You Look Fine!

Ed used to be a fat dude.

You know the type.  He was the kind of guy that would play World of Warcraft until three o'clock in the morning, throw on some slippers, get into his car, and venture to McDonald's, excited about the prospect of gorging on two or three Sausage, egg and cheese biscuits.  Mmm.

"SCHWANG!"

 "Sorry, sir.  Breakfast doesn't start until four."

"Schwong."

So what did Ed do?  He would drive around aimlessly for an hour or so, just to come back and get his biscuit fix.  It was bad.

And it didn't stop there, oh no.  Baked goods were Ed's best friend.  What better way to celebrate dinging level 40 than to prepare yourself a nice big bowl of Ben & Jerry's?  Or a bag of snack-sized Nutrageous bars?  Or a 16-inch meat-lover's pizza?

DING!  "Mmm...Coffee cake."

DING!  "Rice Krispy treats!"

DING!  "...Asparagus?  Fuck, I need to go grocery shopping."

Ed was living large.  Too large.

And so after years of not being able to run 17 feet without gasping for air, or fit into the jeans he wore in high-school, it happened.  During one of his coveted trips tot he grocery store, on his merry way to the soda aisle, Ed walked through the magazine department.  One issue stood out in particular, with a chiseled deity of a man, muscles bulging, emerging from water like Beowulf.  He was magnificent!  Thor come to life!

Ed was bitten by the fitness bug, and through trial and error, it has changed his life for the better.   Close friends, family members and acquaintances quickly noticed that Ed's physique was slowly turning from fat, blubbery noob-whale to L33T, jack3d pwn-king.  He was starting to look more like his WoW character than Chris Farley!  Sweet!

That's more like it.

Unfortunately, in a world where chubby is the new thin, you get people who just don't understand the point of training or ya know, being a non-disgusting, semi-healthy person.

It wasn't long before Ed came into contact with these toxic people, hellbent on laying their own insecurities unto him.

The office fatty:

"Come on, you look fine.  You don't need to go on some crazy diet."

The type-2 diabetic aunt:

"I don't know what you have against bread, anyway."

The paranoid, anxious girlfriend who's afraid you might leave her:

"I hate this six-meal-a-day thing.  Just put down that shake and come cuddle with me."

"Wot are ye? Some kanda health nut?"

Some of them don't even realize their own toxicity, which is a shame because it's so easy to fall into their traps.  Sure, maybe you look fine compared to the Klump family you see walking through the candy aisle at Wal-mart.  But is that really something to strive for?  And who wants to be just "fine," anyway?  "Fine" doesn't get you into the history books.  "Fine" doesn't turn heads.  "Fine" doesn't intimidate would-be foes.

"Fine" isn't, in fact, fine with Ed.

What about you?