|
Like many men between the ages of 30 and 33, I'm in my early 30s. Also, I'm getting fat. But it's not my fault. I suffer from an addiction that makes it hard for me to keep trim. Thousands of others share this addiction, though, as far as I know, no one has ever discussed it in public. Until now. I'm addicted to not jogging. I don't know how it started. It seems I've been not jogging all my life. Of course, I never really had a chance considering the role model I grew up with. My father was a raging non-jogger. I don't have a single memory of his not not jogging. In the morning, before he left for work, he'd drink an entire pot of coffee, smoke half a pack of cigarettes, and then not jog. When he came home from work, it was more of the same. I swore I would never be like him. In high school, I starting experimenting with not jogging. First it was only on weekends, during parties. I guess you could say I was a social non-jogger. Then I would not jog a few times during the week. It wasn't serious, I told myself; I could stop not jogging anytime I wanted. By my sophomore year in college I had totally lost control. I was not jogging like crazy every day. Jogging was all I didn't think about. I couldn't concentrate during classes, my mind bloated with thoughts other than jogging. It was a miracle that I even graduated. When I met the woman who would become my wife, I hid my addiction from her. During our dates, I'd keep my urges under control. I'd smile and pretend everything was all right. But inside I was in anguish. After I dropped her at her apartment, I would rush home, lock myself in my room and not jog all night. During my 20s, it was easy to hide my addiction because it didn't affect my appearance all that much. I had a fast metabolism. I couldn't gain weight if I tried. But when I turned 30, everything changed. My midsection went soft. Love handles sprouted overnight. I tried to hide my new girth beneath oversized polo shirts, but I knew I couldn't fool people much longer. I confessed to my wife. She was devastated. "You mean you've been not jogging behind my back all these years?" she screamed. "I'm sorry, honey," I told her. "I never meant to hurt you. But I need help." After she got over the shock, she agreed to help me. We tried to find a local non-joggers' support group, but there wasn't one. We searched the Internet for tips on how to stop not jogging but didn't find much useful information. During my annual physical, I told my doctor about my problem. He said he'd just attended a not-jogging addiction seminar. There was only one way, he told me, to quash a nasty not-jogging habit like mine -- by jogging. It sounded crazy to me, but I was desperate. I decided to give jogging a try. Much to my surprise, it worked. The more I jogged, the more I didn't not jog. My love handles retreated; my stomach shrank; my stress evaporated. It was wonderful -- for a while. During long evening jogs, a little voice inside my head would whisper, "Wouldn't you rather be not jogging?" I tried to ignore the voice, hoping it would go away. It didn't. One morning, I was out for a jog before work. As I approached a coffee shop, the voice said to me, "Hey, jogger boy, why not grab a cappuccino and a honey cruller and stop this jogging nonsense?" The temptation was too much for me to bear. I stopped jogging and immediately started not jogging. It felt so good. At that moment, I realized it was foolish of me to think I could ever not be a non-jogger. Not jogging was in my blood. And a honey cruller was soon in my stomach (an apple fritter, too). I've been not jogging ever since. My waist is larger than ever; I had to buy all new pants (size 36!). My wife barely speaks to me any more. She just can't handle the thought of my not jogging all the time. But I've come to accept that I was born to not jog. There's no point in pretending otherwise. Besides, it could be worse. My brother's addicted to not bathing. |