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!

The Blessing of Incovenience

   This morning I saw a young lady crossing the street.

     Apparently she had just visited a gas station.   She was wearing flip flops and that style which I hope will one day fade away:  Pajamas.  The flip flops were common - after all, this is Florida - although I would not recommend wearing them when one is jaywalking down Apalachee Parkway (think of a wide street with a raised divider in your own city).  As for the pajamas...it's a personal choice, even though I don't let my kids walk out the house in them.

     Yet the most fascinating thing about her was the content of her nearly see-through plastic bag:  A two liter coke, some potato chips and other snacks.  The bag was from the gas station, but right next door is a Walmart SuperCenter.  Assuming that she had bought the overpriced items at the gas station, why would she overlook Walmart?  The reasons may range from customer service to proximity; yet the one that sticks in my mind is convenience. 

     How often does convenience drive our choices? 

     How often will we pay more for a commodity, when generics and even name brands (at a better price) are available nearby?

     How often will we reach for cheap and easy fast food, when we can (and need to) eat something better and healthier at home?

     How often will we spend a dollar, when saving it makes more sense?

     How often will we tolerate toxic behavior from toxic people, all in the name of  love (which incidentally shares the same first letter as laziness)?

     Do I need to mention exercise?

     How often will we take the path of least resistance, when we need the challenge of the road less taken?

     Inconvenience is a pain in the neck, but sometimes it might be the first step to becoming a better person.

     Always B Positive!