by Charlie Hartley
I’m overweight. Or so everyone tells me.
To combat this, I’m going to lose 100 pounds this year. To motivate myself—to set a target—I have already registered for Hawaii’s Ironman Triathlon: 1 mile swim, 500 mile bike ride (or whatever), 26 mile run. All in I am, even though my name isn’t Sam.
This year, to lose the weight and prepare for the race I’m going to eat the following and nothing else: sushi, caviar, lettuce, cucumbers, filet of fish sandwiches from McDonald’s, gluten free hummus, barley, sauerkraut on hot dogs, Manhattan Clam Chowder, boiled tomatoes, brussels sprouts, green tea, Cherry Diet Dr. Pepper, and creamed corn.
In the weight room I’m going to become Charles Hartley Atlas. Upper body regimen will start out this month at my local YMCA with curling 12 pound free weights with both arms simultaneously. In February, I’ll up the ante to running 120 minutes on the treadmill without walking or stopping or even to talk to my friend Art, who lives there. In March, I’ll start the elliptical bike for 2 hours and build up to 4 hours by April. I’ll take the month of May off to get fired up for the Kentucky Derby. In June, I’ll take another month off to get eight EKGs (two per week) administered by some beautiful nurses at my internist’s office. While there they’ll check my glucose levels with some newfangled wireless technology.
In July I’ll subscribe online to Men’s Health Magazine and, while waiting for my subscription to arrive the next month, will go to Barnes and Noble and buy the current issue. I’ll call the editor and pitch a story to him about how I’d be compelling to feature on the publication’s cover in the October issue (Halloween season so season of trickery and scariness).
“You know, the angle would be middle aged overweight guy gets his act together, starts losing weight, claims to be eating healthier, registers for the Iron Man, but gets sidetracked for a few months and stops working,” I would pitch over Skypeing with the editor from a McDonald’s Drive Thru on my iPad Mini. “It’s a story every man can relate to.”
The editor would ask: “Hey, dude, do I hear someone in the background”?
“Yes,” I would answer. “I am waiting for the McDonald’s Drive Thru guy to give me my order.”
“McDonalds,” he would say. “How often do you eat at McDonald’s?”
“At least once a day and sometimes twice,” I would say. “Lately I’ve been jonesing for their egg nog shakes so going there for lunch. It’s a little embarrassing to order milk shakes for breakfast. Bad for my image. So I go back for lunch at get the egg nog. Same deal in March when they give out St. Patty’s Day green shakes.”
Editor: “How can you compete in the Iron Man Triathlon while eating daily at McDonald’s?
“That’s the angle, dude,” I said. “The story would have all the Men’s Health fellas aghast. Isn’t it a good thing for your cover story to stir the pot, make your readers squirm?”
Silence for 12 seconds. I could tell the editor was thinking.
“Didn’t you tell me you were eating healthier this year?” he queried.
“I told you I claimed I was eating healthier. I wasn’t telling the truth. That was spin so you would keep talking to me. Would you have taken my call if I told you I’m training for an Iron Man and eating healthy? Of course not. No story there, dude.”
Editor: “Let me think about it. I’ll get back to you.”
He never got back to me.
Undeterred, I made my plans for August, which were to go to the beach and hang out. No exercise in the plans because, hey, it’s my time off. And yes, junk food was allowed especially boardwalk greasy fries and grease-fried waffles with the white power sprinkled on top.
In September, I regained my focus. The Iron Man, yes, when is it? I found out it already happened earlier in the summer.
But there was October and the Washington, D.C. Marine Corps Marathon, 26 miles of distilled hell. Nah, why put myself through that, I though? Good thinking, I thought.
Time was running out on my big health ambitions. I had not kept to my healthy eating regimen. McDonald’s ruled my life and I succumbed to that willfully and, in fact, without much fanfare. Hardly anyone noticed which psyched me up.
The Boston Marathon—ah, that’s in November. No, I thought, too many hills.
December is always a busy time with lots on everybody’s plate. It’s also egg nog shake season at McDonald’s. I foresee far too many distractions to get back on track in December. Besides, the year will be just about over.
Maybe next year.