I have reached the age where I realize that my body just isn’t going to get any better. As someone who has been exercising regularly since I was in my early 20’s, it has come as bit of a shock. My idea for exercising was eventually I would get it right — the perfect body. And, at some point, I whipped it into pretty good if imperfect shape. But not any more.

For the past 20 years, I have resigned myself to maintenance. Just keep the old boy presentable. But,in the past few years, it has dawned on me that even maintenance is no longer possible. The hairline keeps receding, what is left is grey. The stomach which I kept comfortably around a 34 inch waist simply won’t return. I’ve tried. I stopped running because when you run, you fall occasionally, the falls just took it out of me and I worried that the next fall would cause broken bones instead of scrapped knees.

More distressing is I have had to watch what I eat. For most of my life, I have been on the skinny side. Indeed, when I was an adolescent I could stuff myself to the point of sickness and not gain a pound. No more. Just a casual glance at a chocolate chip cookie can drive my weight higher.

I surrender. I donated all the 34 inch waist pants to the more in shape out there. I will try to maintain the 36 inch waist as long as possible but once the amount of work and diet I have to put into keeping a 36 inch waist exceeds the pleasure I have in living, well, the 36 inch waist trousers are gone as well.

It is both sad and liberating to feel this way. Sad that my body has seen its best days. Liberating in that I can focus on enjoying my life without guilt because no matter what I do to make my body better looking it is never going to make me better looking than the average 20 year old after gorging on pizza and beer. So I might as well enjoy the pizza and beer.