Musings on Fitness
Do I dare to eat a peach?
– TS Eliot
Calculating carbs and calories,
logging laps in the pool, miles on the bike,
my walks in the woods.
Examining family photos,
genetic code for metabolism that screwed up
our capacity to eat ice cream with impunity.
Questioning the processing of wheat,
golden staff of life,
meant to sustain, not kill us.
Thinking about endless revolutions
on a stationary bike, or the treadmill,
going nowhere but into looser pants, if I’m lucky.
Thousands of folks doing the same, spinning
away, all over the nation. What if we spent
that same energy raking leaves for those
too old to scratch the dirt themselves?
Or building something — a giant calorie-burning
skyscraper, or tap-dancing or waltzing
to make ourselves smile?
Sometimes I am jealous, of my grandparents,
never thin, never fat, farmers
who ate eggs, bacon, and biscuits with molasses,
and never once logged their work in the fields.
I miss their apple pie, MaMa’s light yellow pound cake.
Most of all, I miss not fretting about it.
— Laura Lomax
