Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Don't Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful
The Ironman tapeworm has officially arrived, and I am enjoying it too much to feel guilty about those who have sworn off Cadbury Eggs in favor of protein shakes.
I am always hungry and eat everything I can get my hands on--with some small effort to remain healthy. Even so, if it has calories and it's already dead, it is fair game. I may even start killing things and roasting them in my office if I can find somewhere online to buy a rotisserie spit that can be powered by a computer USB outlet.
Even with all this eating, I can't keep on the weight. I have now exhausted the smallest hole on my smallest belt that I bought during my first tri season after losing 30 pounds. The waist on my smallest suit is gapping. The sides of my trim-cut, tapered dress shirts are sagging over my belt like they're being worn by a cadaver.
And yet I can't buy smaller clothes because my shoulders and my quads and my glutes are larger while my belt-line is smaller.
I think Mrs. Greyhound is liking it, when I can stay awake.
And so, one of the side-effects of Ironman training is that the shy kid who never went out for sports because he loathed his own body and the thought of locker room nakedness terrified him
has become a wee bit more confident about his birthday suit.
Yet, it still came as a surprise when I was approached by a professor from the U0fH art department after swimming on campus. I guess I knew that the university used nude models to teach its art students about drawing, sculpting or photographing the human form. Still, I never thought I would be asked to disrobe.
She might have been flattering me, but she said my low percentage of body fat and muscular definition made me an ideal candidate, and she asked me to consider it. All sorts of questions immediately arise. Shave or wax or not? If so, shave what? What does it feel like to be naked in a room full of strangers? What if other things . . . er . . . arise?
But screw it. Enough with the habitrail and the cage. I told her I'd do it. So I need your advice on appearance, decorum, etc. I mean, I haven't thought about how "I" should look since the Second Reagan Administration before I got married.
And I'll post some of the artwork on my new blog, The Naked Greyhound.