HULK NOT SMASH!

     "Do you think he looks good?" I asked my wife.

     "No.  Actually, that looks nasty!" she answered.

     We were looking at a TV commercial, wherein a Black bodybuilder directs traffic.  A recent Yahoo news article featured similarly buffed up dudes, all of whom were sprayed with some kind of bronze-looking insta-tan.

     In answer to the same question, my wife said:  "No, they don't look good either!"

     "But don't you believe in fitness?" I countered.

     "Not when it turns you into a freak!"

     A month ago I set up a college marketing demo, wherein we built an outdoor gym that featured fitness challenges and exertion tests.  The Grand Prize was the opportunity to win a Spring Break vacation with all the amenities, including airfare, hotel and a complimentary bail bond.  The "at least you tried, you wimp!" consolation prizes consisted of the usual T-shirts, cups and samples of a curious fitness elixir.

     "What is this for?" I asked, holding up a tube of thick, pink liquid.

     My co-worker - a guy who looked more like he belonged on a construction site than a magazine cover - said:

     "Those are for body building."

     "Oh."

     I sipped one; it tasted like Cherry-flavored Robitussin and aluminum.

     My son is built like a gazelle and looks like he has zero percent body fat.  Years ago, I had a physique like his, and even dabbled with fitness briefly (VERY briefly).  To a young(er) man, the prospect of having women ogling over one's finely chiseled physique is intriguing.  After all, who wouldn't want to be able to strut into a room with a snap-away policeman's uniform, strip down to a Speedo and gyrate while crazy frauleins stuffed greenbacks into the waist band?  Years ago, I wanted to try this, but I never did:  With my luck, the women would have paid me a dollar to go away.

     I know I will  never regain my former, svelt figure.  And I will never look like those Hulks in the TV commercials.  But then again, nobody is testing me for steroids or taking away my (imaginary) gold medals.  Sometimes it is great to be a real-life, never-changing Clark Kent or an eternal David Banner. 

Always B Positive!

1600 Calories...

     "Hey Thomas, come join us!  It's only 400 miles, through the mountains of Texas!"

     "No thank you.  Maybe another time" I replied.

     "Hey Tom, I once traveled from New York to Florida.  Then I crossed the Everglades and even slept at the edge of a swamp, near the Indian Reservation.  I'd love to do another trip down there.  Would you like to join me?"

     "Nope..." I said.

     "Hey Thomas, I glad I found you.  We're putting together a round the world tour.  First we'll travel across the USA.  Fly to China.  Cross through lower mongolia, then across the former Soviet Republics, all those --Istans, then make our way through Europe, then fly back to the USA.  We'll be in a group of 20.  Want to join us?"

     "I'll pass..."

     Each of these were snippets of actual conversations I have had with fellow bike riders, each one fit and trim, each one healthy and each one begging me to join them in their collective mania.  I ride, but usually for one of three reasons:  First, because I work so close to home; second, to accompany my kids; and third, whenever I let my testosterone fool me into thinking that I actually know something about cars ("Thomas, just take it to the shop!" my wife has been known to say).

     Tonight I received a kick in the side from another source.  A fellow church member - who is the same size as he was in high school - greatly encouraged me.  He works in the medical profession and bikes daily.   He pointed out that we burn 1600 calories a day just by doing nothing.  So when combined with a modified diet, the prospect of biking to work is intriguing.  There are few hills and the bike lanes and sidewalks are wide and safe.  We also have showers at my job.

     When all of our excuses have been defused, what do we do next?

     Always B Positive!