From my Latino days.
Not really, but this photo is one of the more unique ones anyone ever took of me.
It was almost exactly half a lifetime ago, taken in December 1985, just after I had turned 36.
It was the year of my first really successful diet. Starting at the beginning of May, I had gone from 243 pounds down to 160, which I hadn’t weighed since my junior year of high school. I’m not sure why, but it was the first time — and maybe the last — that I had grown a reasonably good-looking mustache.
Facial hair was never really something easy for me until I was 50 or so. I never really needed to shave more than three or four times a week, and even if I tried to grow a beard, there were usually patches around my chin that had no hair at all.
But the Latino part, the only time in my life that my skin was other than stark white, resulted from my health club membership at Bally’s in St. Louis. In addition to great circuit training that got me into as good a shape as I had ever been, they had tanning booths where for six weeks or so, I’d spend 20 minutes every time I went in for a workout.
It was the first health club membership I had ever had, and the circuit training was set up in a way I never found again.
There were 10 machines essentially in a circle, each one emphasizing different muscles. The circuit took 7 1/2 minutes to complete. Starting on one machine, you were supposed to do 15 reps in 30 seconds. Then you had 15 seconds to get to the next machine and set the weight, repeating this until you finished all 10.
The goal was to do three circuits, a really good 22 1/2 minute workout.
The first time it was explained to me, I had to stop and rest twice to complete one circuit.
Embarrassing, huh?
After two or three months, I could complete eight circuits — a full hour at full speed.
Not bad, huh?
I belonged to health clubs at my next three stops — Colorado, Nevada and Southern California — but never found the same circuit training. Oh, I could do well. In California at age 42, I could do a full hour on the StairMaster at the highest level.
I can’t do anything like that anymore. Exercise now is essentially going walking, and while six months ago I couldn’t walk half a mile without my back screaming in agony, now on a good day I can walk 5-6 miles.
Not bad for an old man.
Two other things have changed. Soon after my time in St. Louis, I stopped using tanning booths. I learned about skin cancer and decided that while Miguel might be willing to risk it, Michael wasn’t.
The other change of course is facial hair. I’ve got no problem growing a beard now, and thankfully, it helps cover some of the waer and tear 36 more years have done to my face.
It’s funny. At 36 I never considered myself good looking.
Now I know I used to be at least cute.
Used to be.