simple moves

I have to say, I've been working out consistently and killing it during many of the sessions.  Just like I did last year, I started out on January 1st and got up and put my trainers on and poured sweat and shredded muscle tissue.

It was actually a lot easier this time around, too, because I'm used to it now.

YES.  I'M USED TO IT.

Prior to last year, working out was equivalent to eating dog crap but now it's no thang.  It's weird but kind of awesome.

That's not to say I haven't had my bad days.  I'll get up and go through the motions sometimes.  And I used to feel bad about it because I feel like if I'm going to work out, it needs to count.  I don't want to waste my time flailing around and not burning enough calories to matter.  But I saw a quote on Facebook that said something like the only bad workout is one you didn't do.  Made me feel better.  Made me realize it does matter.  It does count. 

But, as I said, sometimes I really put 110% into the workout and by the end, I'm drenched in sweat and my body hurts and when I wake up in the morning in pain, I like it.  I know it's actually not good for you to be sore like that but it makes me feel like I really did something so I welcome the pain.

devil on your back

"And every demon wants his pound of flesh..."
-Florence and the Machine, Shake it Out

Do we all have demons?  Are we all required to claim a vice at the beginning of our lives?  The world is stained red and we have to suit up with sex or alcohol just to make it through.  We all feel the pull of pain and we choose different methods of self-medicating.

My method's with the marshmallows.  I eat my feelings.  I stuff down my pain with pasta.  I'm fat.  I'm in the fat group.  That's my addiction.  That's my comfort.  That's my demon.  And it's disheartening to know I'm a part of such a problem.

I'm the fat stomach the camera from one of those news segments covering "Fat America" zooms in on as I walk across the street.  I'm the open mouth stuffing fries into my face.  I am the target audience for diet pill advertisements and fat burning exercise infomercials.  I am inundated with Burger King coupons and thin model magazines.  I'm torn between the temptation and the torture.  My brain is assaulted by all these mixed messages of decadence and deltoids.

The holidays hit me pretty hard.  I have to admit, despite my weight loss and my new healthy attitude toward food, I'm still addicted to the (good) bad stuff.  And for the past two months, I have shoveled food in my mouth at any given opportunity.  Naturally, I let myself go during Thanksgiving and Christmas but I also went wild in the days between.  Let's not forget my birthday was also wedged in there so I had to celebrate with a gigantic pizza and cake.  I ate a lot of fast food and couldn't wait until dessert so I could dig into marble cake with whipped icing or Mom's homemade peanut butter balls with almond bark.  I ate with abandon and didn't give a crap.

I always justified my eating habits by saying it was a temporary holiday thing and I would go back to normal after Christmas.  But now that it's the new year, things are hard.  All I want is more cake and that's something I wouldn't have dreamed of five months ago.  Did I somehow change my chemicals by eating healthier and then changed them again by eating garbage?

If so, the transition begins yet again.

santa claws me in the face

Thursday afternoon, I put on my frayed trainers and headed out the door.  The weather was perfect for a good walk to I had to go out and enjoy it.  I knew I only had a few days of good weather left before the air turned too cool to go outside.

Things were great.  I wasn't too hot.  I wasn't too sweaty.  Ear buds were firmly in place, pumping music into my extremities.

And then the school bus passed me.

It's always awkward when vehicles pass me.  I can see people crane their necks to look through the rear view mirror at the bearded stranger walking down the dirt road.

It's worse when it's a bus filled with curious and obnoxious children.  That particular bus has passed me a few times and I always caught glimpses of smashed noses and oily forehead prints on the smudged glass.

Being the beautiful day it was, the bus windows were down to allow the sweet little bastards angels to enjoy the cool breeze.  As the bus rolled past, I saw a white ball whirl by me and hit the blades of grass at my feet.

I looked up and saw glowing brake lights as the bus skidded to a stop.  Through the blasting music, I heard the bus driver's booming voice spill over the open windows.  I surmised he was yelling at the littering little snot.  I was only feet from the bus so I slowed my pace.  I didn't want to pass by and risk being pelted with more paper or insults.

