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Now, my mother has advised me that my last article was, and I quote, 'naughty.' Yes, my little feisty Greek mother called to inform me that she had to put the paper down, and hide it from her sight because it was racy and more risque than she could handle. She asked me, in a hushed, exasperated tone, "Why can't you write about some nice, normal things?"
Just forget about where I could go with that. I am taking the higher road and exploring a topic that makes me just as frustrated as Cupid and his lusty arrow of love: body image. Oh, pumpkins, I grow tense just mentioning the phrase.
Spring is about to burst onto the scene, as are the seams in my cute pants that make my basket less a tisket and more a tasket. All the layers will be shed and the outfits will get tighter and smaller. If you think you detect a little anxiety, then you are right on the mark.
This year, I am not letting it sneak up on me like some over-eager bar troll who thinks you are an all-access cable network and he is your late night subscriber.
That's right. I have my gym membership, all the right workout outfits to hide the extra winter pounds from dedicated gym queens, and alal the workout partners I can handle. I have my spinning schedule for buttocks and calves, yoga for centering, circuit training to make sure that all my curves and dimples are in the right places, and a personal hygiene regimen to ensure that my skin is as fit as my body will be.
I am also incorporating bicycling into my hectic workout schedule. Why, you ask? That is an answer that will take a few moments, so sit back and enjoy the ludicrousness that is my life.
I am engaging in the gay man's 'deal-a-workout' program, not only because I am concerned about my body and health and because I understand that my body is a temple and if membership is down, then I'd better do something to bring them back in their Sunday best.
No, my reasoning is much pettier than that, really. Yes, pumpkins, I have decided to become the gym boy that I truly am not, because someone had the nerve to inply that I could not do the 100-mile Champ Ride '99 on June 12.
Let me take you back. I was telling a friend — well, maybe friend is just a tad liberal — about the 25/50/100-mile bike ride through some of Vermont's prettiest scenery that Vermont CARES is sponsoring, and how it would be nice to be a part of that ride. This friend scoffed, chuckled even, at the mere notion that I could do something that required some athletic stamina.
Said acquaintance went on to say that the most physical exercise I have done in a crowd is holiday shopping at the mall. Well, I know a challenge when I hear one, and I plan to wipe that smug little expression off that face when I cross the finish line with all those other cyclists.
I will cross that finish line, with my stunning color coordinated cyclist outfit, and know that I supported a cause that I truly believe in — AIDS Services and Prevention — and looked yummy doing it.
Now, the yummy part is really important. As my relatives tell me, I am not getting any younger, and since I am not 'with partner,' I really need to make a concerted effort to put my best foot forward. I need to firm up, slim down, and get over myself. That is what the Council of Thomas is telling me. I need to find a man, buy a house, get a dog and invite people over for Sunday Brunch. I need to start a family. Not a family in the child sense, my mother is clear on that, but someone I can build a life with.
So, off I go to build my body, clear my mind, and find my center. Basically attempting to get my stuff together. I am using Champ Ride '99 as my challenge. That will be my focus. If I throw this buttock into spandex and mount and ride a bike for 100 miles through Vermont, pumpkins, I can walk up to some guy that I have had a crush on for months and ask him to join me for a coffee. That is, after my spandex clad buttock is able to sit down.
If you want more information on Champ Ride '99, call Vermont CARES for information or look for the ad in the March issue of Out In The Mountains to register.
All I ask is that if you bring your camera, and I know a few of you sadists will, make sure you have a wide-angle lens.
