May is typically the month when young women start frantically dieting in hopes of squeezing into a new bikini for summertime. In contrast, most men don’t care how they themselves look, a fact confirmed by hairy, Speedo-clad fat men at beaches across America. Unlike women, men rarely feel required to attain the impossibly perfect standards set by the fashion industry. Sure, some men spend hours in the gym developing photogenic beach bodies, but most of us are quite comfortable showing a little bit of pudginess. I have the opposite problem. I’m too skinny.
It is difficult to impress girls when they can count your ribs; I want washboard abs, not a washboard rib cage. I’m generally a very confident fellow, but every time I see a guy with chisel-cut biceps at a beach, I cannot help but feel extremely thin. He looks like Hercules; I’m built like Bugs Bunny. Don’t misunderstand me: I do not resemble a poster child for Ethiopia. But I have had to grab my swim shorts on water slides to prevent them from slipping off my hips.
Last year, I decided to resolve this issue. Determined to have visible muscles in time for summer, I turned to my youngest brother for help, since he is so buff that girls watch him walk by instead of vice-versa. How we come from the same genetic pool is a remarkable mystery to fathom. He helped me create a workout schedule, and I faithfully lifted weights for about a month before I gave up. I simply could not eat enough food to keep up with the routine, and I refused to take protein supplements. Those things give me gas. Why try to impress ladies if you’re only going to create a reeking atmosphere around them?
Thus, I spent summer 2007 with an almost-six-pack of abs and decently shaped arms and legs. I was satisfied because it was better than the wiry body I had before. But this year, I have reluctantly admitted I need to commit to a workout plan. As I shopped for a new pair of swim shorts in late February, I looked in the dressing room mirror and realized I’m skinnier than I thought. I complained about this to some of my friends, and they assured me it’s not too bad if I have a decent tan. Apparently, darker skin makes me look less like a white straw and more like a seasoned French fry. This encouragement has not changed my resolve. I need to get buff.
Ironically, once I decided to sculpt my pliable body again, I was involved in a car accident, and I cannot lift heavy weights yet. But in a sweeping victory for the skinny man, the standard ideal of a strong, hulking male with bulging muscles has been suddenly challenged. While shopping at Neiman Marcus, I noticed Prada’s new male model is a skinny guy who looks about the same as I. At first I thought, “Maybe I don’t need to work out after all!” Then my brother commented that the guy looked malnourished and asked me when I’m going to work out again to avoid embarrassing myself in front of women at the beach. Siblings are great motivators.
© timothy samaha
