An old friend recently
mentioned proudly after dinner that he weighs the same today as he did in high school. It seemed a little less than
gracious considering that I am a top-heavy seventy-five pounds more these fifty
some-odd years later, but I put aside the insensitive if not insulting comment
in favor of a few oohs and aahs to show how impressed I was by his weight. I would not be as rude to him as he’d been to
me.
What I wanted to say
to him, however, was that he had very little to brag about. I know his metabolism is wired against weight
gain and that the only thing he’s done with fifty years of free time is aerobic
exercising—road work of one sort or another.
His work life was magnificent, and I am first in line to praise his
accomplishments in that area, but for some reason that perhaps only phys ed
teachers can follow, he thinks his lifetime of compulsive exercising and
fitness is worthy of universal admiration.
It seems to me, however, it is the biggest waste of a life imaginable.
He has squandered his
precious time on earth by stunting his
personal growth in favor of fitness and weight control. What is he fit for? As far as I can see, it is merely to insure
longevity (a dubious bet at best), but what is the great benefit of a long life
unless it is accompanied by intellectual growth? Fifty years of getting to the gym is an empty
life by my reckoning. He could have
done any number of worthwhile things--written books, studied the great minds
of the past, learned what art and history and science can teach us, mastered new fields of research. But no, his goal was to work out every day. And brag about his weight. What a waste.
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