Like Janet Jackson, I plan to get skinny again.
I have spent my life in a constant struggle between obesity and anorexia. Janet looks good again. So will I. It’s time to take off at least 30 pounds and show these men (and women) that I’m still nasty when it comes to sculpting good genes.
At forty, a nice body is almost the only hope that is left in a world of Paris Hiltons. The grey hairs on the sides of my head are handsome, I’ve heard from a few who have passed by. Guys try to pick me up on the subway still. What if? I asked myself. What if I can be hot again, like I was six years ago? Just like Janet Jackson. Never been a drinker. I don’t have the wrinkles and red skin that comes along with alcoholism.
Seventy dollars is not a lot for a monthly membership at a premiere gym on Park Avenue, considering the new price of cigarettes in the city that never sleeps.
Effective June 4th, New Yorkers will pay $10 for a pack of Newports. I plan on quitting between now and then and to inspire myself along, I decided to join the gym again.
A hospitalization for schizophrenia almost did my sexy ass in. The six pack was gone before I left Trinitas hospital. I blew up like a cow. A nasty side affect to psycho tropic drugs like Zyprexa and Lithium is that it makes the taker fatter than Oprah was before she became really famous as a talk-show host. I looked horrible. Even when I worked out three years ago at a different gym, I only lost half of the weight I had gained during forced control in the hospital. I gave up the gym after a while. Why bother? I asked myself. Why do this to yourself? The pain in your head ain’t going to go away just because you have a bigger buttocks, I reminded myself.
That membership served its purpose. I was loosened from the imaginary chains strapped around my skull and spinal chord. The drugs made me so stiff. There were times when I couldn’t bend over to touch my toes. I spent many nights rolling upon the soothing tiles of the bathroom floor to relive myself from the tortures of those medications as I came off of them. Working out again helped a little.
There was no need to keep working out after doing it for a year. I felt prettier already and was tired of being the one to turn eyes in a crowd.
I wanted to write instead. I put down the barbells and picked up the pen. My mind and soul were resurrected. I haven’t been to the gym in two years, but thanks to the four years I spent in the Army, I will forever be built like Janet Jackson under the flab that comes along once in a while during depressing times.
All I have to do is work it off– and it’s the old me, like a story written long ago.
The weight continued to fall off by simply eating and writing right. I shrank into the old me, but with a little grey hair. It’s no big deal. I still got time to write a best seller.
My stomach looks good already and I haven’t even started my four- day a week work out routine.
I feel like I’m back.
(2 miles on the treadmill in less than 30 minutes and 30 minutes on nautilus equipment . I can’t wait to run in place again with a machine moving under my feet. Nothing to worry or think about…just run and make the blood flow.)
After my six pack returns, there will be a happy trail leading to a place where there are no grey hairs, yet. At least I’m not hairy. Still just a little in all the right places and none on my back.
Maybe there is more left to life to write about.
Chaz, the Golden Years….