"What the hell is this guy doing?" I asked myself about the driver.  The bus just stood in the road, the brake lights illuminating my embarrassment.

Finally, I just turned around and walked in the opposite direction.  I heard the squeak of the tires as the bus started up again.  I didn't look back until I was down the hill.

Oh, why do I always find myself in these awkward situations?  I kept thinking what the kids must have been thinking.  "Hey, John, let's throw this piece of paper at the fat loser walking in the dirt road!"  I don't like being "that" guy, the one people think they can push around or make fun of.  Especially when it's a bunch of middle school shits playing the bully. 

I looped back around to the spot where I was almost hit with the wad of paper and found it on the ground.  I picked it up, smoothed it out and saw it was poorly colored paper Santa.

By the way, you did a crap job putting that Santa together, Pablo Prickasso.

I just wanted to burn some calories and clear my head, not catch a paper cut from Kris Kringle.  Thanks for the holiday cheer, Timmy. I hope you get coal and canker sores for Christmas. And people ask me why I don't like kids! 

path

I'm not even an outside person but the cool breeze has been so nice I honestly felt guilty for not going outside and soaking it up.  It seems it's hot the majority of the year, freezing for a portion of it, and then there's about two good weeks of perfect weather.  I didn't want it to go to waste so I have been walking outside more.

There's a dirt road next to my house that I walk along.  Sometimes the foliage gets a little overgrown and it does a number on my legs.  Lately, they've been breaking out into a rash (even when I wear athletic pants to cover them) and there's also the occasional douche bag that doesn't slow down when they pass me and it kicks up dirt into my eyes.  But when the weather is cool and the sweat is flowing and no one is around but me and the cows, it's great.

salt soul

I finished Insanity on a lackluster note last week.  I had a lot of plans with people after work and that made it hard to exercise because I got home late and had to be up early for work and I also gave myself the lame excuse that one more week wasn't going to make a difference.  I didn't have a six pack before that last week and I wasn't going to have one after.  I think I worked out three out of the six days I was supposed to, which isn't terrible but I really wanted to finish strong.

Not a great end but the fact that I pushed myself for two months and sweat buckets each time is great.  I have muscle definition in my arms and I can do way more push ups and crunches than before I started and I have way more stamina...ladies.

I want to go back to the 8-week workout I started back in January.  I thought it would be a good idea to cycle through all my fitness programs  but I also want to take a week to do some lower intensity workouts, like my mom's walking DVDs, before I hit it hard again.  You know, something to give the old knees a break from all that Insanity pounding. 

Just for kicks, I popped in my P90 DVD two nights ago and breezed through the workout!  Insanity has really gotten me in better shape.  I remember huffing and puffing through P90 when I did it several months ago but this time around I was really able to keep up.  That was a good feeling.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still tubby and tire easily...just not as tubby and don't tire as easily.  It's improvement and I'll take it!

I've also tried to incorporate walking outside because the weather has been gorgeous lately.  I'll post pictures of my route on my next entry.

I've been a bit more relaxed with my workout schedule.  Since I'm not following any program, I don't feel as compelled to be strict, which is good and bad.  I haven't reached my goal weight so I shouldn't be so relaxed but at the same time, I have worked hard this year and I'm really just taking an easy week or two but I do intend on going hard again, even through Thanksgiving and Christmas.  With my work schedule and family obligations and tons of turkey, I'm sure I won't be able to exercise every day but that's okay.  As long as I keep going.

I think I'll be able to.

It's only the days that I want to exercise that I don't that bother me.  I also need to add that I've been eating badly lately.  Lots of candy.  Slipping in more and more fatty foods.  I need to reel the cheating in big time.  I'm being too lenient with my diet.  I can understand slacking off on the exercise after the boot camp from hell I went through for two months but food should remain non-negotiable. 

So when I eat crap and then don't exercise on a day I'm supposed to, it worries me.  Sometimes I don't get up and go but other times, despite my internal conflict, I push it all aside and just do it.  By the time I've got my shoes on, all hesitation is gone and I'm good to go.

