I’ve had, what I consider, the misfortune of being on television a number of times. The reason I say misfortune is because I’ve never seen my own image on TV and said, “Damn, I look good.” Instead, I’ve seen myself on television and thought I’ll never, ever, eat again. Yes, I know they say that TV adds 10 pounds, but adding 10 pounds to an already 30-pound overweight person doesn’t do anybody any favors. Besides adding TV screen pounds, television also just shows you what your actual size is, in high definition, and from every angle possible. Without TV’s assistance, I only look at myself in the mirror head-on while sucking in my gut. I’d never look at myself from a side profile where my beer belly hangs in shameful glory. My belly profile indicates that I’m truly a gluttonous lover of fine craft beer, but unfortunately it also hints that I might be in my third trimester of pregnancy. Obviously, I’m not actually pregnant. I had a vasectomy years ago.
These unfortunate TV appearances where I look fat have all revolved around racing cars in some fashion (and, admittedly, sometimes crashing those cars). I love competing in motorsports, and I enjoy seeing myself on TV driving like a lunatic around a race track. What I don’t like is the part of the show where I climb my big butt out of the car and start talking to the camera with my two chins. I say stimulating things like, “um” and “dude.” I eventually stammer on and talk about the race. I mention my sponsors, like Black Ops Brewing (hence the beer belly) and Cadet Blues the novel, but I never tell the viewers at home what they really want to know: Is the baby going to be a boy or a girl?
My latest belly revealing television debacle came at the hands of the Optima Search for the Ultimate Street Car show on MAVTV. Yes, I know—and my wife, whom I love, is quick to point out—the show is on a channel most people don’t get. My 15 minutes of fame are actually 15 minutes of cable fame, and only in limited select markets. Regardless of how many people did or didn’t watch the episode of Round 1 of the 2015 season, I eventually saw the footage and I wanted to crawl in a hole for six months and starve myself. Either that or wish for a parasite like a tapeworm to live in my intestines. Those were my only imaginable options: starvation or tapeworm. Sadly, exercise never even crossed my mind.
The interesting part is that my friends, who are supposed to have my best interest at heart, couldn’t be bothered to tell me to put down the extra-large milkshake, the double-double cheeseburger, and the fries covered in cheese with a side of cheese. Nobody bothered to tell me I got super fat. They just treated me as if everything was normal and let me leave the house and go on television. How could things be normal? I either gained 30 pounds in a year or, more reasonably, in three months I was going to be the first male in the history of the world to deliver a baby. I had no self-awareness and was delusional about my own body type. I honestly just couldn’t see it for myself. Well, until I saw it on my 50-inch flat screen, which in one particular ugly frame was 50 inches of my race-winning, beer belly, baby tummy. Not flattering.
After the shock of seeing myself visibly pregnant on television I decided something drastic needed to happen. And it needed to happen quickly. The television program was inviting me to go to Las Vegas for the SEMA show. They wanted to do press during the show and then have me race in the championship at Las Vegas Motor Speedway for the final episode of the season. I’d be on TV again, well, cable TV anyway. The question all the viewers wanted to know was could I win the race while driving nine months pregnant? Or would I have the baby before the big race in November and be noticeably thinner? Would I keep the child or put it up for adoption? A man has so many choices these days.
I knew I needed to lose weight. After searching “tapeworm” on Google Images, I decided maybe I should just diet instead. For my extreme diet I went caveman style. The Paleo Diet was going to be my savior. It was going to cure me of male pregnancy and hopefully cure me quickly. The Paleo Diet is very simple: If the caveman didn’t have it, then I don’t get to have it. Snickers candy bars? Nope, those hadn’t been imagined yet. Bread? Nope, they didn’t know about wheat. Cheese? Forget it. Ice cream? They hadn’t even invented the freezer, don’t ask stupid questions. No dairy, no sugar, no grains, no soda, no beers, no fun. Paleo equals starvation, and that’s how it works.
I told my son I was on the caveman diet to try to lose weight. He asked me, “Does that mean you’re going to chase after your food during a hunt to burn calories?”
“No, son. It just means I eat a lot of meat. I’m going to drive to the grocery store in my Corvette and buy dead chicken carcasses to barbeque, just like the cavemen did.”
The first week of the diet, living without Pepsi, bread, beer, cheese, and candy bars, I thought I might die. I had a massive headache, and I dreamed every night about pizza. My only sustenance was nuts, fruit, and meat. I drank nothing but water. It was miserable. I was so hungry I was beginning to get a little crazy. At one point I thought, if I see a man walk through my back yard holding a piece of cheesy bread, I will murder him with my own hands to get that bread. Luckily for me, and my criminal record, nobody walked through my backyard holding cheesy bread.
Even though I was very hangry (that’s hungry-angry, for those of you unfamiliar), in just three short weeks I did lose 15 pounds. I have three more weeks before I am in front of the cameras again in Las Vegas and I’m hoping to lose 15 more before then. Losing 30 pounds will not only ensure that nobody thinks I’m a guy having a baby, but it will also make the race car lighter, which makes it faster. Win, win. And if I’m lucky enough to win the race, instead of spraying champagne on the podium, I’m going to celebrate with a big jelly doughnut, and smear it all over my face.
Rob is thinking of naming the beer belly baby after its father, Black Ops Brewing Blond Bomber ale.
This article appears in Oct 22-29, 2015.
