The Fat Shirt

This morning on the way to work I stopped to get a cup of coffee, and as I was walking into the place I caught sight of myself in the storefront window.
I wasn't really running late, but I was coming off a holiday weekend so when I got myself dressed this morning I just kinda threw something on. I suppose that's why I really didn't notice until I was miles away from home that I was wearing a fat shirt.

It's nothing special, sort of a faded orange long-sleeve number, something I hadn't worn in a while, but something that had always been comfortable to have on. It was on top of the clean laundry pile, and matched my jeans enough that it seemed like a good plan for the day.

But looking in the mirror reflection of the store mirror it definitley wasn't my best choice. Whether it was because the shirt had shrunk in the wash (possible) or because I had started to put some weight back on lately (more than probable) I didn't know -- what I did know was that the shirt hugged to close to my rather noticable gut curve. That the shirt seemed too snug on my body all the sudden.

It's strange how I didn't notice any of these things when I first put it on, but here it was - suddenly uncomfortable, suddenly not the right look at all.

I've been meaning to work out. Meaning to get back to training for the upcoming river run -- but other things have been getting in the way. My lazy is back in full effect, so to speak. I know about it -- I'm not happy with it, but I'm still in that "man, I should do something about this" phase of things where I'm laying on the couch lamenting about my weight gain while eating Doritos and watching ESPN.
Not good.
Of course, these are all issues to be worked on. My immediate problem was still staring me back in the face, rotund and disgusting in all it's corpulent glory.
I checked my watch.
Drove to Target,
and bought a new shirt.
Looks pretty good, too.