Ah, the ‘dad bod’. It conjures up images of a once-upon-a-time sorta, kinda fit dude who has entered middle age with some extra pudge coating their entire, sun-deprived skeletal frame. Oftentimes (not always) accompanied by thinning of hair, an awkward sense of fashion, overgrown and unkempt facial hair, and being the only one who thinks their jokes are hilarious.
But there’s this entry on Urban Dictionary that’s just fantastic. It goes:
If human bodies were cuts of meat, the dad bod would skew more marbled rib eye than filet mignon; or, if human bodies were sea mammals, dad bod would be more like a grazing manatee than a speedy dolphin. The dad bod is more mudslide than mountain, more soft serve than sorbet, more sad trombone than clarinet, more mashed potato than skinny fry. The dad bod is built for comfort.
https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Dad%20bod
The cause for such a slide into physical neglect? Google’s top answer is:
During fatherhood, fluctuating hormones and shifts in the brain are the norm for men.
https://www.mensjournal.com/health-fitness/dad-bod-science-what-having-kids-does-to-a-mans-body
Hah! I knew it! Can’t wait to tell my wife… it isn’t “me” per se who’s responsible for my chest having slid down: it’s the three kids, my internal chemistry, and my noodle who are at fault.
But I stop reading the article right then and there. Sure, those elements shift when little humans enter our lives and we’re trying to figure out how to keep them alive. Yet it’s what our default state is when we go into that new lifestyle change, that’ll dictate how we transition into our new lives as dads. And if there are elements you’ve struggled with beforehand, yet have been clever in masking or hiding, that shit comes out real quick when you’re sleep deprived and emotionally drained. The spill over is inevitable and hits all aspects of your life.
My (Dad) Bod Journey
So to fess up: I’ve been in some sort of body battle since boyhood. I was larger than the average kid, and faced my share of bullying and teasing at school. This conditioned me to be hyper aware of how I looked from an early age, how I presented myself. I’d shy myself away from attention for fear of being seen; I’d eat more comfortably at home with my family than out in public or with friends; I’d be that kid with a t-shirt on at the beach; I’d be the one who’d slightly pull my shirt away from my body if the wind was blowing straight at me so as to not have the breeze accentuate my big belly. Maddness, you say? Well, my emotional regulation came to be managed with food. My mother would see the boy hurting and would do what moms do best, by showing love in the best way she could: through food. And I’d be happy to have my cup filled alongside a cold cup of milk and cookies, samosas and empanadas, a spoonful of dulce de leche or a few gulab jamuns (growing up with an Rajasthani mother and Argentina father had its perks).
As for my father, in retrospect, I’d wager he also saw food as a way for emotional regulation. I’d catch him having a swig of corn syrup occasionally (yeah, they used to straight up sell corn syrup back then). He wasn’t in the best shape and the end of his life saw him eventually succumb to many of the challenges that resulted from that way of living. But I digress…
Anyway, my point is that food became my coping mechanism. And that coping mechanism has gone on for decades. Teased at recess for having a whole in my pants? Head home, grab something sweet to pick me up. Tough day at work? Grab a Snicker’s on the way home to pick myself up. Feeling lonely while living abroad? Grab something tasty and eat with myself. On and on it would go, looking no different than this:
Entering Fatherhood & the Pivot
Holding on to this baggage, I entered fatherhood. Experienced but deeply insecure about myself, past wounds and traumas had only scarred over – not healed. As I mentioned earlier, I was good at putting up masks to adapt. And as any dad out there knows, being a new father is gonna put you through your paces… and the newfound challenges of being a new provider can shred through any type of material those masks happen to be made of.
Pre-fatherhood, I had managed to be in somewhat control of my physique. Not necessarily in a holistically healthy way, but just a bit. Yet with each successive bundle of joy that came into our lives, I started to slide. Well, more accurately, I began to deteriorate. I was thinking to insert a picture of myself during this time but you know what? Looking back at all my pictures, I’ve only headshots. Yep, I was so slick that I didn’t allow any full body pictures of myself to be taken. Case in point.
I entered my 40’s thinking this was my chance. This was my year to turn my life and health around. I thought this was the spark, the motivation, the checkpoint in life where I could really change and transform. But I didn’t. As always, I began some habits, dropped some, picked old ones up again and dropped the new ones. Regressed and worsened.
