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Forever Young

Forever Young

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My son Harrison is 3. To me he hasn’t changed much since he was born. Then I look at pictures. It’s amazing how much he’s grown up since I’ve known him. And how much his body has changed. It’s the same thing with Chloe, Travis, and Mara. All of them have changed and grown so much in a few short years. And all look so much different now than in the old pictures. I wish I could age that well. I’m the only one that looks like trash now, when compared to the those past images I made an appearance in.

I’m officially ‘skinny-fat’ now. I used to be just skinny.

My body is no wonderland. Let’s go there for a second. A quick look in the mirror shows a big pointy nose with a bump in it, a hairline I generously call receding, and unwanted hair growing in waves everywhere else. In addition to the gut. And that’s just a quick glance. Upon further review, other notable qualities include long/thick eyebrows, pointy/skinny elbows, bad/inconsistent facial hair with gaps and sprouts, rotten toes, a fourth finger bigger than middle finger on both hands, two necks, and chapped lips that give carmex no chance.

I have great calves and eyelashes though. Or so I’ve been told.

If I was 67 instead of 37 I’d be fine with all this. Instead I always just choose wearing baggy clothes.

I still feel like I’m young though…and that’s not helping. When playing around outside with my kids–still wearing long basketball shorts dangling over my knees like I did in high school and college–I try to set the tone or at least keep up. Instead I frequently stub my toe or roll my ankle. I’ve fallen down on a run trying to keep up with Harrison on his bike. I once landed on my tailbone in the driveway trying to ride with Mara in the back of her toy truck, flipping her up and me back as we went off the curb. Caused a minor accident but she was fine. The neighbors standing outside didn’t seem to mind one way or the other, which confused me. Either laugh or ask if I’m okay.

Anyway,

I wish I could write off the body and lack of athleticism to the amount of inactivity during quarantine. No chance. That extra layer is still looming. The sad truth is before all this COVID stuff…a combination of poor diet, lack of exercise, etc etc, etc, and all the crap that people are supposed to do and avoid, I disregarded. I got away with it in my teens and 20’s because of my metabolism. My late 30’s are showing and telling a different story.

But why does it all have to go straight to my face and gut? That’s the most upsetting thing. Why can’t my body spread the wealth? Distribute the ball for gosh sakes. My face, neck, and stomach are acting like Carmelo Anthony…really hogging the ball and lacking efficiency at this point.

Oh well.

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I guess I’m just glad I can’t see the insides of my body. Even I wouldn’t want to do the analysis on that.

EDITORS NOTE: A few days after this post I went outside for awhile and threw a nerf football around with my son. I was sore immediately afterwards. And the next day.

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