Apologies to Chuck Palahniuk and Tyler Durden

10 days from now, “Dad Bod” won’t be around anymore. It’ll be on a top 10 list of 2015. It’s a fad. Here and gone. Like Tebowing.

I see you. Modern man of the world. Cornflower blue tie. Trying to make your life meaningful in meaningless ways.

You celebrate a touchdown by pouring golden amber suds down your open, gluttonous throat. Eager to find a connection with a man that makes millions more than you ever will. His suit is a trademarked uniform. Custom-fit Kevlar and nylon. Helmets that can stop bullets. He is the epitome of man. An athlete faster than a cheetah. He’s carved out of wood and you’re just white bread.

While you’ve been stuffing your face with pepperoni pizza, this guy’s been stuffing iron into the sky. He’s pushing the Earth backward with every step he takes. He’s everything you want to be. You need to be like him. You can’t be. But that’s your image. Your dream.

You’re like Robert Paulson. A man once the definition of athletic prowess. His sin was a byproduct of his greed. Yours are sloth and gluttony. Content to lead a life where “only in moderation” applies to your workouts and the amount of healthy food and water you drink, you’ve deluded yourself into thinking you can’t have what you want. You say you’re not ok with mediocrity, but you hide behind your possessions and live a life dedicated to the middle anyway. Your body is the perfect example. Half flab, half muscle. You’re “fit, but fat”.

You are Jack’s Diseased Heart.

You play a part-time role in the gym. You let yourself think you’re doing your body good. 15 minutes is good enough.

You are Jack’s Brittle Bones.

You live a life tied to your desk chair. You’re a space monkey. You do your job. You push a button. Pull a lever. Typing, staring. The way to the top isn’t up the stairs, it’s sitting in a chair. Right?


You are Jack’s Complete Lack of Insulin Resistance.

Years of careless neglect. Of greasy, cheesy pizza dripping down your chin. Of carbonated beverages. Crunchy corn chips, creamy dips, and whatever else you could stuff into your ravenous mouth.

Scientists are finding new and plentiful ways to tell you to get off your ass. Sitting for more than 50 minutes out of every hour can cause cancer. Stiff neck. Lower back pain. Go ahead. Keep sitting. Keep staring at your computer screen with your arthritic fingers poised over your keyboard eager to discuss the latest game.

Sitting and eating created your dad bod.

Given a long enough timeline, everyone’s survival rate drops to 0. To make your timeline longer, first we render fat.

Nutrition is 80% responsible for the way you look. 80% responsible for your dad bod. Exercise, sleep, and other factors influence the rest of your health. I say let’s evolve. Let the chips fall. Throw them in the plastic-lined graveyard in your kitchen. Take your beer, your dips, soda. Lay waste to your cabinets and fridge. Give your garbage can the advertisement space for your processed products.

Your Kevlar and plastic hero.Work out while he’s working. Get in the game. Grab some cold iron and work it until it gets hot. Sweat. Commercial breaks are breaks for no one. Walk. Get up and move. Fat will melt from your face. Your waist. You’ll get there, but it requires work.

Never forget where you came from or what it took to get rid of your dad bod. In death, he has a name. His name is Robert Paulson.