Welcome to BeingKevin

Weekly therapy with a retired, unfiltered 60-something originally from New Hampshire now residing in Rio. If you wanted coddling, call your mother. If you want the truth, keep reading.

This week’s question comes from Timmy:

“Dear Kevin, I joined a gym but mostly use it to sit in the massage chairs and judge people wearing tank tops. Am I technically an athlete now?”

Timmy, you are not an athlete. Sitting in a massage chair criticizing strangers in tank tops is not fitness. That’s just advanced American loitering.

And let me say this about the massage chair: somewhere inside that machine is a hydraulic pump begging for mercy and filing a workers’ compensation claim.

You shouldn’t be judging anybody. The guy in the tank top may look ridiculous, but at least he dragged himself into the gym and attempted self-improvement. You walked in, found heated seating, and treated Planet Fitness like an airport lounge.

My advice? Stop pretending. Drive over to Wendy’s and order the triple cheeseburger. At this point, your Fitbit isn’t a health device; it’s basically a kitchen timer with anxiety notifications.

And while you’re at it, schedule a physical. You sound like a man held together entirely by antacids, denial, and the belief that “starting Monday” is a legitimate life plan.

That was my gentle side, by the way. Supposedly, retirement in Rio softened me up. Ten years ago, I’d have called your parents and asked what exactly went wrong during the assembly process.

Anyway, thank you for writing in, Timmy. Please stand up slowly when exiting the massage chair.

Next week on BeingKevin, we’ll discuss grown adults who clap when airplanes land, people who bring screaming toddlers to breweries, and why every guy over 55 suddenly thinks he’s a political expert because he owns a Facebook account and a folding lawn chair.

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