I have never been able to take off my shirt without shame, except for brief periods in my life when I had been working out consistently and like a maniac (although often I didn’t know what I was doing).

I have decided I don’t want to accept that anymore. Some time ago I had THE most beautiful woman ever – in my opinion – in my arms and it was blissful, but still ruined by all these insecurities concerning my body. I realized they weren’t going to fade into the background. I have to change.

If it takes a billion push-ups, I want to be able to look in a mirror without wanting to vomit.

And when the most beautiful woman in the world walks through the door I want to enjoy her presence and our happiness without a nagging voice in my head going: what a pity you can’t offer her a better, sexier body… We can go into why humans obsess so much about looks and how wrong that is, but it’s also reality and not about to change no matter how many times Spain says all body types should enjoy the beach.

I have tried to figure out what life is about and I haven’t found it. I always thought it should be about something way bigger than myself. Lately I think: I can’t fix politics, but I can work to be ok with my body and I can do what I can to make the woman I love feel like the most loved, most cherished, most nurtured woman on the planet. Maybe am turning into Noah from The Notebook.

When it comes to the male physique Mark Wahlberg in his prime is one of my ideals.


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