Ep 27: Holding on to half the man I used to be - I'm keeping the suits

This morning's breeze has the flag flying high at Peekskill Station.

Thursday, April 25

I have this lingering fantasy that I'm still half the man I used to be.

No matter how much I suck my stomach in I still can't comfortably fit into my size 33 pants.

I've been a 34 for years, but still desperately cling to my youth, believing I might someday find the time to work at trimming the impeding fat.

Pathetically, half my closet is filled with pants and suits I have not worn since 2005. That spring and summer I was able to trim down to 32 through a disciplined and very strict regimen of regular exercise, little to no carbs and salads every night for dinner. Half of those six months or so I also just had salad for lunch, and as you might imagine, I was often pretty darn hungry.

It was a good feeling though. Actually, it was a great feeling to be so fit and slim again. The last time I had been in such good shape was 1990. I was 21 and had ended my four year college relationship. So, suddenly single and free, instead of dating again, every day after work I decided to go to the gym for three hours and then to the local university law library to study for four hours, every day, six days a week. After 11 months I was a well-oiled machine.

This last time around, almost eight years ago now, I was slowly extricating myself of another relationship—my first marriage.  By the end of summer, everything was taut, my clothes fit me like a European, and I often had to tighten my belt an extra notch because my pants were loose. Occasionally, there were golden moments when I'd wake up and feel a flat abdomen. Those were glorious times indeed, but ones that are long gone as well.

Nonetheless and allthemore, I remain hopeful and delusional. 

For despite at least two and half more years of diaper changes to come; despite this long daily commute; despite all the upkeep it will take to make our 125 year old house our beloved home; despite all that it takes to be a good husband, father to five, son, brother and friend to many; despite the increasingly demanding corporate job; and despite my compulsion to write this, my daily blog, if only to appease the lost years of pent-up artistic and literary aspirations...

I'm keeping those suits.


The Peekskill Commuter

p.s. Please don't tell my wife, she'll just make me donate the suits, so she can take up my already very limited closet space...

Grand Central Station, 8 a.m. this morning.