"Shut up, you bastard...who is fat!"

Growing up, I was always very self-conscious of how thin I was. "I'd love to be able to eat whatever I wanted and not gain a pound," girls always told me. "You're soooo lucky."

There's nothing like being constantly told by girls that they'd love to have your figure to really make a guy feel tuff.

I sure didn't feel very lucky, being the tall, gangly kid for most of my childhood. Although I'd always been an active kid (skateboarding/soccer/baseball/criminal enterprise), I was never particularly obsessed with exercise — meaning eating decently or keeping in shape. But, about eight years ago, I started running, usually late at night in bluejeans or whatever I already had on. As I got more into it — making afternoon trips to local parks to run, for example — I started to be less uncomfortable about being thin, and instead wore it as a badge of healthiness. Although I still wouldn't have minded toting around extra 20 pounds of thug muscle, I wasn't so uptight about being the skinny guy anymore.

It figures, then, that once I get to where I don't mind being thin, that my body starts to change.

Specifically, the change started nearly four years ago — the exact amount of time I've been married. Hmmm. Perhaps there's a connection to my weight gain and the extra time I spend with Italian in-laws that comfort someone by feeding them? (Not that I'm protesting too much.) It doesn't help either that I have gotten so far off of my exercise routine that I can't even touch my knees, let alone my toes. Now that we live in an area where the places that Connor and I can get some real exercise are at least 20 minutes away, it makes the prospect of getting back into a routine even more remote. Plus it's kind of hard to exercise with an independent toddler who insists on running everywhere himself. I can't imagine him doing very well in a seat on the back of my bike, either, but it wouldn't fit anyway since I have a dual suspension mountain bike...somewhere...though I haven't ridden in months. (I miss you, old friend.)

I guess I'll just have to wait until Connor is old enough to ride his own bike along with me while I huff and puff through a run like my brothers and I did to our dad. I wonder why he never let us do that very often? Was it the laughing and pointing? Perhaps the incessant circling and throwing rocks?