Cary the Fairy

  A practical guide for the independently minded, the chronically contrary, and anyone who dry heaves when someone enthusiastically shouts, “Okay guys, let’s GO!” If this isn't you, then you may want to move on. Fitness classes are great. They’re energetic, structured, communal, and scientifically designed to make you sweat in ways that feel productive rather than alarming. They’re also led by people who tell others what to do. If you’re like me, then you're the kind of person who feels the impulse to walk in the opposite direction when someone says, “Follow me!” I can't help it. I blame my Gen X genes. But I'm old. And with age comes cynicism. But age also comes with knowledge and experience. So I'm here to share how I have learned to enjoy a fitness class while not compromising my asshole personality. 1. Selective Listening Instructors talk. A lot. I guess they have to since it’s their job. But you don’t have to absorb everything they say. Think of their cues lik...

Have you ever opened your eyes one morning and thought, “Nope. Not today! I'm [insert excuse such as too cold, too tired, too bloated, etc. here].” Because that was me this morning. The responsible adult in me spent a better part of 10 minutes in bed, under the warm covers, debating whether I should just get the cardio over for the day. The argument against it was weak (I just didn't want to), but I felt pretty strong about it. However, I learned that I could keep complaining and arguing with myself while I put on my spin attire and stepped into my home gym. So that's what I did. So there I was, climbing onto that uncomfortable stationary bike seat after two cups of coffee and pedaling like a person who hated life. The next 45 minutes took me through the full emotional spectrum: denial, bargaining, petty resentment, a surprising burst of confidence, and finally… acceptance. The five stages of fitness grief. And because I know I’m not the only one who has these unhinged int...

There is a special kind of delusion required to be a health-focused adult over 50 who is also a closeted sugar addict. And I don't mean, "Oh, I like dessert sometimes." I mean, I have the unnatural superpower to consume an entire German chocolate cake for lunch in one sitting (as long as I can wash it down with a glass of milk) and want another for dinner. These fierce cravings are what I fight almost daily, and I fight it because many on my dad's side of the family (such as my father and his father) have passed too early due to complications from type-2 diabetes. Every morning, I wake up determined to be a beacon of health a fitness for those who don't believe they can meet their health goals at their age. I stretch. I hydrate. I plan my movement for the day. Yet, all the while, a negative voice in my head (I have named Roger) intrudes and mischievously whispers, "You know what sounds good right now? A buttered Pop-Tart." Ugh. I try to ignore it. I real...

“When you’re gay, nothing changes. You stay the same. Your personality doesn’t change; the people in your life don’t change; who you are doesn’t change; nothing changes.”  This is a real quote made by a drastically unqualified heterosexual man with good intentions. He shared this during a mandatory diversity training session. The company's HR representative had asked, “Do you think people change after coming out as gay?” This was back in 2001, and despite being open about my sexual identity for only five years, I had a lot to say on the matter. Why? Because after this vanilla, Southern boy (i.e. me) came out as gay, a lot did in fact change.   Growing up, I always presented signs of being gay. I toted a purse in which I carried my hot wheels cars and a turtle I once found on the side of the road. I made my male Star Wars action figures make out with each other. But I never told anyone I was gay until I woke my wife a little after 2 am on a weeknight back in 1999. And despite h...

My most memorable targeted bullying incident occurred late one night back in 2006.  It was February. Midtown Memphis.  And just so we're clear, I wasn't the bully. No, that distinguished honor belongs to a carful of grannies. Standing under a streetlight with a few other 30-something friends outside of a popular, gay watering hole , we waited for a laggard from the group to find a parking spot. Despite the freezing temperature, the suggested plan was to “go in together.” I hadn't been out for long, so I assumed this was yet another "gay thing" with which I was unfamiliar as gay culture can be confusing at times. Because of this, I did not question it and kept my complaints to myself; though, I assure you the words I thought when a gust of wind threatened to seal my pooter shut were very ungentlemanly.  The quiet squeak of brakes catches my attention. Some of us turned to watch a purple PT cruiser slowly stop at a red light no more than 3 yards behind us. As I re-f...