I often wonder where all three of my sons got the affinity for weightlifting. Cory’s twin brother, Jason, attended Northern Michigan University on a weightlifting scholarship.
NMU actually trains the U.S. Olympic athletes. Jason never earned a spot on the Olympic Team, but he did win his bride Jessica, who was also there on scholarship trying to make the same team.
Both came away with a quality education which was more important than anything else in the grand scheme of things. Jason is now a Molecular Microbiologist with the FDA and Jessica is a doctor in the same emergency room where my third son Christopher is a Registered Nurse.
Like his twin brothers “Gutt” (a moniker he came by at birth which was bestowed on him by his older brothers) is also a weightlifting freak.
None of my sons inherited the love of the gym from yours truly. Although I’ve been a frequent visitor to the gym, no one is going to confuse me with my sons. Exercise is something of a dirty word for me.
Every time I say it I want to wash my mouth out with a Yuengling. Even when I was at my so-called athletic best, I was slow on a good day. Initially, I bought into the idea that I could exercise and lose weight. The problem was I was exercising my chewing muscles more than the rest of my body. After bulging to almost 350 pounds, I decided on a bariatric by-pass, losing nearly 150 pounds and regaining my health.
My wife says I cheated, to which I respond… and your point is? I tried losing weight the old fashion way. I was the poster boy for every weight loss program on the market. Nothing worked.
I turned to things they sell you in a bottle and quickly surmised that if it’s in a bottle and all you have to do is take it, everyone would be in great shape. Not! About the only exercise that I was getting was the path I was wearing in the carpet between the refrigerator and the television set.
Every time I feel like hitting the gym nowadays I lay down for a few minutes until the feeling goes away. And since exercising is like a poor man’s weight loss program and a poor replacement for plastic surgery, I’m content to remain ugly. At age 65, I’m in no shape to exercise.
About the most running I get in these days is when I volunteer to be the ball boy for the St. Cloud Bulldog high school football teams. Sometimes I get a real workout.
We opened the 2014 football season with a scoring fest. We were hosting Eaglecrest High School from Centennial, Colorado at the ESPN Sports Complex in Orlando, FL.
The halftime score was 48-40. We went on to win 69-56. I think I must have run ten miles chasing incomplete passes that night. Both teams ran fast-paced, no-huddle offenses. I’m an old man; I decided right then and there to hire a “runner” to help me chase wayward passes. So much for my exercise program.
After the bariatric surgery, it took me about a year to lose 150 pounds. I lost so much weight so quickly I noticed I only had one back pocket in my pants.
Nowadays, I’m getting more exercise acting as a pallbearer and a ball boy than I do anywhere else. I figure… why work out? No pain, no pain! That’s my philosophy.
The folks who count calories are the ones that kill me. Big deal… one exercise I did equated a 60-calorie count, which took care of the half-and-half I put in my coffee that morning. So now the best thing I exercise is the good judgment not to try to lift weights like my sons do.
When I was twenty, I was concerned with what others thought about the way I looked. When I turned 40, I didn’t really care what they thought. Now that I’m 65, I’ve noticed that nobody thinks about me at
all. So why bother to exercise?
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