Die + T

Yes, I am on a diet. No, I'm not crazy. Yes, it's nothing that a more regular exercise program wouldn't solve. Yes, I do have serious body-image issues verging on the pathological. Any other questions? Good. Let's move on. I know I'm not fat. I also know I am not as thin as I once was. Is this age or chocolate? Likely the combined effects of both. I would like to be able to exercise more, but how exactly does one balance a full-time job with a relationship and still make time for creative pursuits (no, I'm not actually pursuing anything creatively at the moment, but that's the topic of another post), all while scheduling 90 minutes of brainless exercise three to four times a week? Truth be told, I'm not sure exercise actually works. At least the way I do it. I have belonged to a gym pretty consistently over the course of the past 10 years, and at one time, could be found diligently lifting dumbells at 6:00 AM, five times a week, to be followed by a breakfast of egg whites and power bar and a lunch and dinner of chicken breasts (two) and steamed broccoli. I looked like a million bucks. Well, a million yen, maybe. And yet, throughout that time, and the subsequent years up to this very day, I can't shake the nagging feeling that no matter how confident my pose, or how appropriate my gymwear, no matter how determined and masculine my self-gaze, or how convincingly expressed my grunts, that I in fact have no idea whatsoever what I am doing, let alone believe that it will have any positive effect at all. Exercise requires blind exertion; diet simply requires self-denial. This is an approach that has stood me in good stead.