Charlie Shh and I share the same problem, all my weight gain goes directly to the belly, every calorie of it, and the only fix is to stop eating so much, which is hard, very hard.
I quit smoking some years back which was far easier than quitting eating. I was one of those lucky ones’ who could eat as much of whatever they liked and not put on weight until my late fifties, hard to change your way of life to suddenly have to join the lifelong diet crowd.
There all sorts of fat people. The pear shaped ones, the lady curvy ones, the big butt ones, but sadly for me, it is the belly ones who are in the most danger of dropping dead.
Of course it’s a simple matter to correct, just stop shoveling it down like there is no tomorrow, often because that “no tomorrow” thing becomes more of a possibility as time moves on.
Of course there are also great excuses for old farts getting fat. The mating game is over, the career is done, the children are gone and the party is over, well other than jello shot Sundays at the Tiki Bar.
So what is there other than the food? Well besides putting on a Hawaiian shirt, a pair of shorts, grabbing a camera and taking your fat wife with ankle bandages touring castles and museums?
At this age we also find ourselves too much involved in dealing with our parents and nursing homes, all that depression is a two way street, let me tell you. Just the dining area alone can make you want to shoot yourself. Looking past the maze of parked walkers I notice there are no fat people – where have all the fat people gone? No men with fat bellies. In fact few men at all. It is must endless tables full of a wrinkled living mass of blue haired old ladies who have worn out their welcome some time ago, all trying to get their soup to their lips without spilling it all over their bibs.
The three people I have lost who were closest to me me all went bang down dead in a minute. Which is good for Social Security, good for Medicare, good for the planet, and if your time is up, good for them. And though that fast track is tragic for the rest of us in the short run, in the long run it’s also a good thing.
This year I lost Howie who was found sitting face down in his folded arm with a bag of groceries at the kitchen table and his jacket still in his hand near the floor. Sign me up for that.