FORT WAYNE — Last spring, my wife Diane and I were sorting through Easter pictures on the computer, trying to decide which ones to print and which ones to send to relatives.

With digital cameras, you don’t have to worry about the cost of film or developing, so you end up taking a lot of photos. All of those pictures made this quite a job.

Like a lot of people, I don’t like to look at pictures of myself. The last photograph of me that I actually liked was for my student ID when I first started college. It didn’t look anything like me. Possibly they made a mistake, but since then I’ve disliked almost all pictures of myself.

This Easter batch was particularly disturbing. Usually, I avoid looking at them, like vampires avoid looking into mirrors. I dislike pictures of myself primarily due to two factors — 1. The smirkiness factor and 2. The pudginess factor.

Whenever I see a picture of myself I first think, “Gee, what an unpleasant self-satisfied looking smirk.” And then I think, “Wow! Am I really that fat?”

It’s a quite disconcerting combination. Since childhood, I never could work up a proper smile for photos and I’ve been dieting and exercising for most of my life.

These days, the photograph situation is only getting worse. I’ve lost all control in being able to censor out the more objectionable photos. At any point, one of my children or grandchildren might post one of those photos online, where the whole world can see it.

Both of our young granddaughters received digital cameras as gifts, so between them, our daughter, and us, whenever we all go somewhere, suddenly there are four or five cameras constantly snapping photos like it’s a fashion shoot for Vogue magazine. They are particularly relentless, like some sort of kiddie paparazzi. The really sad part is that Diane and I purchased most of the cameras.

I haven’t eaten sugary foods for several years, but the Easter photos motivated me to drastically cut back on carbohydrates as well. As I’ve mentioned before, I also gave up diet sodas and artificial sweeteners. I was a deeply devoted blue-packet person, but I am gradually learning to tolerate slightly bitter unsweetened tea without shuttering.

My weight loss, however, has been fairly slow and Diane suggested that perhaps I should try to burn more calories by restarting regular exercise. I was on an exercise hiatus at the time, since Diane has her activities restricted, recovering from her surgery.

Previously, we regularly swam laps. Everyone says that swimming is such a good exercise. It’s not weight bearing, so it’s easy on the joints and it’s an easy way to increase your heart rate. When other people get into your swimming lane, it’s also an easy way to get your blood pressure up, too. I liked it because it’s hard to tell when you’re sweating when you’re underwater.

I was considering jogging or going back to a gym, but whenever I’d read about how much exercise you have to do just to burn up a few calories, I’d get discouraged. For example, it takes about 35 minutes of vigorous running just to burn up the calories in a single donut. Still, I was looking for anything that might help.

Several people mentioned to Diane and me that a new fitness center just opened. They said it was very reasonable and easily accessible. With Diane’s encouragement, I went on a tour of the facility and eventually signed up for the basic gym membership. I don’t get any of the fancy frills like massage chairs, tanning beds or red light therapy (whatever that is), but I do get to sweat as much as I want.

It seems like all of gym etiquette is focused around sweat management. Sure, you’re not supposed to grunt when you lift weights or clang the barbells on the floors, and it’s considered bad form to point and laugh at fellow exercisers.

But most important is to not leave any of your sweat showing on any of the equipment. Throughout the gym, there are big rolls of paper towels and large plastic spray bottles of some sort of ammonia chloride solution. After you exercise, you’re supposed to wipe down the equipment you just used. I can understand that some people are creeped out by the idea of touching someone else’s perspiration, but I came to the gym to exercise, not to clean up. I could have cleaned up back at home.

Some people carry around a fancy little gym towel to wipe up after themselves. I think they sell those towels at the front desk. But the towel just seems to spread the sweat round and those people in the gym are just kidding themselves if they think it sanitizes anything.

Let face it — everything in the gym has been drenched in sweat and that little bit of wiping is more of an act of faith than anything else. Sometimes I imagine that the staff fill those spray bottles with sweat and then watch everyone spray it onto the equipment. I think sweat is probably healthier than the chemical concoction in the bottles, anyway.

At least in theory, I like the idea of going to a gym to workout, as it’s kind of macho. It gave me an excuse to immediately go out and buy new gym clothes, a gym bag and even a combination lock for my locker. It’s just like going back to school. It’s high school minus the complexion problems.

Diane is pretty much limited to walking for exercise, so instead of her joining the health club, too, we decided that she would drop me off and I would work out while she would go to the mall and walk around. So far, her mall travails result in her walking into stores and buying things. I may be mistaken, but I think her exercise seems an awfully lot like “shopping.”

— Terry L. Stawar, Ed.D., lives in Georgetown and is the CEO of LifeSpring the local community mental health center in Jeffersonville. He can be reached at tstawar@lifespr.com. Check out his Welcome to Planet-Terry blog and podcast at www.planetterry.wordpress.com.