5 years ago today I was celebrating on Facebook that I’d lost 25 pounds and was trying to lose 15 more, to get back down to about 180. I’d been training for my first mud run, so losing all that extra bulk was a necessity.
I kept it off for a few years, then got into trucking, then started working all kinds of insane and unaccommodating hours, and that took its toll on my body. The increase was gradual and steady. I’ve lost token amounts of weight here and there, but always gained it back quickly because of how I live and work.
This is neither healthy nor affordable, and I’ve decided to put the kabosh on it. I’m scared to go back and add up how much my “just a few bucks” trips to gas stations and truck stops has costed me. Something tells me it wouldn’t be hard to crack a hundred bucks a month, especially if I add in the recently-frequent fast food runs at work.
I can’t keep doing this, but I have been because it’s convenient and tastes good. And then I sit around wondering why I can’t get back into mudding shape. I peaked at 230 pounds this year, the heaviest I’ve ever been. Not good. If I had Andrew Luck’s BMI, that would be one thing, but I don’t.
So here goes:
I officially declare that I am no longer drinking soda, be it diet or otherwise. If I really want something bubbly, a case of La Croix is cheap and harmless. If I want something tasty, a case of electrolyte drinks is affordable.
I am no longer buying fast food, or buying lunch even if I’m out with the guys at work. I don’t care if I get weird sideways looks from the employees at Arby’s as my co-workers order their $11 combos and I’m eating leftovers out of a Tupperware. Fight me, bro.
I’m not getting candy, even occasionally. Beef jerky is overpriced at corner stores. Protein bars? Buy ’em in bulk and ration ’em out. I’m getting hosed on expensive good food, but shooting myself in the foot by eating cheap bad food. Then I come home at night, stay up late working, and grab a bowl of cereal while I draw or edit.
Gee Graham, I can’t imagine why you’re heavy, or why you often get short of breath after a fit of exertion at your oh-so-physical job.
So hold me to this, guys. This starts now and runs *at least* through four weeks, which gets me past my birthday. I won’t be so naive as to think I’ll be able to avoid every ounce of this stuff but I have to make the drastic change now, because weeks and months and maybe even years of saying “Okay, this time I’ll do it, and quietly…” hasn’t worked.
Cat’s out of the bag. I’m back in hardware mode. Let’s GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.