I’ve pretty much given up on trying not to be offensive to people.

Sure, I get my share of hate mail, but I get a lot more in the way of fan mail. Most people actually like my in-your-face approach to fitness. To the haters I say: This is my style. This is who I am. If you can’t handle it, go be fat somewhere else.

Holy shit, the alien just burst right out of John Hurt’s stomach! Did I mention that I almost always have TV on in the background when I write? Alien is on right now.

Sorry, I had an ADHD moment there.

Anyway, lately I’ve noticed that my vanity motivation has been eroding. It’s slowly being replaced with the other two primary fitness motivators in my life: health and performance.

To be honest, after being a fit guy for 16 years I’m not surprised. Having abs to look at is kind of cool, but it gets old. Not just for me, but for my wife too. If you were to transform into some new Chippendales’ version of yourself then you’d spend some time checking yourself out in the mirror and strutting around in front of your wife, but after the first couple of times of saying to her, “Yeah, baby. Check this shit out. You want summa this?” it’s no longer so entertaining.

I mentioned at the beginning that I don’t care much about being offensive, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to share intimate details about my private life. Unlike Tucker Max, I don’t feel the need to write about sexual escapades for shock or entertainment value. If I do allude to sex it is because I have a point to make, like the fact that being in shape dramatically decreases your risk of erectile dysfunction.

So, were I to write that I’m an insatiable super-human sex machine, it would only be to provide a motivational impetus to readers to get in shape so that they could experience similar health results.

The vanity aspect of big muscles and abdominal definition no longer hold the level of appeal for me that they once did; as I get older I find that the health and performance aspects of being fit are what please me most. I like that I can handle long runs in brutally frigid temperatures and I love being stronger and faster than most guys half my age.

Even though I’m in my forties, each night I fall asleep in about 30 seconds and slip into a seven-hour coma. Every morning, before the alarm goes off, I explode out of bed with a soaring soul and morning wood that can punch through walls.

Again, I’m only using the sexual reference as a motivational tool for flabby guys with flabby penises. And I meant no pun by using the word “tool.”

Enough about erections or lack thereof. I didn’t have a point when I started this post, and I still don’t.

Just go lift some fucking weights or something.