I just feel better when I exercise.  Don't get that statement wrong.  I haven't turned into one of those people.  I don't physically feel better but I do mentally.  It's one more victory, one more fight against the calories I've consumed, one more attempt at creating a balance.  I'm starting to see that every bit of physical exercise is worth it, despite how I felt about the last week of Insanity not making a difference.  Sure, I wasn't going to get ripped but I could have burned off some of those extra candy calories. 

It's just when I wake up in the morning and I'm hurting, when it's difficult to bend my legs to get out of bed, I love it (although it's actually not good because it means I didn't sufficiently stretch) because it makes me feel like I really worked out, really pushed myself.  It's like how I feel when I sweat profusely.  I know I accomplished something.

I also hope some of that salt has seeped past the skin, that a switched has been flipped on, that I'll continue to be physical because I know I need to be.  Food is such a temptation for me and I am still so weak, despite the weight loss, despite turning down doughnuts, I still struggle.  And exercise is a good way to offset the days when I can't say no.  I hope exercising becomes a part of me, something I do regularly.  It doesn't have to be every day but at least four times a week.  And not even every week.  Maybe some days I can do five days a week and others three.  I don't have to be strict about it but I need to be firm, to keep myself accountable and remind myself that I need to get up and go, to feel the fat fall away as the sweat pours out. 

binge and not break

Yesterday, I felt I ate too much.

I really tried not to freak out about it because I've made so much progress when it comes to slipping up.  I've learned (or thought I had) that I can just let it go, realize that making a few missteps here and there will not undo all the progress I've made.  I know that.

But it will slow me down.  And now that I'm so close to reaching my goal and because it's so close to the end of the year, I really want to stay strong and not mess up so I can be sure I'll reach my goal weight by Christmas.

It's not even that I ate really terrible foods but I just ate too much during my three meals.  I'm constantly comparing the foods I eat to how much I exercised and thinking if it will cancel each other out.  For example, if I feel I really pushed myself with a great workout, I might have an extra serving during meal time or opt for a low fat dessert afterward.  Or if I feel I just went through the motions during the workout, I'll cut back on my food intake to try and compensate.  Just trying to create balance, y'all.

Yesterday, I did really well as far as cardio.  It was so nice outside and I had to take advantage of the cool wind so I went walking for an hour and I was such a BAMF that I immediately went inside and did an hour of Insanity.  Two hours of exercise?  That's just not me.  I'm such a lazy, unmotivated person.  But not yesterday!

So maybe subconsciously I gave myself some jiggle room and ate too much.  But during every meal?  What I should have done is been proud of all the calories I burned and kept it that way instead of replacing them with heaping piles of noodles and cheese.  But I love noodles and cheese.

So I'm a bit pissed at myself and kind of embarrassed about it because I feel like one of those people who are obsessed with every calorie they take in and freak out over having too many Tic Tacs.  I'm definitely not like that.  Yet.

This certainly isn't the first time I've overdone it with food.  But I think this is one of the few times I haven't planned it.  Usually when I cheat, I plan it out.  I tell myself that I will have pizza on Saturday.  That way, I still have control.  I know when I'm going to be bad because I've planned it and allowed it and I've internalized it and accepted it and it's okay.  But yesterday, I didn't plan it.  I didn't allow it.  It just happened and that took away my control.  And that sent me into a minor flush of frustration  

I'll be okay.  That one day is not going to undo all the hard work I've managed to accomplish.  But I guess it goes to show that no matter how much mental progress I've made in regards to trying to lose weight in an emotionally healthy way, I'm still going to encounter setbacks and self-loathing from time to time.  The key is not to let it envelop me.  The key is to acknowledge it and simply move on from it.  Tomorrow is a new day and a new chance to do better.  And in fact, I have done better today.  See, there ya go.  There's always a chance to start over, to regain focus, to renew drive, to throw out punishment and take in awareness and acceptance. 

salt lips

I thought I knew about sweating when I was doing Power 90 but I had no idea how profuse the perspiration would be until I started Insanity.

I'm now on my 2nd week of the 2nd month.  It's weird to think I only have 3 weeks left.  It's went by pretty fast, which I'm grateful for because I get bored easily.  I'm already ready to move on to another program and in about another month, I can.

