July 1

It's July 1. A day of reckoning heavy with implications and accusations. Listen I need signposts, measuring points, I need to evaluate and ponder. On January 1, I began my fifty eighth year on this planet. Determined to make change, to make my way, to wrestle my life to the ground and get out of it exactly what I want. Today I am officially half way through my fifty eighth year.
And I am not pleased, seemingly for the silliest of reasons. I weighed myself on
June 1. 173 pounds. My goal was to get under 170. I cranked up the exercise regimen dramatically. Went from 20 minutes on the exercise bike to 30, and walked 2 miles as often as I could. Of course June sucked and I could not get out there nearly as much as I wanted to. I weighed myself today. 175 pounds. I GAINED TWO POUNDS. How the hell can that be? I was completely bummed out. Then I rationalized - it has to be muscle. I am doing a little light weight work to avoid flabby old man arms, and I am working my legs like crazy - gotta be some muscle increase there, right?
But I am still bummed out. I need to see measurable progress, and weight loss is the only area I am going to get that. Let's face it, nobody is going to walk up to me and say "Gee you're a great writer, here's $400,000 - write a book." Nobody in the liquor commission is going to say "You are an accomplished low wage earner, we're promoting you and your salary is now $120,000." These things are going to come hard and they are going to happen slowly.
But weight loss for christ sake. I bet I averaged five days a week on that goddamn exercise bike and that is no exaggeration. And I walked every day that I possibly could. This is a lesson for you youngsters. When you are young, you can eat three double quarter pounders a day every day for a week, drink a twelve pack of Bud every day and eat five complete pecan pies, and if you do three sit ups you will lose 6 pounds. I can run a marathon every day for a week, do 100,00 sit ups, ride the exercise bike for 2 hours every day after running the marathon, eat one cup of yogurt a day and nothing else, but if I eat one cheeseburger during the week I will gain 9 pounds.
This is the point where I would normally give up. Grab a bottle of civilized whiskey, cook up some cheese covered eggs and butter slathered toast, and curl up in my recliner with a five star porn flick. But you are looking at the 2011 version of me. I don't have to leave for work until 12:30 today. And before that happens I will walk two miles, ride the exercise bike for 30 minutes, and mix in a couple of sit ups and some light weight work to avoid flabby old man arms.
Because as of this morning I am operating on faith. The weight scale flipped me the bird big time (it's lucky I didn't smash it to death with a hammer). I got nothing else, absolutely nothing else to go on except my belief that I am doing the right things. I know it in my soul and I will not quit. Evolving is not easy, cracking your way out of the egg takes effort, and if the world will not give me positive feedback I will create my own.
You say "But Joe, think about the good you did for your heart and circulatory system." I don't care. Fernando Lamas is the life guru who said "Remember, darlings, it's better to look good than to feel good." Pure genius.
So that's where I is today. I went from crushed desolation to grim determination. I cain't be beat, I won't be beat. I will exercise, I will write, I will pursue a phony baloney career within the liquor commission and I will come out of this thing bigger, better and happier than I have ever been before.
It is a noble thing for a man to better himself, to take a look around and decide that he doesn't like the surrounding landscape and to set about making changes. I am trying to reinvent myself in my own image (it's complicated, I know), I am digging down through layers of filth and muck and nastiness, trying to get to and polish up that rare and beautiful diamond.
It will happen, and the hell with that scale, it's probably inaccurate anyway.