Flashes of Panic

When I arrived at the gym to swim this morning, there was an orange flyer on the door announcing in block letters, YOU ARE MORE THAN YOUR ABS.

I got a grin out of this one; it struck me as typical of the deconstruction attitude, because it didn’t really replace the idea it destroyed. I imagined the hapless borderline-obsessive fitness-center-goer dumbstruck in front of the sign, thinking, “They’re right! I am more than my abs! I’m a mathematician! I’m a cook! I’m a musician!”

I also imagined the hard-core athlete, walking past and thinking dismissively, “Well, duh. I’m biceps, triceps, quadriceps, lats, pecs, trapezius, etc. etc….”

At some point in my swim, the thought, “Someone’s gotta tell Men’s Health…” crossed my mind.

When I left, I saw the sign had been moved to the front of the assistant football coach’s desk, so whatever the intentions of the sign-poster, the athletic department seems to be going with my second interpretation.

Now playing: Buffalo from Hologram of Baal by The Church