Insanity will be the 3rd fitness program I've finished this year.  I did the X Factor ST workout, which is an 8 week program.  Then I did Power 90, which lasts 90 days.  And now I'm on Insanity, which is 2 months.  I took a couple of days off between programs and then had a break when I had my surgery but except for those few occasions, I've been pretty consistent and have been doing well and that feels pretty good.

But Insanity doesn't.

The actual program is every bit as tough and sweat-filled as the infomercials suggest.  I'm sweating buckets within the first five minutes and it doesn't stop until well after I've finished.  And now that I'm in month 2, the workouts are longer, sometimes lasting an hour.  Imagine throwing your body on the floor and across the room and slinging sweat for 60 whole minutes, with only 30 second breaks here and there.  It's tooouuughhhh. 

I bend over to stretch and the sweat pours into my eyes and mouth.  It's like diving headfirst into the ocean.  I hate the ocean.

I hate to sweat.  I sweat all the time and it's annoying.  I usually sweat at work while everyone else complains about being cold.  What the what?  But when I'm working out, I welcome the sweat.  I've already mentioned it makes me feel like I'm really accomplishing something.  And when I'm on the floor, trying not to cry and/or throw up from the pain in my back and arms, I look over at my shoulders and see the sheen of sweat and how they are becoming more and more defined each day and it gives me that push I need to get up and toss myself across the room one more time.

I taste the ocean.  I taste the pain.  I taste the triumph of one more day accomplished.

fluctuation frustration

The compliments keep pouring in...

Last week, I rang the doorbell at work to be let in and a coworker unlocked it for me and as he opened the door, he said, "Get your skinny ass in here!"

That was a nice way to start the day.

Later on, another coworker and I were talking and she said, "Are you still on that diet?"

I nodded.

"Well, there's almost nothing left of you!"

That was also nice.  And it was flattering but there's plenty left of me.

A former co-worker came in just a day or two ago and also commented on the fact that I had lost weight.  And today, a co-worker that only comes in once a month asked me if I had lost some weight.

"About 47 pounds now," I said.  I've been fluctuating between 47-48 for the past two weeks or so.

"And I'm just now noticing?"

It seems to be that way.  I received a few remarks here and there when I lost 20 pounds and then a couple more once I hit 30 but mostly no one said anything.  But now that I'm almost at 50 pounds down, it's getting noticed from all angles and of course, it's fantastic.  But I just don't get it.  

As I've mentioned before, I still have that "fat guy" mentality.  My brain can't keep up with my body in terms of being fat and skinny.  I feel like I don't see what others are seeing.  Sure, my chest looks a little flatter to me.  My arms are more defined.  But I can't get past my large stomach that pushes against my shirts or the way my thighs still jiggle when I work out.  It's almost as if my smaller parts accentuate the larger ones.

It's frustrating being so close to the 60 pounds I wanted to lose and realizing a couple of things: my weight loss is slowing down and it's getting harder to lose that last little bit and keep my willpower up and I see now that 60 pounds isn't going to be enough.  Once I hit my goal, I'll take a bit of a break.  Maybe have a pizza.  And then I'm going to have to go back at it.

I also realized that I've dedicated this year to losing all that weight.  I've been dieting and exercising almost every day since January.  I took some time off when I had my throat surgery but once I was healed, I picked up where I left off.  I've been so focused on losing weight, concentrating on portion control and cardio, that I have neglected my movie watching and book reading and book writing.  I have almost completely abandoned my memoir.  I just honestly feel like I'll never get it finished because I keep stopping.  I almost don't even want to talk about it/write about it anymore because it's embarrassing that I've been spouting off about it for all these years and still have nothing to show for it except a half-edited first draft.

But I guess it's not so bad.  Once I get my weight under control, that will be one less thing to obsess over so maybe that'll open up space in my head for creativity and give me more room to write.  But still, I can't help but to feel bad that I took a year out of my life just to correct a problem that shouldn't have been there in the first place.  And it seems like a waste.  But I can't look at it that way, I know.

