Some things in life serve only to induce rage. No matter how small these annoyances may be, they are never insignificant. 'Rant List' is the chronicle of one self-loathing narcissist's seemingly unending pettiness.

Sunday, 3 April 2011

58. The bitter realisation you have peaked physically

^ The most depressing thing about The Cure isn't the music, but rather the fact that most of us will spend our adult life gradually transforming in to modern day Robert Smith.

Chances are, if you're reading this, you're not a child. You're possibly an adolescent or, seeing as most the viewers of this blog seem to be vague acquaintances of mine, you're probably 20+. If you're not, stop reading now before I instill you with fear and depression regarding your inevitable future.

So old folks, do you remember what it was like being 18? Yeah, you may have got a few spots every once in a while but other than that, you were invincible. You could eat deep-fried lard encased in bacon grease and be stick thin, you could guzzle down ten thousand pints in a night and not get a hangover, you had so much energy that you didn't need to drink coffee (but you did drink coffee and lots of it because it's the best drink), you never exercised but remained fit enough to fight seven bears who were convinced you had wronged their mother, knives snapped when they came in contact with your skin and bullets bounced right off. It could only be described as "jawesome" (similar to "awesome", but infused with the coolness of Jaws the shark).

19 was alright, but there was a downhill trend making itself apparent. Your belly was starting to wobble a bit, you felt a bit ropey after a heavy night, the bears were starting to graze slightly and you were once or twice admitted to the hospital for bullet wounds. For the most part though, you were doing well. Nothing to worry about.

Then 20 happened and your body couldn't take it any more. All that delicious refried lard was giving you seven chins, a casual ten beers would lead to waking up the next day with your brain pounding the inside of your skull for mercy, you couldn't function without a coffee drip hooked to your veins and the bears, knives and guns were leaving you missing limbs, riddled with bullets and so many exit wounds that you began to resemble swiss cheese.

It's at this point you start to try and turn things around. You start to consume in moderation, pretending that the saved money makes it worth it. You begin exercising on a regular basis, spending your new found spare money on a worthless gym membership. Also, you learn to stay away from the forests where the armed bears seem to live (I'm running with this bear joke - deal with it, this entry doesn't get any better than that). But it's simply not working. You're in the worst shape of your life. Thanks to Facebook and its ilk, it's all too easy to compare photos of yourself now with ones from a couple of years ago. Your face is haggard, there's flab everywhere, you haven't shaved in years, you're emotionally crippled and you're so dependent on coffee that if you don't have at least four cups a day, you'll fall asleep on the bus home and wake up leaning and drooling on a complete stranger. Twice. In a week. As soon as all this physical degradation clicks, it's official. You're no longer youthful and you've squandered your best years without truly appreciating them. Nice going, turtlegobbler.

N.B. I used to fight bears.

1 comment:

  1. Ugh, so true. My face is beginning to sag :'( And I've still got the spots!