A weighty matter

I tipped the scales this morning at a robust 203 pounds.

In my defense, my hair was still a little bit wet from the shower, and I haven’t clipped my toenails in a while, so my actual weight is probably somewhat lower than that. But still, that’s too much.

As I looked down at the numbers on the scale – leaning forward so I could see over my protruding belly – I made my annual vow to do something about it. Starting tomorrow.

For me, it’s not a physical appearance issue. I’m not vain and don’t much care what I look like, though I am a little frightened by the man-boobs. My underwear-modeling days are behind me now. Instead, it’s a quality-of-life issue.

For example, a while back I went to the basketball court with my 15-year-old son to play a little one-on-one. This is getting to be a bigger challenge, as he is now as tall as me, and he plays basketball about four hours a day. But other than one fluke occurrence last year, I still maintained the upper hand.

We played two games and I lost them both. By the time the score was 3-2, I felt like I had just completed the Iron Man triathlon with a refrigerator strapped to my back. It was only through sheer determination, meanness and a willingness to cheat that I was able to keep both games fairly close.

Afterward he was beaming with pride, and I suppose there’s a part of a father that feels good when he sees his son grow more mature and accomplish a goal. So with that in mind I looked him in the eye, shook his hand firmly and said, “Congratulations. Even a blind hog finds an acorn once in a while.”

He, of course, handled the win with grace and humility. Every day for a week, he greeted every person he met by saying “I beat my dad in basketball.” If he had enough money, he’d have hired a skywriter to fly over our neighborhood spelling it out.

The other day we had a rematch, and I won both games, so a bit of my pride was restored. I sank the last winning shot, held my hand in the air after the follow-through, and said, “Get some!” Then I went home and took 17 Advil tablets. He complained later that the court was wet, and that took away his quickness, so I asked him if he’d like a little cheese with that whine. Sportsmanship is not big at my house.

It’s clear that I won’t be able to maintain my sports dominance at home for much longer, though I plan to hold on to my mini-golf crown. I’ve never been beaten in a Williams family match, and I hope to retire undefeated.

Anyway, a new year has begun, and before I begin to get mistaken for the pregnant man, I am renewing my efforts to be less of a man. I’m eyeing 190 pounds as a goal and I hope I can get there by the beginning of summer, which is bathing suit season. I’m wondering if they make any “relaxed fit” Speedos?