This is my dad, Greg. He's 58 years old and my favorite man on the entire planet. He knows me BETTER than the back of his hand and sometimes it's like he can read my mind. When I'm having a crap day, it's like he has Dad ESP and knows to call me and let me vent or just say something awesome to cheer me up.
I freaking love my Dad.
My dad and I, however, share a special bond beyond the traditional ones shared by father and offspring. My dad and I are both fat and we're both "grazers." This website really hit the nail on the head when it comes to the way my dad and I both overeat: "Grazing overeaters eat continuously all day, not letting themselves experience hunger. They eat because it's there, they eat to avoid things they don't want to do, they eat because they're bored, they eat because they're uncertain. They have a hard time telling when they're hungry, so they create a rule: when it doubt, eat." BINGO.
Holidays at my parents' house consist of menus made a week+ in advance with what will be eaten at every meal, plus what will just be "around." My dad is a cheese connoisseur along with a crackers and dip kind of guy. We almost always have seafood dip, about 4 kinds of cheese, about 3 types of crackers, pimento cheese and quite possibly some kind of smoked meat hanging around when holidays and/or my trips home come around. It's a special occasion! Why NOT have delicious food on the counter for us to indulge in - it's CHRISTMAS! A cracker here, some cheese spread there, three Toll House cookies later and of course a delicious meal of seafood gumbo, roasted oysters, delicious london broil or hell, just a burger. We EAT.
Now - I'm not complaining. I love that my family is full of people who love food. I just wish we liked BETTER food more and we weren't the type to just eat because it's laying there on the table looking at us. I guess I should feel lucky that I also have athletic genes that make it somewhat easy for me to do physical things well.
Our family is genetically blessed to be big. My dad is 6'3, Mom is 5'11, my brother, Brian is 6'5 (Dad's kid) and I'm the short one in the family at about 5'10 and a half. We're all just big people. There's a lot of weight on our big ole frames. I tell people what I weigh and their first comment is always "but you're so tall! You carry it well!" I might carry 230 lbs well, but I'm still a fatty, so, while I don't look AS bad since I'm so tall, it's still no bueno.
My entire life, my dad has said things like "Kid, you gotta watch your weight" and "it only gets harder as you grow older" and "you got a little gut there, baby." I typically grumbled and said "yeah, Dad, I know" - but dammit if he wasn't right - it IS harder as you get older to get rid of extra weight. And it freaking SUCKS to try to fit working out into your daily routine if you don't just make it happen.
My dad understands how hard it is to have my body. He's had it his whole life. We call our waistlines "The Family Curse" and it's a pretty legit name.
Now, after AAAAAAAAAALLLLLLL of that - on to why my Dad has earned a spot as a "Monday Motivator." My Daddy will call me and say "did you run today?" or "take time for yourself, go on a walk, go work out, MOVE" and I let it roll of my back because I'd much rather lay in bed and read books sleep all day. But thankfully, he's still persistent with the gentle kicks in the rear because once I do get out the door, I feel AMAZING.
When it comes to being that guy that gives me a swift kick in the ass when I need one - my Dad is it. When I want to talk about how much of a badass I feel like after a run - I call my dad. He's been on literally every diet ever and he's gone up and down in weight and it's rough and he knows what it's like to feel AWESOME and then put the weight back on like I've done. He ALSO knows what it's like to get back on the horse and MAKE IT WORK.
I'm hoping that by reminding my dad that he motivates me, he'll let me motivate him to get back into his gym room that he built for himself and hop on the treadmill and walk. Maybe one day I'll get his butt in a 5k with me. Or maybe be able to throw away his "fat pants" for good.
LOVE YOU, POPS!
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