March 12th, 2012: 2 more lbs south. Down to 295. Solidly in the 2’s now baby! I gave a ½ lb. of sweat on the treadmill, ½ lb. of sweat in the boxing gym, and 1 lb. of blood in the doctor’s office.
Rewards. I had a dream last night that I had reached my goal weight and decided to take a trip to Florida as a reward. But here’s the lame part. I got to Florida and there were all these beautiful people to keep me motivated and all these fun things to do with your shirt off, but all I did was rent a boat and drive it out in the ocean a ways, where I sat and ate huge chocolate chip cookies (each one was the size of a large pizza) and drank Bud Light after Bud Light after Bud Light. I think the dream lasted all night. I’m surprised I didn’t gain weight from dreaming about food (I think that’s happened to me before).
Here we go again with the food-as-a-reward theme. I can’t lie about this. I could talk shit all day long about coming up with new ways to reward myself with each milestone I reach (I’ve even put $100 in a “get fat while I get skinny” savings account for each 10 lbs. I lose – to use for something cool to buy when I get to goal weight, like a guitar or something). And really there should be an intrinsic reward just to accomplish it when I finish that long journey. And really I should spend that $1300 on my family if I was as good a husband and father as I want to be. And really there are so many benefits to losing weight. But man, the fact that food is always number 1 is really scary.
Seriously, if somebody was like “here’s a $100 for reaching goal. You can use it to either 1) Buy $100 of food that you have to eat today, or 2)Buy $100 of anything else in the world today”. There would be no question as to which one I would choose. I write this just to remind myself that I have, in fact, decided to jump into a fight that will last the rest of my life (that is, if I want to live a good long life).
But I love a good fight. I will always be smiling while I’m fighting. And truthfully, I think a little food reward here and there after I reach goal is not the end of the world, just as long as it’s not a boat full of chocolate chip cookies and beer.
March 12th, 2020: I was taught way back in the day by my dad, my older brothers, and by a multitude of coaches, cowboys, and firefighters to face my fears straight on – straight ahead – right in the fuckin face. Most of the time, people told me, the actual situation would never be that hard. This has been correct. Most of the time. The whole swimming thing turned into a fear that I hadn’t expected I’d have to face.
Swimming is supposed to be fun. Swimming turned into a nightmare. I signed up for that triathlon, and after that, there was no turning back; yet I still couldn’t swim more than 4 or 5 laps without cashing in my chips. I hired a swim coach, she was awesome. There is something to say about hiring someone to help you one-on-one. I learned all the proper techniques. I was at or near my goal weight. I was in damn good shape overall. It was all mental.
I just couldn’t get over that barrier. I’d hit the 5-lap mark and my brain just said, “you’re done”, and just like that, I’d have to grasp for the side of the pool. Damn, talk about frustrating! I would continue until I’d hit all the laps necessary to hit a quarter-mile and some change, but it’d be in chunks of 3-4 laps at the most, and I’d finish those gasping for air. It seemed like it was going to insurmountable. It felt like the whole losing weight thing. It felt like I was trying hard for absolutely nothing. The date of the triathlon kept approaching. There was still dirty snow and puddles outside, and the famous spring Idaho wind was starting to blow every afternoon. The clouds of that triathlon shit-storm that I believe I had voluntarily signed-up for were building fast.
To be continued…
