Much has been made in the press about the dad bod, but don’t let our sometimes slightly doughy figures fool you. We’re in the exact shape we need to be. Our bodies are honed, designed and sculpted for maximum efficiency. We push ourselves to the brink, because we’re not just dads and we’re not mere athletes. We’re dadletes! It takes hard work and dedication to manufacture a machine that has the strength and stamina to run, throw, swing and lift, yet is gentle enough to cuddle, snuggle and tickle. Dad shoulders must be big enough to cry on, but our abs can’t be so hard that they won’t double as a pillow.
Dadletes, like me, don’t always have time to go to the gym, so we focus on home workouts. And we wouldn’t be dads if we didn’t think of a way to be both practical and completely embarrassing to our families. All I’m saying is, what’s the point of getting a pair of shorts all sweaty and smelly? It’s more comfortable and makes more sense to exercise in my underpants. If it happens to humiliate my wife and children: bonus! That’s just funny. My Russell CoolForce Underwear are breathable and, dare I say, fashionable. Oh, get over it. It’s fine. If I go for a run, I’ll put on shorts. Probably.
All those home workouts and stroller jogs make dads mighty hungry. To maintain our perennially mid-winter-extra-layer Adonis physique, we carefully count our carb intake. We ask ourselves, “did I have two slices of pizza already or only one?” Better have another, just to be on the safe side.
It’s all about balance. And fun. And parading around the house in our skivvies as if it’s a totally normal thing to do…and then reluctantly agreeing to put on pants when guests come over.
The attribute that separates dads from regular, ordinary, incredibly highly paid professional athletes is that we don’t specialize. We. Do. It. All. Two-sport Bo Jackson? Pssh, a rank amateur compared to your everyday dadlete. And when we do it “for the love of the game” it’s not necessarily us who love the game. We love the people who love the game: our children and significant others. We’re dadletes and we’re going to keep playing until someone blows the whistle or rings the bell. Someone, please blow the whistle or ring the bell.
I partnered with Russell and Walmart to celebrate the dad, “possibly the greatest uncelebrated athlete of all time.” Russell recognizes men who work their butts off to be good partners and fathers, who turn work into play and who look damn good doing it all. A couple such dadletes are the chin up champ who doesn’t need to buy a weight vest because he helped create one, and the pedal pusher who will happily rides a bicycle built for as many as he’s got.
If I could be so bold, I’d like to suggest a few more dadletes to honor. There’s the ultra short distance hiker, who would love to continue on the trek but knows his ultra short distance hiking crew will go from winning to whining if he miscalculates the length of the trail by more than 10 feet. During any outing, dads will inevitably engage in tandem walking wherein they will literally shoulder the burden of their children having to take even one more additional step. Note: ultra short distance hiking almost always transforms into tandem walking, no matter how short the distance. It’s all in a day’s work for dadletes.
Nascar is one of the hottest sports in America, but those dudes have nothing on dads. With children in the
car mini-van, we strap everyone in (to five point harnesses) don our dadlete hat helmet and become no-reason-to-race car drivers. Safety is the name of the game. And there is no need to speed. Once we’re home, we practice child tossing, either straight up in the air or onto a bed. Always to squeals of delight, usually ending in a wrestling match. For all our athletic prowess, dadletes gladly retain the title of world’s worst wrestler. Maybe one of these days we’ll win a match, but I doubt it.
What kind of dadlete are you/your partner? Leave a comment and/or Tweet with the hashtag #RussellDadlete. Best answer wins.*
*my admiration and undying affection