So, this hasn't happened in a while.
And by "this", I mean writing an actual entry. Sure, I've answered some of Platypi's questions, but I can't call those actually entries that were about me. I don't know what to say except that sometimes I feel the strongest urge to write and sometimes I just want to sit on my duff and veg in front of the boob tube (oh who am I kidding??? I'm looking at porn on the Internet! I mean they're so naked...and smooth...!); today is the former.
Tonight, for the third time this week, I'm disappointed in myself. For the last few days, I've been unable to make my diet goals.
First, a little back story. For the last several months, I've been on a diet. A hardcore, ass-kicking diet consisting of calorie counting, walking and an elliptical machine. I've been on this grind since November and since then, I've successfully dropped 4 pants sizes. I'm now a svelte size 33 or 34 depending on the type of pants I'm wearing (oddly enough, if I'm wearing khakis, I'm a size 34, if I'm wearing jeans, I'm a size 33; I don't even pretend to understand that). I don't know exactly where I started, but I can say that at my heaviest, I was 223 lbs, I'm now a 174 lbs, give or take a cupcake or two!
Since November, I've been hitting this like I hate it!!! I've been counting every calorie to the ounce! I've been walking 2 or more hours a day and riding the elliptical 60 to 80 minutes for several nights a week. And I'm happy to report that ALL of my hard work has paid off!
And folks have been talkin'! Every few weeks, someone would marvel at my results and some folks would even ask me how it felt. And I'd tell them:
It sucks! All of it!
The tedium of calorie counting, the solitude of walking 2 to 3 hours a day (I used to think that I was very familiar w/doing things alone and even welcomed certain tasks like writing this entry for example, but these walks have allowed me to see things that I would've missed by opening my big mouth and blabbing over a what could've been a beautiful sunset; conversely, I've also find myself agreeing with Harry Nilsson: one is the loneliest number and although "one" gets into less trouble, "one" also finds himself talking to himself; not even "one" is truly a "one") until my flat feet sob in resignation as I push through discomfort and even to pain, the hour and some change I spend sweating and panting on an elliptical machine until my thighs curse the word "elliptical". On the plus side, my roommates have an endless source of enjoyment thanks to the all of the gangsta rap and inspirational tunes that pipe from my Zune, amp me up and cause me to talk smack. Out loud. For everyone in the house to hear. It sounds something like this: silent swish of elliptical, silent swish of elliptical, AW SHIT SON, THIS IS MY JAM!!!, silent swish of elliptical, silent swish of elliptical, WHAT!?!, WHAT!?!, SECOND WIND BABY!, SECOND WIND!!!
As I said, I've lost 49 lbs (this is the first time I've actuallysaid written the number of el bees I've lost down in front of me, feels kinda unreal) and I may go for a few more. But the last couple of days have been a bit of a challenge and I've gone over my caloric limit 4 times last week. Four times!!! And now, starting this week, I'm going to go over, AGAIN! TONIGHT!
Honestly. Truthfully. I'm scared. I don't want to go back, and I feel that the best way to do that is on the straight in narrow. But what happens when you start to slip and stumble and falter...and fall? I mean, is this all I have? Is that all that's in me? Is this all that I'm capable of? What happens next? Do I plateau? Do I descend? If I do descend, how fast or slow? How? When?
No. No, I can't do this! I cannot give up now! I've come too fucking far! I'm going to continue doing what I'm doing! I'm going to take these hits and keep right on ticking! I refuse to let these set backs stop me. Tomorrow, I start a new.
The last three paragraphs are a constant dialog that runs through my head every minute of everyday. Is it healthy? Probably not. But it's mine. And I do believe that this is what dieting in a first world, industrialized nation is like. Americans are surrounded by, no, marinating in excess. Too much of anything really isn't a good thing. Add to that the fact that the caloric count in food is cosmically unfair (large strawberry milkshake from Burger King, 630 calories), almost instantly accessible, and a society so conditioned to think that X-Large is a little on the small side, and it's easy to see why weight loss is a tough bridge to traverse.
This truly is a lifestyle choice; I need to misbehave every now and again, and refrain from calling it a diet, or I'll become a wreck. I need to keep my focus and learn from our young men and women who recently represented our country in England...and Rocky...
