On my last visit, about three months ago, my doctor had told me that as a 6-foot-tall, 39-year-old man, I should weigh around 180 pounds. At 217 pounds, I was not just overweight, but (36) than I’d ever been. I wasn’t exactly surprised. I’ve (37) with my weight since I was a kid. My doctor (38) my parents to motivate me, an only child, to play outside more. But I fought hard against the suggestion that I engage in team or (39) sports, roughhousing, fighting, exploring or anything else that required (40) or physical exertion (用力), or that could (41) in a bloody nose or dirty hands. The only time I (42) exercise was when my mother enrolled me in Jazzercise at the tenderly awkward age of 14, when the scale read 210 pounds. I lived the stereotypes. I liked staying (43) , by myself, to play with my Star Wars figures, read Gone with the Wind, watch Search for Tomorrow. When my teenage peers were discovering their easy athleticism, I was asking myself (44) , usually in the dreaded confines of the boys’ locker room: "Why am I not like you Why don’t I look like you" The answers were painful: "I’m fat. I’m (45) I’m not like the other boys. I’ll be unwanted." I felt betrayed and cheated by my chubby body. In many ways I still do. A. enjoyed F. struggled K. abnormal B. combination G. outdoors L. competition C. heavier H. urged M. doubtfully D. indoors I. silently N. result E. consequence J. individual O. normal