It all came to a culmination the last week of August 2023. I was at my heaviest. Nearly 42. I was outside doing yard work, carrying pieces of wood and discarded material from an earlier renovation on our house. Heavy stuff. Normally, it wouldn’t bother me. But that day, my energy just wasn’t where it usually was. Every step I was taking, I felt in my heart. I felt I really had to push myself just for a step. Walking up the stairs to our parking lot particularly stands out, as I felt all my joints crying out that this was their last effort. My knees, my plantar faciatis, shoulders, my very engine… I ignored all of it. I just chalked it up to not sleeping enough. Which was perhaps partly true, but definitely not all of it.
Then all if took was a slip on the front stairs after a heavy rainfall then next day. Hyperflexion of my right knee. An MRI had shown the ACL wasn’t even present anymore (I’ve had that knee reconstructed twice already from high school football injuries). Significant cartilage damage with onset of arthritis present. An exam of the left knee showed also significant cartilage damage with onset of arthritis. The orthopaedic surgeon suggested reconstructive surgery. Or to try physio for six months, then re-evaluate.
That’s when I’d say the pivot happened. Life was now showing me what was in front of me: two deteriorated knees from decades of abuse. A body that was falling apart, struggling to just keep up with my three young children; frustrations, fights with my partner about not looking after myself and not caring about the family’s well-being; and a mind that was beginning to doubt itself and its ability to reach its potential. I honestly think I was pre-diabetic. I’d eat a chocolate bar and feel a weird buzzing / pressure shift in my inner ear. I was looking at widowing my wife and leaving her to raise three young children on her own.
That’s what the path ahead looked like should I continue with a business as usual attitude. In the day that followed, there was a deep, fundamental acceptance of myself. Not of simply acknowledging where I was at in my current state, but also acknowledging how I got here in the first place. A deep inner dialogue with my inner child. The wounded little boy who just wanted to shield himself from harm, without knowing the future path he was headed down.
“It’s ok,” I told myself. “I got it from here little man. And it’s going to be ok.” And instead of turning to food for soothing, I cried for myself. For past hurts and wounds, and current ones too.
It was from that point that I decided, alright – this is my new starting point. It’s bottom of the bottom. All strategies, methodologies, tricks or quick fixes are now out the window. All habits need to be put under immediate scrutiny and evaluation; thought processes and emotional responses require deep analysis. After some days, I realised I knew all of it. Man, I had been a witness to all of it the last 30+ years, I just chose to ignore it. It was easier to turn away from awareness than to act on it. To be the passenger instead of the driver.
Practice makes progress.
I overheard my brother saying this to his kids when we were visiting him recently, and I loved it. If you think about it, the phrase “Practice makes perfect” has no sense because it creates an expectation that perfection will be there in the end if you practise, and it isn’t. But practice always inevitably leads to progressing towards your desired outcomes. So have stolen that line and have begun using with our own kids and in doing so, it serves as a reminder for myself.
So that’s what I started doing. Consistency leads to progress. Nearly 6 months in and I’m at a body composition I’ve never seen before. Fat mass down, lean body mass up – 17kgs less to carry around and still going steady. I haven’t felt this good in years… and I don’t just mean physically, either. Mentally, am clear. There’s better emotional regulation. The relationship with my wife has gone to a new level. The relationship with my kids is also closer, more intentional. The changes are noticeable on even minute things, but it is to say that the outcomes were not expected in the least.
In the past, my expected outcomes revolved around how others would approach me or treat me, and as a result, how good I would feel about myself. I was fixated on trying to fit in with everyone else, coming from the deeper place of wanting to be seen and accepted.
Now, I am happier in the relationship I have with myself. It is an ongoing one, and one that I am certainly not finished working with. But it is a journey that I am grateful to have begun with a different set of intentions.
So now instead of of the “do what I say, not what I do” approach I’d have with the kids, there’s different modelling based on day to day movements and behaviours that has a more lasting impact on the kids, rather than me telling them what or what not to do.
Anyway, would love to hear from other dad’s (or mom’s) perspectives. Have similar challenges been there? How are you addressing it? Protocols we can swap? Am all ears!
Grateful Dad. 
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