How I learned to start shaving and loathe the treadmill
If you have seen me on the council circuit during the last several months, one item of note in terms of my appearance has been the few sprouted hairs on my cheeks, which formed into a beard-like shape. I tried. For three months I did exceptionally well at not shaving. But as of Sunday afternoon, my boyish features are no longer hidden behind hair -- a relief for both my mother and my girlfriend.
One of the main reasons for not shaving stems from vanity. Since I began my tenure at the Greene County Daily World I have had trouble adjusting to a sedentary working environment. Besides walking to Fransisco de Borja or to my car, the job requires me to be hunched over a keyboard for an absurd amount of hours.
The act of writing is invariably a solitary pursuit. Most of the battle is internal. Often, many hours of my day are spent watching the cursor blink as I wait for the words to somehow magically appear. While waiting in the purgatory of my imagination, sometimes eating or drinking helps to stave off the wait. As time has past I have grown as a writer, but subsequently other areas of my body have grown as well.
This brings me back to Sunday. For a while I retained a timidness towards shaving, for fear I would not be pleased with the result. For the last several months, I noticed a tightness around my waistline -- my belly mildly protruding over the seam of my jeans. My Sherlockian deduction was if one area of my body has grown, others have followed ("My God Holmes, you astound me!").
The beard presented a mask, a way to define a fading jaw and chin line.
For the last several months I made oblique remarks aloud, which outlined my return to the gym. These remarks were not directed at anyone, but designed to start an internal dialogue. Being raised Catholic, I felt the recourse was to let the salacious guilt wear on me, until my stubbornness was compromised. After reading 20 pages in Infinite Jest (work for a future podcast episode), I decided it was time. I found myself in the bathroom where I committed a staring contest with the mirror. It won. The first cut of the trimmer resulted in an indent of my beard. There was no turning back. As hair continued to fall, I saw the redding jawline began to take shape. With the last cut of the razor I stood once more in front of the mirror with a face only a mother could love.
The next day I arrive at Wolfe's Gym. Being a person with a disposition towards a night schedule, I witnessed $240 of finances disappear within an instant. For me, 24 hour access is a must. Later in the evening, at an hour when no person of sound mind would be exercising, I stood timidly in front of a treadmill. From a distance its appearance bore a shape more akin to a medieval device of torture rather than a tool. But my resolve was strengthened -- perhaps it was my unshielded face, which still retained the tinge of razor burn or the recent financial hit, but I soon found myself on its track. The first mile was a slow pace. Searing through my headphones the theme from the movie Rocky played in mockery. But there are no montages here, no attempts to catch a chicken, no Mr. T and no morning mountain runs -- it is just me putting one foot in front of the next in absurd repetition.
Grant is a staff writer for the Greene County Daily World. He can be reached by telephone at (812) 847-4487, ext. 19. He can also be reached via email at gkarazsia@gmail.com.
- -- Posted by petfarkin on Fri, Jan 29, 2016, at 5:40 PM
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