Eye of the tiger, baby! Eye of the tiger!
www.loseit.com
And by "this", I mean writing an actual entry. Sure, I've answered some of Platypi's questions, but I can't call those actually entries that were about me. I don't know what to say except that sometimes I feel the strongest urge to write and sometimes I just want to sit on my duff and veg in front of the boob tube (oh who am I kidding??? I'm looking at porn on the Internet! I mean they're so naked...and smooth...!); today is the former.
Tonight, for the third time this week, I'm disappointed in myself. For the last few days, I've been unable to make my diet goals.
First, a little back story. For the last several months, I've been on a diet. A hardcore, ass-kicking diet consisting of calorie counting, walking and an elliptical machine. I've been on this grind since November and since then, I've successfully dropped 4 pants sizes. I'm now a svelte size 33 or 34 depending on the type of pants I'm wearing (oddly enough, if I'm wearing khakis, I'm a size 34, if I'm wearing jeans, I'm a size 33; I don't even pretend to understand that). I don't know exactly where I started, but I can say that at my heaviest, I was 223 lbs, I'm now a 174 lbs, give or take a cupcake or two!
Since November, I've been hitting this like I hate it!!! I've been counting every calorie to the ounce! I've been walking 2 or more hours a day and riding the elliptical 60 to 80 minutes for several nights a week. And I'm happy to report that ALL of my hard work has paid off!
And folks have been talkin'! Every few weeks, someone would marvel at my results and some folks would even ask me how it felt. And I'd tell them:
It sucks! All of it!
The tedium of calorie counting, the solitude of walking 2 to 3 hours a day (I used to think that I was very familiar w/doing things alone and even welcomed certain tasks like writing this entry for example, but these walks have allowed me to see things that I would've missed by opening my big mouth and blabbing over a what could've been a beautiful sunset; conversely, I've also find myself agreeing with Harry Nilsson: one is the loneliest number and although "one" gets into less trouble, "one" also finds himself talking to himself; not even "one" is truly a "one") until my flat feet sob in resignation as I push through discomfort and even to pain, the hour and some change I spend sweating and panting on an elliptical machine until my thighs curse the word "elliptical". On the plus side, my roommates have an endless source of enjoyment thanks to the all of the gangsta rap and inspirational tunes that pipe from my Zune, amp me up and cause me to talk smack. Out loud. For everyone in the house to hear. It sounds something like this: silent swish of elliptical, silent swish of elliptical, AW SHIT SON, THIS IS MY JAM!!!, silent swish of elliptical, silent swish of elliptical, WHAT!?!, WHAT!?!, SECOND WIND BABY!, SECOND WIND!!!
As I said, I've lost 49 lbs (this is the first time I've actually
Honestly. Truthfully. I'm scared. I don't want to go back, and I feel that the best way to do that is on the straight in narrow. But what happens when you start to slip and stumble and falter...and fall? I mean, is this all I have? Is that all that's in me? Is this all that I'm capable of? What happens next? Do I plateau? Do I descend? If I do descend, how fast or slow? How? When?
No. No, I can't do this! I cannot give up now! I've come too fucking far! I'm going to continue doing what I'm doing! I'm going to take these hits and keep right on ticking! I refuse to let these set backs stop me. Tomorrow, I start a new.
The last three paragraphs are a constant dialog that runs through my head every minute of everyday. Is it healthy? Probably not. But it's mine. And I do believe that this is what dieting in a first world, industrialized nation is like. Americans are surrounded by, no, marinating in excess. Too much of anything really isn't a good thing. Add to that the fact that the caloric count in food is cosmically unfair (large strawberry milkshake from Burger King, 630 calories), almost instantly accessible, and a society so conditioned to think that X-Large is a little on the small side, and it's easy to see why weight loss is a tough bridge to traverse.
This truly is a lifestyle choice; I need to misbehave every now and again, and refrain from calling it a diet, or I'll become a wreck. I need to keep my focus and learn from our young men and women who recently represented our country in England...and Rocky...
Eye of the tiger, baby! Eye of the tiger!
www.loseit.com
Comments