The Migration . . .

It is almost a surreal site to see. Similar to watching birds migrate from a warmer climate to one where it is winter. Fresh from celebrating the dawn of a new year, they overrun gyms, vowing that this year will differ from the last.

Resolutions, they decry, will be accomplished this year. The multitude of slovenly postures, overweight and distended bodies, carrying cellulite as if it were a belt for men, or an extension of their hips and thighs as it pertains to women marks the beginning of the migration.

In order to understand how I got here, I would be remiss if I did not provide some background information. You see I had been a part of this pilgrimage and had managed to break from the annual rite of passage, but that is a story for another time.

My daughter made pancakes that particular morning. This would probably be a customary breakfast in other homes, but for ours it was a momentous occasion. Dad was actually going to eat pancakes and forgo his morning protein shake. This no doubt delighted my wife and daughter, because they would relish seeing me drown them in syrup.

The conversation then turned to the progress I had achieved in the gym. My daughter insisted that I should chronicle my transformation.  

‘Why would anyone be interested in my exploits at the gym?” I queried, while reaching for the first pancake.

“Dad,” my daughter squealed, “you can write a blog, and show pictures of the belly you used to have.”

“I never had a belly,” I teased, looking at my wife.

“Yes, in that Christmas picture, when you were holding me as a baby. Mom, you remember . . .”

My wife smiled but said nothing at first. No doubt reminiscing how she used to rub my distended midsection.

“You said it yourself,” she cajoled me, siding with my daughter about starting a blog. “The people at our gym look the same, although they have been exercising for over a year.”

I started thinking what I had done differently to transform my body. If I took the time to chronicle my journey, would anyone care enough to read it. There were of course numerous other publications on the subject, could I impart something different?

The gym is the only place I know where I could get away with being selfish. Once I started the music and began warming up, there was no time for idle chatter. I was not there to make friends or socialize. I was there for one purpose and one purpose only, to carve away the imperfections, and build a body, where muscles could be seen with every movement.

I decided that this article would be sort of a litmus test. If this blog created a following, and individuals found the information useful in their own fitness journey, then I would continue to share, in hopes that my experiences lead them to ultimate success.




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