GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #126: A CONFESSION

Whoo-boy. How am I going to say this? I doubt any of you reading this knew me when I was in elementary school. I mean, it's possible since a few of my relatives follow me, including my Dad, but it's unlikely. So I'd say 98% of you know my feelings on sports. My current feelings, that is. But . . . garsh. I used to feel different.


Here goes. I, uh, used to be athletic. Holy fuck, I can't believe I'm going to confess to this, but there was a time I liked baseball and was fairly good at it. I can remember spending endless hours playing catch against a brick wall by myself. Or, almost as often, playing baseball with my cousin and a few of our friends (more his, since I barely had any at that age) against the same brick wall (since we didn't have a catcher). In fact, during my Cub Scout years, I was good enough to get a couple of grand slams.


I know, I know. Most of you who know me now could never see this happening, but it's true.


I was decent at tag football. I sucked at basketball, but I was willing to put in an effort. However, I really excelled at dodge ball. But as much as I liked dodge ball, I was fucking amazing at obstacle courses. I think it was because I was immune to pain back then. Being routinely beaten physically by schoolmates and family will do that to you.


What happened? How did I go from being fairly fit to being the fat slob I am now? I'm not making excuses--I'm fat and unhealthy because I don't have the willpower to NOT be--but I can trace it back to one turning point: when I broke my leg in the fifth grade.


I was terrified of riding a bike on just two wheels. I lasted until fifth grade on my training wheels, but I got tired of people making fun of me, so I took the fuckers off and tried riding a bike without them. The first time around the block? I actually did pretty well. The second time? *collar pull* I turned into the alley behind my house, and I did it a bit faster than the gravel would have allowed. I skidded and busted my leg. I also tore the shit out of my arm. I'd have a cast on my leg, and my arm would be in a sling, for quite some time.


Because of this, I lost out on my final year as a Cub Scout. I never got my WEBELOS badge, which I wanted desperately. In fact, by the time I could walk on my own again, I lost any desire to do the obstacle course on Field Day near the end of my last year at elementary school, which was my favorite part of the school year up until that point. Soon, I began eating McDonald's for dinner for six years straight. No shit, I seriously ate McDonald's EVERY FUCKING NIGHT for six years straight.


If quantum physics is right, there are quite a few alternate universe versions of me who are athletic and probably playing baseball. Or at least some of them won Double Dare a few times.


For a brief time in college, I was slender and good looking. My hetero-life partner Robert Tannahill once told me I looked like an underwear model back then. But I just fell into that lazy motherfucker, eat a shit-ton of McDonald's rut.


Tomorrow, I start juicing. (Don't worry, I have some fiber supplements, so I won't lose that from my diet.) Hopefully, by this time next year, I'll look like that underwear model again.