My weight tends to fluctuate by about 20 pounds.
That’s not an issue though because I’m a 6’8” linebacker in the NFL and you can barely tell. (Most of the extra weight goes to my biceps.)
Oh wait, that’s not right. I’m an average-height writer of non-fiction books.
What usually happens is that during the winter, I find a few extra pounds around the house. I eat richer foods, focus on cheese consumption and emerge from the cold weather looking like I’m wearing a sweater when I’m really not.
When you gain weight and decide to lose it, you experience the 5 stages of hating your diet.
I don’t need to lose weight. These pants have just shrunk. That’s all. That mirror has a weird shape, like, it has a “fat bend.” The batteries on the scale must be dying. It’s a posture thing. I need to stand straighter. A lot of it is muscle weight, probably. What does that word even mean, “diet?” Instead of focusing on my health, I’m going to just learn to accept myself. I am beautiful no matter what you say! Hear me roar. Like a firework or whatever.
This is so stupid! I promised myself last time that I would not gain those pounds again! Remember? I did the Carlton dance from the Fresh Prince when I hit my target weight? I was so happy! And now those stupid pounds are back. It’s not my fault! It’s the world we live in. There are a lot more products with funnels and centers now. I can’t help it that I am growing up in the golden age of ice cream having a solid center of caramel. That’s so unfair!
What if I run more? What about burpees? I see fit people always doing those on Instagram. How about that? I will work out like a maniac but still not change my diet at all. What do you say? You let me keep queso and I’ll start running all the time. I’ll commute to work via foot. I’ll get a fitbit and bit so hard! How about that? Or, I’ll eat really well but never exercise. I’ll even have kale, which tastes like wet sadness. Do we have a deal? No whammy!
My body hates me. How come fat never goes anywhere cool on your body? I’m just going to buy more sweaters. Bigger sweaters. I’m going to find out who sold all those pajamas that look like jeans in the Sky Mall catalog and wear those. Those things get me. Pajama pants are my friend. I am the Charlie Brown of diets. Good grief!
Fine! I’ll do it. I’ll get back on the bike and back on my healthy eating plan. I won’t keep pop tarts in the house because me and pop tarts are like Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. Undeniable. And I won’t put off starting. I’ll start today. As in right now. I’m in.
I didn’t exaggerate once during this post.
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Like pants with buttons that aren’t under so much pressure they might pop off and kill a man.
Screw burpees and shame.
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It’s time to get goaling!
That felt like too much at the end, but I couldn’t resist.