February 12th, 2012: Down a pound to 314; chugging right along this week I’d say. I eat two whole-wheat English muffins every night with I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter (Light) smeared all over them. It’s my favorite part of dinner – that whole grain carb. Unfortunately, it’ll likely be the first thing that goes if I stagnate at any certain weight for too long. That’s just it – that’s how I’m approaching this – if I like something too much, well, I just have to kiss it goodbye if it holds me back. No matter what it is – this is just too important. I’ll be sad about missing whatever “that” is a lot less than the happiness I’ll experience in the triumph of peeling off 161 pounds.
When I’m in the middle of a metaphorical endurance run like this weight-loss thing, I like to maintain a routine; a pace, if you will. It’s really hard to do that with kids and stuff sometimes, but it works best for me at these times. Along with that routine I have habits developing. Mostly good, some weird, but not too many bad ones anymore (that’s good, right!). I’m so boring now that I feel I have to apologize to my wife daily for being so damn dull (which she says is not true and would be unnecessary to apologize for anyhow).
One of my habits is listening to the same i-tunes playlist on my 30 minute commute to work every morning. Same exact songs. The last song I hear as I approach the final security checkpoint in to the facility is a song called “Joe Knows How to Live” by Eddy Raven. Yes, I’m listening to that song every day Monday through Friday from about 6:40 am to 6:44 am MST. It’s a song about enjoying life. I like to live vicariously through Joe right now.
That’s a dangerous way of thinking right now, too. If anything can derail my weight loss journey, it’s one of those moments where I might say, “you only live once” to myself at the wrong time. That’s not what the song says, the song just prompts you to enjoy life. So I might say to myself, ah fuck it, I’m gonna’ eat what I want, “you only live once”. The problem is, if I live overweight, it’s not living at all. It’s just surviving, and probably not very long. The moral is, yes, I want to live like Joe, but it can’t happen at my current weight and its associated possible health consequences. So I’ll take a year and get down to where I need to be. It’ll be a grind, but it’ll be worth it. Then I’ll enjoy life like life is supposed to be enjoyed. Like Joe does. I’ll learn to enjoy things, but not so much that I ruin it for myself and potentially anyone else who may depend on me.
My daydream today is water skiing, maybe at Lake Tahoe, high summer.
In the summer of 2005, at Ririe Reservoir, near my hometown, I went water-skiing with my buddies. When it was my turn to ski, the boat we were using couldn’t pull me up and out of the water. Granted, it was an older boat and not a super-powered craft, but it got everyone else out of the water when it was their turn. I’m lucky I didn’t get a water enema.
Anyway, at Lake Tahoe, that’s not going to happen. I’ll rocket out of the water. I’ll look awesome. I’ll have deltoid muscles that’re popping out all over. The sun will shine and I will smile.
February 12th, 2020 (retrospective): The snow caked on the back of the car as I step into the 4 a.m. darkness is just there to remind me that I have molded myself into an all-weather sonofabitch, and as my future real opponents drool on their pillows and dream about ice cream and sugar-plums, I’m awake and working toward my dreams. The dreams are still fast asleep at that time in the morning, and I’m essentially just a robot in the process-factory, but the process tells me that everything will be fine, and my dreams will again be crystal clear and a tiny bit closer to my grasp in just a little over an hour from now.
I learned that if I can get out of bed just that one morning, and allow myself to feel the air of victory and power just for those first few steps away from the comfort of those blankets, then I’ve just had what I call a “mini-mega victory”. Getting up and out of that bed is nothing and everything. It is so so so hard some mornings – especially in the dark-dead of winter. For chrissakes, all I gotta do is just roll over, and stand up, but you’d think it was the equivalent of building an Egyptian pyramid in a day. All I’ve gotta do is look down at my feet and make them take me to the kitchen to start the coffee and then to the bathroom to weigh myself. Then I’ve just gotta make them take me back to the kitchen for vitamins and a little water and lot of coffee.
After I get dressed, I’ve got to step from the warm and comforting house into the bitter cold garage, where the snow-caked and filthy truck is parked on the slush filled, filthy-ass concrete. Then I’ve gotta drive through an incessant wind over icy roads toward the gym, sipping coffee and still not thinking clearly about anything other than “what is the fucking point of this…”. I get to the gym, and now I’ve got to make sure I don’t fall when I’m forced to walk over uneven accumulations of ice or through a slush puddle to soak my feet on the way to the front doors. And then I’m in, where I’m starting to see other zombies gather. What is the matter with you fuckers? How can anyone do this so bullshit early? But I am almost there. Upstairs I warm-up with 30 leg presses while hearing every goddamn joint creaking and every muscle feel like an old and cold rubber band. Then I step on the treadmill or stairmaster. With a deep breath of resignation, I start the machine. I saunter and mosey for about 5 minutes…
…And then I FUCKING GO FOR IT!!! And now whatever else happens through that workout or through the course of that day, I’ll still own that day. I have won. I have faced my most ruthless and demonic opponent. He is me. He is the me that thinks it’s okay to be a pussy and not try hard. I dominated him and I am victorious.
