Goes Without Sayin’

Chapter 2, Blog 1

By Chuck Wells As Told To Ray Hochgesang

chuckwells2008@gmail.com

 

Divine inspiration?

Or alcohol-induced delusion?

I’m not sure how my Olympic Games idea/obsession germinated. It was out there, that’s for sure. Like Neptune, WAY out there.

But no one mentioned it for several days after the Super Bowl party – not me, not Ralphie, not Nicky – as if it never happened. Hmmm. Maybe, it didn’t.

But Melinda and others, unknowingly, did their best to nurture the notion.

“You’re putting on some weight there, Buster,” said my wife as we dressed for bed three nights after the game.

“Really?” I looked down and pinched an inch and a half of flab. OK, maybe two inches. “So I guess I am. What about it?”

“I’m just sayin’. Must be all that beer you drink. I think there’s a lot of empty calories in those pilsners.”

“You would.”

“Maybe you should start working out,” she said, fluffing her pillow.

At five-foot-three, Melinda hadn’t gained an ounce more than the 105 pounds she weighed when we married. Don’t you hate those types who eat and drink anything they want with impunity? Sadly, I wasn’t one of those types.

“Maybe I should give up those Sunday brunches.”

“Well, you know you’re not as young as you used to be,” she said, brushing her hair.

“What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.” Melinda paused. “It’s like we’re almost 50. We should be taking better care of ourselves. Just sayin’.”

“Well, maybe I’m just sayin’ I’m going to start training for the Olympics.”

“HA! That’ll be the day,” she said and turned off the light. “And my parents thought I was delusional.”

I turned the light back on.

“Delusional?”

“And a little bit on the slow side, too … ”

Our 12-year-old daughter, Shannon, did her part as we strolled the block on a blustery Saturday afternoon a week after the Super Bowl.

“Hey, Dad, race you to the corner.”

“Forget it,” I said without thinking. “It’s too far.”

“Say, you know, you’re really getting lazy,” Shannon said.

“I’m trying to live to a hundred,” I said. “I’m pacing myself.”

“You know what I mean,” she said. “Lazy.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’ll have you know, as we speak, I’m in training for the Olympics. ”

Why else would I be outside on such a brutal day in the first place? It sure wasn’t because I wanted to experience frostbite firsthand although my brain might have been partially frozen. The sudden revelation froze Shannon in midstep. She turned and peered at me as if I had just escaped from the mental facility at Porter-Starke.

“Dad,” she said. “You’re scaring me.”

“Why’s that?”

“We both know you’re way too old for the Olympics … ”

And then, there was my doctor during my annual checkup.

“Mr. Wells, your cholesterol is 236.”

“What? It’s what?”

“Your cholesterol. It’s too high. You need a better diet. Exercise. Do you exercise?”

“I’m in training for the Olympics. Does that count?”

He was laughing when I left his office. And I bet the butthead is still laughing.

Copyright © 2012 by Chuck H. Wells/Ray Hochgesang

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