A Little Whining
My body and I never really had a good understanding. It'd tell me when I was hungry, I'd eat; when I was tired, I knew it, and I'd sleep or nap; when thirsty I'd drink, et cetera.
But I grew soft and fat. I was a laughingstock. So I sucked it up one day seven years ago and swore it would never be that way again. So my war began. It was the most difficult thing I had undertaken to that point in my life; and continues to be a hurtle to be overcome. I started small; walking twenty minutes a day; a week later thirty. The next, fourty. Before long I was up to 80 minutes a day. I added bike riding and stretching regiments to my daily routine. I also went on a diet, a variation of which I maintain to this day: Avoid meat (omitting red meat almost entirely), eat far more vegetables and fruits, very few sweets, and try to eat more whole grains and the like. This wasn't just a selfish endavour to look better, either. My maternal grandfather has had several heart-bypass operations in the last decade, and my father has had trouble with high cholesterol as well. My paternal grandfather died of a stroke a year ago, no doubt due to his own poor health habits. I didn't want to be like them. I didn't want to die from my own weakness, nor did I want to live only because the surgeons and medicines allowed me to. I wanted to live on my own terms.
Over the years (and mutations of my workouts) I've put on more weight, taken if ott, added more muscle mass, etc. I wanted to get back to my ideal weight of 170 lbs, and I knew it would be a touch easier here, what with the gyms available for use at minimal cost and hassle. So I set out to get from 180 to 170.
I cut back on food eaten. I stepped up my workouts to older, more stringent levels, and maintained them for about two months.
Guess what.
Still 180, for better or worse. So...I think this is it. Doesn't get much better than this. Short of taking a chainsaw to myself. Manually. ha-ha-ha.
It's a whiny post, I know, but honestly. It's been bugging me lately. So there.
But I grew soft and fat. I was a laughingstock. So I sucked it up one day seven years ago and swore it would never be that way again. So my war began. It was the most difficult thing I had undertaken to that point in my life; and continues to be a hurtle to be overcome. I started small; walking twenty minutes a day; a week later thirty. The next, fourty. Before long I was up to 80 minutes a day. I added bike riding and stretching regiments to my daily routine. I also went on a diet, a variation of which I maintain to this day: Avoid meat (omitting red meat almost entirely), eat far more vegetables and fruits, very few sweets, and try to eat more whole grains and the like. This wasn't just a selfish endavour to look better, either. My maternal grandfather has had several heart-bypass operations in the last decade, and my father has had trouble with high cholesterol as well. My paternal grandfather died of a stroke a year ago, no doubt due to his own poor health habits. I didn't want to be like them. I didn't want to die from my own weakness, nor did I want to live only because the surgeons and medicines allowed me to. I wanted to live on my own terms.
Over the years (and mutations of my workouts) I've put on more weight, taken if ott, added more muscle mass, etc. I wanted to get back to my ideal weight of 170 lbs, and I knew it would be a touch easier here, what with the gyms available for use at minimal cost and hassle. So I set out to get from 180 to 170.
I cut back on food eaten. I stepped up my workouts to older, more stringent levels, and maintained them for about two months.
Guess what.
Still 180, for better or worse. So...I think this is it. Doesn't get much better than this. Short of taking a chainsaw to myself. Manually. ha-ha-ha.
It's a whiny post, I know, but honestly. It's been bugging me lately. So there.