Fat Pants

Yes, I said fat pants—the keystone to a well-worn dilemma. The details might be different, but the story is the same. It is getting cooler here in SC and it has now become necessary for me to wear pants. I mean it’s just not becoming for me to show up to teach class looking like Bill Belichick at an early fall practice (you know, shorts and ratty hoodie). I’ve got exactly one pair of jeans and one pair of khakis in my fashion arsenal…and neither fit me particularly well. Sure, they technically fit me. I don’t look like a sausage stuffed into them or anything. But…and there is a big but here…they are snug around my expanding waistline. Snug enough that they are uncomfortable to wear. Whenever I wear them, I am constantly reminded that I have put on about 20 lbs since I bought them last winter.

That brings me to the dilemma. Do I go ahead and buy some new pants that are bigger around the waist and give in to my expansion? I’ll call this the fat pants route. Or, do I keep wearing the old pants and let the low-level torment of discomfort motivate me to stop the expansion? I’ll call this the resistance route. The fat pants route will give me temporary comfort (and improve my fashion arsenal) and is the rational route to follow. However, it pisses me off to go that route—it feels like I am giving in. I feel like I should go the resistance route and torment myself with discomfort so that I’ll get off my butt and do something. This is obviously the stupid, cut-off-my-nose-to-spite-my-face route…and it is the route I am choosing to take.

I rode my trainer for about 50 minutes tonight—in my dark, cold attic—and will alternate riding with some basic push-ups and abs work. And I’ve revived my old mantra…hunger is the path to enlightenment. And I’m getting enlightened right now because I am hungry, damn it.

Thanksgiving

The first Thanksgiving lives in our popular memory as the get together that started our ancestors on the path to creating the greatest country in the history of the earth. It represents the best that we want to think of ourselves and our history—the pilgrims and the Indians getting together to celebrate the gifts of God. Like our country, the true story of the first Thanksgiving is a lot more complicated, filled with a lot more complexity, and not as admirable as we want to remember or admit. The Pilgrims actually were a bunch of religious extremists who had worn out their welcome everywhere else and this was their last chance to find a place to live. They were in rough shape when they got here and almost half of them died during their first winter. The reason they weren’t immediately wiped out by the Indian people who lived in coastal Massachusetts is because they needed some friends—any friends.

The Indians, the Wampanoag, sought the friendship of the Pilgrims out of necessity—a necessity created by previous, sporadic visits by European fishermen. Those fishermen brought European diseases to the Wampanoag, diseases to which they had no immunity. In the decades before the coming of the Pilgrims, the Wampanoag villages had been so decimated that they had lost their sovereignty to the nearby Narragansett. Forced to pay steep tribute, the Wampanoag chief Massasoit feared his people would be annihilated at any time. The Pilgrims looked so pathetic and they came with women and children, so Massasoit saw them as no threat. He eventually came to see them as an opportunity, and by the Spring an alliance between the two people was formed.

In the short term that gamble paid off for the Wampanoag and Massasoit as their relationship with the growing colony brought them protection from surrounding groups and favored trading status with the English. Unfortunately in the longer term the Wampanoag’s friends turned against them. As the English settlers became more numerous and their place on the new continent grew more stable their respect for their deal with the Wampanoag waned. Massasoit’s son Metacom saw his people converted to Christianity, something Massasoit managed to forestall for 40 years, and their land taken over. In an effort to turn the tide Metacom (also known as Phillip) enlisted the help of surrounding groups like the Narragansett to push back against the English. This rebellion was known as King Phillip’s War. It was bloody and protracted and didn’t end well for the Wampanoag. Most of the remaining Wampanoag were killed. Metacom’s head was chopped off, stuck on a pike and put on display, while his wife and children were sold into slavery in the Caribbean.

So as we stuff ourselves silly on Thanksgiving, let’s remember that our current glory is not necessarily built on a past filled with goodness and light. We can't change the past nor are we necessarily responsible for what happened so long ago. Still, I'm thinking that looking back to that past might not be the best way to celebrate what we are and what we can be. And I'm thinking we might even have a responsibility to do better in the future.

As I stuff myself silly on Thanksgiving I also will be thinking about something else. The fat archaeologist is back, fat as ever! I've gained a bulky 20 lbs over my weight last year around this time. And so I start all over again.