For some reason, The Biggest Loser was on the TV when I came downstairs tonight after failing miserably at getting our child to bed and being pulled in the 8th inning so the closer could come in and seal the deal. She has many saves – our closer. Probably a record.
At any rate, I was only half listening to the TV when one story caught my ear. This guy used to be a large man with three kids and a loving wife at home – best friends, they said later. After losing a significant amount of weight and receiving a makeover, he commented about his former self. Life was just passing him by. He didn’t realize that he was doing so much damage to his body. He wanted to be around for his kids.
And I could almost see myself on that show saying the same thing. I wrote just last week about life being a “continuous re-creation of self” and of “seeking and forging one’s own way,” so I connected with what this guy said.
Why do we do this to ourselves, though? I’m reminded of a something Marlow says in Heart of Darkness (that I actually wrote down the first time I read it because it stuck out for me…that’s what kind of English nerd I am):
“Droll thing life is — that mysterious arrangement of merciless logic for a futile purpose. The most you can hope from it is some knowledge of yourself — that comes too late — a crop of inextinguishable regrets.”
In song after song, book after book, poem after poem, we see similar themes repeated: people seem to fall into a rut. Many of them must be jarred out of our comfort zone; else we run the risk of becoming Ralph Touchett or Prufrock.
I don’t mean to wax philosophical or literary on you all, but that uniquely human ability to become inert in one’s own life is intriguing, if for no other reason than that I’ve unknowingly fallen victim to it. It happens little by little; slips away, if you will. The verve, the energy, the vivacity slowly erode. Maybe your job starts to chisel away at it a little. Maybe you allow your environment to erase some of it here and there. Maybe you just get caught up in being instead of living. Before long, you’re a passenger in your own life. Like the guy on Biggest Loser said: life’s just passing on by.
And pretty soon you’re 30. You weigh 273 lbs. At 6 feet tall, your BMI is 37, which means that you’re “obese” and that you’re only 3 little points away from being considered “morbidly obese.” Your blood pressure reads 150/90.
You’re having these kinds of conversations with your doctor:
“Looking at this, you’ll probably be about 50 when you have a heart attack.”
“Oohh…I see. My grandfather actually died in his 50s after his 2nd heart attack.”
“Well, then…it’ll probably be 40 for you, then, with that history in your family. Ten years.”
You realize that in ten years, your child will be 14 – the age of the children you teach right now. An adolescent who needs his father. You and your wife will have been married for 15 years if she can manage to put up with you for that long. Who knows where you’ll be or what you’ll be doing, but it’d be nice to be alive for it. (Plus, your wife’s not getting the life insurance money that easily.)
You now have blood pressure medication until you lose enough weight to come off of it. You’ve got to watch your sodium intake, as well as the amount of saturated fat you consume. You’ve got to quit drinking almost everything that you like, save water, coffee, green tea, and Crystal Light. Water is your new best friend, as will be exercise tomorrow morning at 5:15 because you’ve got to lose 73 pounds.
You’re overwhelmed. Damn right you are. But you’re determined. That elephant in the room that you’ve ignored for so long or only paid lip service to…has been exposed. You can’t ignore it, no matter how much of a stubborn jackass you might be.
You know that this time, it will be different. Your life depends on it.
mightaswellruminate 