I was buoyant. I had just run my seventh Oakland Marathon, finishing with a faster-than-expected time and an armload of insights. A hearty recovery meal awaited, but I was a sweaty sop and needed to shower first. Stepping into the stall, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I paused and stared at my reflection.
Wow, I thought, I’ve gained weight. Suddenly I felt less buoyant.
I had just pushed my body to the limit, capping eight intense months training for back-to-back marathons. I felt fit — and by many measures, I was. Yet my body was softer and less toned than how I had envisioned it to be. A trip to the scale later confirmed my suspicions: I had gained 6 pounds. More surprised than dismayed, I tried to square this increase with the 1,000+ training miles I had run and multiple more calories I had burned.
Now why should I, a middle-aged man (or any person, frankly), care? I’ve already written that my retirement heralded an era in which I would accept myself exactly as I am. I was free to let such pressure simply dissipate.
But I’m an analyst at heart. While grateful for my solid race results and a relatively clean bill of health, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was an error in my formula. I felt a pull to tackle this question.
