This month, the girl and i are embarking on what we’ve termed the “Month of Power”. Similar to the increasingly popular ‘Sober January’, but without the sobriety, necessarily. It’s focused on penance for a truly excessive month of December, but if i’m honest with myself, i’ve eaten even more badly than my already reprehensible standard for a solid two years now. Therefore, a month of corrective measures. Plenty of exercise (this isn’t the least bit unusual for me, of course) including the dreaded Kelsey and her brutal boot camps on Thursdays. And also a 2,000 calorie a day (or fewer) diet. For a guy my size, this results in losing weight.
What’s interesting about this, is that every time i undertake to lose weight, i flirt with tendencies that remain from when i was 17 and dangerously anorexic (trust me on this one, if you’re not related to me or one of the few close friends who’s seen pictures). Sticking to things that have printed numbers of calories on the side. Adding them up obsessively. When i’m forced to eat something that someone, say, cooks, leaving 1,000 worth of room for something that winds up being half that. And suddenly the 2,000 is 1,500. And all this is fueled by feeling better, looking better, nothing but positive reinforcement for a while.
But eventually it’s unhealthy. Not just ’cause it’s all Hot Pockets and ramen and diet Mountain Dew (and beer, beer i’ve left room for). Mostly because it’s an insufficient amount of nutrition. Instead of flying down the soccer field and finding push-ups easier, i’m winded after five minutes and weak as a kitten.
So it’s best to have an end in sight. And damn am i ever looking forward to that end. And pizza. And cheezburgers. And burritos. And that’s how i know i’m okay.
Vuvuzle 