Member-only story
My daughter loves going to the local Y. She heads there several nights a week to play basketball, ping pong, walk the track, etc. She always comes into the van with a smile. She is happy. She feels good.
And this makes me happy as a parent.
In my life I was a physically fit specimen a few years ago. I was training and eating with precision. I was competing in half Ironmans. I was finishing in the top 10 of local triathlons. I ran a sub 20 minute 5K on a 200+ lb. frame.
And then with a health scare one summer everything stopped and I have never been the same.
Each time I drop my daughter off at the Y I get mad at myself. I get mad because she is nudging me to get a sweat on without realizing it. It is not her intention to get me to exercise when she asks to go to the Y, but when I pull the van up to the door and drop her off, I am literally steps from the door. I have a built in a time slot to improve myself. And yet I drive away.
Why don’t I do it? It is because of FEAR.
Fat — I feel it. I hate it. I don’t like it. I have so much anger towards myself that it propels me in the opposite direction of saying, “screw it”. So I eat ice cream, chips, candy, and feed the monster.
