Burgers & Pizza . . .

There is a serendipitous result that comes when one has transformed his or her body. I never thought much about how I would be viewed, and if not for my wife, my journey might never have started.  

It’s been over a decade and my physique looks nothing similar to what it once did. One can look in the mirror, but yet be blind, to what it actually reveals.  

I did not take any before nor after pictures during my transformation journey. The only clue that something has really changed is how I am viewed by others. 

An innocuous event happened at the barbershop which prompted me to dwell on it. My barber is very meticulous at his craft. Each person that sits in his chair is there for no less than forty-five minutes. I am accustomed to waiting even if I arrived at the appointed time we had agreed upon for my haircut. 

This particular day was no different. He was cutting a patron’s hair when I arrived. I inquired how many he had before me, and he indicated that I would be next. Knowing his proclivity for exactness, and seeing that the barbershop had gone through a transformation of its own; I sat down at a huge table. 

The oversized table fit in nicely with the six 65-inch televisions that adorned the walls. What made the table useful was the USB charging connections. I had just plugged in my iPad, and was getting ready to write an article, when one of the barbers sat opposite me.  

He placed a package on the table. He ripped wildly at the Amazon bag. He was overeager to remove its contents. At last, a diminutive box was revealed. He tore open the box, and marveled at its contents. He sprang from the table, and returned with a knife, a banana, and a bag of fresh strawberries. 

I had seen this particular barber numerous times. His chair was next to my barber’s. In the countless times we’ve seen each other, he never uttered a word, until that moment. 

“People eat burgers and pizza,” he said, while cutting strawberries over the miniature blender, “then wonder why they look the way the look. Hey, don’t you agree?” 

I had been watching the aforementioned scene through the corner of my eye, and was surprised that his statement was directed at me. I nodded. I was about to reply, when my barber motioned me to his chair. 

Perhaps, he had wanted to get a point across. He went to his station and plugged in the blender. Took a couple of sips, while the other barbers ribbed him about drinking from a baby blender. 

“They don’t know about this,” he said, in my direction. “Let them eat their burgers and pizza. What do they know about being fit like us?” 

I repeated his statement quietly to myself, “What do they know about . . . 



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