Physical prowess is not a new concept. Athletic competitions date back at least as far as the first Olympics, which was way before my time. We're talking ancient - as in Greece.
Greek athletes were serious about their fitness goals. They had to be. They competed in the nude. One must be confident in one's own skin to let it all hang out while running or wrestling (avoid mental image here). I am lacking that sort of confidence.
My clothing sets me apart from the original Olympians. So does my gender. All Olympic sportsmen were sportsmen. Married women were banned from the ceremonies. The penalty for taking a peek was death via getting hurled off a cliff. Ouch.
I couldn't be a Greek Olympian, even if I wasn't a married woman. The naked Greek men who competed all wanted to be winners. I am hoping for the opposite.
I want to be a loser. I long to lose on multiple levels. Inches. Weight. Pants size. I think you catch my drift.
During the last few years, I've become a gainer. This happened when I wasn't paying attention. Now it seems I am too big for my britches and I've bitten off more than I can chew - except my ability to chew isn't the issue. I can chew just fine. Chewing stole the loser out from under me, because we all understand that chewing leads to one thing: eating.
I love to eat. I prefer to do it every day - more than once actually. Unfortunately, this hinders my quest for membership in the loser's club.
Being a loser is like a math equation. You must take in less than you expend. This is called the theory of loseability and involves gravity and the expansion of one's waistline. You may have seen the theory symbolized as "Expenditure equals meal calories squared," or E = MC2.
The theory is difficult for me, but not because of my deficiency in math skills. The problem lies with athleticism, and my lack thereof. However, I've discovered desperation - and an increasing pants size - can cause one to rethink one's aspirations for expenditure as well as mathematical prowess.
The ancient Olympians expended in the nude. This is no longer the case. In order to successfully expend, you must first spend. Modern-day athletes hang out in moisture-wicking thermal-dynamic body-stabilizing fabric from outer space. The right workout attire is key to successful loss; or if it isn't, at least you'll look good trying.
The second part of the losing equation pertains to consumption. Some people call this a diet, but I find the term repulsive. Delete the last letter from the word and you are left with die. I don't want to die, at least not before I become a loser.
Instead of the "D" word, I prefer a food plan I call a live-it, because losing should include living. Oh, sure you'll need to become familiar with the anti-calorie group otherwise known as raw celery and cucumbers, but a juicy burger isn't out of the question, so long as you've got your expenditures up for the day.
It's all about the math.
That's nothing new. The ancient Greeks realized it more than 2,000 years ago when they measured distances and race times; numbers don't lie. Embrace their truths and they'll no longer be the enemy. It's good news. You don't have to master advanced calculus or memorize the Pythagorean theorem. You don't need to possess the athletic prowess of a Greek Olympian. But you can still be a loser - just like me.
- Jill Pertler's column appears every Thursday in the Times. She can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net.
Greek athletes were serious about their fitness goals. They had to be. They competed in the nude. One must be confident in one's own skin to let it all hang out while running or wrestling (avoid mental image here). I am lacking that sort of confidence.
My clothing sets me apart from the original Olympians. So does my gender. All Olympic sportsmen were sportsmen. Married women were banned from the ceremonies. The penalty for taking a peek was death via getting hurled off a cliff. Ouch.
I couldn't be a Greek Olympian, even if I wasn't a married woman. The naked Greek men who competed all wanted to be winners. I am hoping for the opposite.
I want to be a loser. I long to lose on multiple levels. Inches. Weight. Pants size. I think you catch my drift.
During the last few years, I've become a gainer. This happened when I wasn't paying attention. Now it seems I am too big for my britches and I've bitten off more than I can chew - except my ability to chew isn't the issue. I can chew just fine. Chewing stole the loser out from under me, because we all understand that chewing leads to one thing: eating.
I love to eat. I prefer to do it every day - more than once actually. Unfortunately, this hinders my quest for membership in the loser's club.
Being a loser is like a math equation. You must take in less than you expend. This is called the theory of loseability and involves gravity and the expansion of one's waistline. You may have seen the theory symbolized as "Expenditure equals meal calories squared," or E = MC2.
The theory is difficult for me, but not because of my deficiency in math skills. The problem lies with athleticism, and my lack thereof. However, I've discovered desperation - and an increasing pants size - can cause one to rethink one's aspirations for expenditure as well as mathematical prowess.
The ancient Olympians expended in the nude. This is no longer the case. In order to successfully expend, you must first spend. Modern-day athletes hang out in moisture-wicking thermal-dynamic body-stabilizing fabric from outer space. The right workout attire is key to successful loss; or if it isn't, at least you'll look good trying.
The second part of the losing equation pertains to consumption. Some people call this a diet, but I find the term repulsive. Delete the last letter from the word and you are left with die. I don't want to die, at least not before I become a loser.
Instead of the "D" word, I prefer a food plan I call a live-it, because losing should include living. Oh, sure you'll need to become familiar with the anti-calorie group otherwise known as raw celery and cucumbers, but a juicy burger isn't out of the question, so long as you've got your expenditures up for the day.
It's all about the math.
That's nothing new. The ancient Greeks realized it more than 2,000 years ago when they measured distances and race times; numbers don't lie. Embrace their truths and they'll no longer be the enemy. It's good news. You don't have to master advanced calculus or memorize the Pythagorean theorem. You don't need to possess the athletic prowess of a Greek Olympian. But you can still be a loser - just like me.
- Jill Pertler's column appears every Thursday in the Times. She can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net.
