND NEW DANCE NOW.
EVERY DAY I NEED BIGGER PANTS NOW.
I’M GAINING POUND AFTER POUND WITH EASE
PRETTY SOON I WONT BE ABLE TO SEE MY KNEES.

A friend told me I just need to eat better. She eats healthy food and only in moderation. Come to think of it, I don’t know how she became my friend. To teach me the right food to buy, she took me to a natural food store.

I’ve never even heard of the place. I usually go to Ralph’s. As a single person, I normally grab a hand basket, race through the store and get out quick. A hand basket of food is usually thirty-five, forty or, if I splurge on some Pete’s Wicked Summer Brew beer, fifty dollars- at the most. At the natural foods place, one hand basket of healthy, natural food came to $7,000.

For what it cost at Ralph’s to buy a Totino’s Frozen Pepperoni Pizza, a box of Swift Premium Brown’N’Serve Sausage, a Pepperidge Farm Double Chocolate Cake, 2 packages of Chips Ahoy and 4 cartons of Jerseymaid Sour Cream, at the natural foods store you can get one organically grown tomato.

I’m trying to make some changes. I’m trying to eat healthy. I’m trying to learn some new habits. But I have to get a job at Kinko’s at night to pay for it!

The next day I decided to join a health club. My first day a tall guy with 2 percent body fat and two earrings introduced himself as my PERSONAL PHYSICAL COUNSELOR. I don’t remember his name exactly but it sounded like something from American Gladiators- like “Flame” or “Torch.” I hate guys like this- guys that eat whatever they want and still have only one size of jeans in the closet. “Torch” gave me my PERSONAL PHYSICAL ASSESSMENT interview.

“Let’s find out a little bit about you,” he said. “What is your current cholesterol count?”

“I don’t know exactly but it’s probably higher than my SAT scores.”

“Ever had headaches or nausea?”

“When my fiancee, Beth Reynier, broke off our engagement and kept the ring, I had both.”

“Any family history of heart disease?”

“Once- the summer I got my drivers license. When I told my dad I wrecked his 1965 Mercury Comet he went into cardiac arrest.”

None of these answers seemed to bother him. He didn’t want to talk to another dweeb trying to get into shape. He wanted to chat up the female Gladiators prancing through the club.

“Fine. Now let’s discuss your fitness goals,” he said without looking up.

I said, “My goals are simple. I want to be ripped. You know, cut. I want a six-pack. When I walk into a room I want women to snap their necks so hard they have to call paramedics. I want….”

He looked at me funny. Mrs. Ferguson, my fourth grade teacher, gave me the same look when Tommy Feehan and I couldn’t stop laughing when our class sang at the citywide School Choral Festival and Tommy’s twin brother Matthew fell backwards off the top bleacher.

Torch forged ahead, “Now, I’m going to place these calipers at various places on your body and the computer will read your body fat percentage.”

He clamped the calipers on my arm, thigh and calf. The computer registered that it had read the body fat with a “chirp.” Then he pinched my waist hard with the calipers. The computer rocked back and forth, spewing sparks and flames until smoke billowed out the back. Finally it exploded, falling off the stand and crashing to the floor.

“Don’t worry about it. We needed a new one, anyway.

OK, I have your results. The computer compiles all your information and prints a three letter code that summarizes your present fitness level. Your rating is DTW.”

“Huh?”

“Dunlop Tire Waist.”