Inhale. Pull inward. Not even close. Lie down on the bed. Inhale again. Minor grunt and pull harder. Failed a second time. Deeper inhale. Major grunt and pull with all my might. Success! I buttoned my pants.
Okay, maybe the pants I managed to close hadn’t been worn in a number of years, but still, I questioned, “How did this happen?” I have a bookshelf full of tennis trophies proving my athletic prowess. I still play tennis once or twice a week, and walk the dog daily. I have jump rope and hula-hoop contests with my fourth-grade daughter, Jessie. We also play basketball, soccer, tennis, and volleyball together. How did these extra pounds end up around my waist?
I have a few sneaking suspicions, beginning with “Two-Donut Thursdays.” But, my wife, Mattie, needs gas in her car and the donut shop is on the way. I also love ice cream, which is my comfort food at the end of each day. As soon as Jessie’s head hits the pillow, I open the freezer, pull out the half-gallon container, and start dipping. Challenging days require an extra dip — or two.
Recently, Mattie lost six pounds. Is it possible the pounds could have jumped off of her and onto me while we were sleeping? Or maybe it’s my intake of licorice, which keeps me alert while I’m typing or driving on long trips. The bag claims in big letters that it’s a “low-fat snack.”
My final hypothesis is that my metabolism has slowed down. According to WebMD, “for most people, metabolism slows steadily after age 40.” Though Jessie keeps this 54-year-old dad active, there’s only so much she can do. Or is there?
“Dad, I can help you lose weight!” I erred when I thought trying to get my pants shut was going to be the hardest part of my day. In a heartbeat after hearing about my waistline problem, Jessie had the laptop computer set up in the living room. “Dad, it’s time for your cardiovascular workout.”
Before beginning the workout, I remembered something I had seen on a recent stroll with the dog. My neighbor stopped at the end of the street, dropped down, and did 30 push-ups. As he walked past me, I said, “Wow, I haven’t done that many push-ups in 30 years,” but I thought to myself, “Show-off!”
Now, I might not be the poster boy for a gym, but felt confident I could handle a little nine-minute workout. Besides, it would be a fun daddy-daughter activity. I wasn’t even intimidated when a disclaimer popped up on the computer screen that suggested consulting a health care professional before proceeding.
Without going into all the details, three words summed up the nine-minute workout: “It wasn’t pretty.” I knew at about minute three that the next six minutes were going to challenge every ounce of my mental and physical toughness. I continued on with a sense of peace that at least I taught Jessie at an early age to dial 9-1-1 for medical emergencies. By workout’s end, my flushed face pressed against the living room carpet, but I had enough lung capacity to gasp to Jessie, “Don’t call for an ambulance.”
As my face regained its natural color and my breathing resumed its normal pattern, I realized my stud-muffin days have passed. Mattie says those days were all in my head anyway. Now I have to worry about the muffin top that’s starting to hang out over the waistline of my jeans.
Apparently, I need to make lifestyle changes involving fewer sweets and more physical activity. Luckily, I have Jessie and her various exercise programs and ideas. She already has the next video planned for our workout — belly dancing.
I’ll be sure to read any disclaimers that pop up before I do any shimmying. I might buy a bigger ice cream scoop, too.
Until next month, remember to cherish the moments. May your resolutions be easier than what Jessie is planning for me.
Patrick Hempfing had a 20-year professional career in banking, accounting, and auditing before he became a father at age 44. He is now a full-time husband, stay-at-home dad, and writer. Follow him at www.faceb
