Does this technology make me look fat?

Most of us, when we think of technology, regard it in terms of machines: computers that compute faster, electronic servers that host infinite information on the internet , even cars that because of technology are more powerful yet more fuel economical than their predecessors 20 years ago. Not many of us, however, regard technology and clothes in the same thought.

Yet, technology has made great strides in the advancement of how clothes function, especially in the field of sports.

Take swimming, for example. Speedo has introduced a new swimsuit called the LZR Racer. It's expected to play a significant role in the Summer Olympics next month in Beijing, China. It was already the talk of the competitive swimming community during the recent Olympic trials for U.S. swimmers in Boise, Idaho, where records fell like a house of cards. The full-body LZR actually squeezes the body with 70 times more force than its predecessor, actually making the body more sleek -- and therefore less resistant -- through the water. One Italian swimming official described the suit as "technological doping."

We've come a long way baby from the little Speedo brief that Mark Spitz wore in 1972.

This compression technology has made its way into other sporting attire as well, both for the professional and more casual athlete.

I have two such pieces of clothing -- a compression top for winter running and a full-body wetsuit for my recent pursuit of learning how to surf. My problem with the compression technology is that it is very revealing. There's no hiding a body flaw with something that is so skin tight in can almost make the individual hairs on my chest show through. And my primary body flaw during these days of middle age is belly fat.

My belly isn't Type 2 diabetes threatening bad. Admittedly I could lose 10 pounds. In my normal day-to-day clothes it really doesn't look too bad. But my normal day-to-day clothes tend toward generously-waisted pants and loosely fitting shirts. It's when I stuff myself into those compression suits that it's an eye opener, in more ways than one.

To begin with, just getting into a compression garment is an aerobic exercise in itself, the equivalent of at least a mile on the treadmill at an 8 minute, 30 second pace. It can take your breath away with all the grunting and straining and effort to literally stuff 175 pounds into something seemingly made to hold 100 pounds.

I thought I might need something in the roomy size for my wet suit, but Tyler at the Summer Sessions surf shop in Rye, N.H., was careful to fit me to make best use of the technology that's meant to keep your body warm against the extended exposure in the cold ocean water of the Atlantic. He wanted me in a wetsuit that was as tight as possible without restricting my ability to breathe. I learned after the first day on the beach to get into my wetsuit beforehand at home ... best not to scare the little kiddies and their mothers with the grunting and swearing required of getting into the thing. Maybe that's why surfers are confined to more remote stretches of beach.

If nothing else, the compression running top and the surfing wetsuit give me the visual incentive to maintain an exercise schedule and try to eat a sensible diet that leans more toward lower fat foods.

Sure, the clothes make the man. But do they have to scare the women and children in the process?