One thing at a time.  Lose the bulge, write the book.  And I can remember that it was worth it 'cause I'll look really good for my book jacket photo.

dysmorphism

As I previously mentioned, you can look in my closet and see I can clothe a multitude of men in various size ranges.  I've kept my clothes from when I was fatter and thinner.  In some ways, it's good that I keep the smalls and the extra larges waiting in the recesses of my closet because I honestly never know when I'll need to pull them back out.  My weight has fluctuated so much in the past that I can never what size I'm going to be from year to year.

I talked with two co-workers the other day and somehow we got on the topic of pants and I pulled up my droopy khakis and said, "Yeah, looks like it's about time I get some smaller pants.  Again.  This'll be two sizes I've gone down now."

One co-worker, a short black woman with sarcastic inclinations looked me up and down and then peered at me over her thick-framed black glasses.  "Okay, now, how far are you wanting to get?  You're going to blow away here directly."

It was a nice compliment but I didn't understand her.  I was far from blowing away.  In fact, I'm still about 20 pounds over my college weight.  I mentioned this to her and she told me I was too skinny in college.

"I looked through your Facebook pictures," she said.  "To be honest, you looked kind of sickly.  The way you are right now is perfect.  I can't imagine that handsome face sinking in any more."  The other co-worker, a petite white girl with a wide smile looked at her and then me and nodded in agreement.

Maybe I look perfect to her but I'm still a long way from being happy with my body.  It also made me realize I never really know what people think of me.  I can always assume the worst but that's not always the case.  In her eyes, I look fine.  She wasn't secretly thinking I was fat and disgusting, like assumed everyone else does.  And the bigger question: if I can't see myself the way I am in a physical sense, am I also seeing myself differently in the ways I behave and interact with people?  Is that why I get along with mostly no one?  Am I a flaming asshole and everyone can see it but me?

But going back to the physical, I know it shouldn't matter what anyone else thinks of me but it does.  And maybe it's okay to care, or at least take it into consideration.  It's when you become obsessed with it that things begin to go awry.  And, of course, I'm in the obsessed category.  But I didn't need to be.  Here are these two people who think my size is perfectly acceptable.  I wondered who else felt the same way.  I'm always so fixated on the negative aspects of myself that I either don't notice the good stuff or simply gloss over it.

As much as I'm obsessed with what people think of me, I'm also concerned with how I see myself.  Compliments don't go very far with me.  Don't get me wrong, I love them.  When people notice I'm thinner or that I'm having a good skin or hair day, I love it.  But their compliments don't dictate my confidence like it used to.  At least not in regards to my physical appearance.

My size is my own.  For some, I am fine.  For others, I am still too fat.  And as hard as it is for me to contemplate, the chubby chasers out there might think I'm too thin at this point.  So it doesn't make much sense to worry about how others see me because there will always be someone who is not satisfied with my body.  And even further, someone who is not satisfied with my behavior or attitude.  As much as I've tried in the past to mold myself to fit everyone else's standards, I can't do that anymore.  I won't do that anymore.

I'm trying to be happy with myself, to look in the mirror and feel good about what that guy says instead of everyone else.  I want to feel good about how I'm looking and acting and feeling.  Other people matter but I realize that I only have myself when it's a said and done and I have to love who I am, through and through.  No one else is going to be there to help me love me.  I don't love me yet but I do see I need to get there at some point.

I'm really trying to simultaneously improve what I can while accepting what I cannot.  I have these fleeting moments of self-acceptance, or as near to that as I can muster at this point in the game.  I'm trying to get to a place where I am comfortable with myself but it's hard when I continue to destroy my face and body.  I lose weight and feel good and then I gain it back and hate myself and all the progress is undone.  I'm constantly building up and tearing myself down and it's exhausting.  I have no consistency in my life.  I tread and drown and rise up and dive back into the depths.  But mostly I float, letting the world pull me along and drag me under.

All the while my eyes are closed.

wardrobe malfunction

On Sunday, I went shopping from my own collection of clothing.  When I packed up my belongings after college graduation, I placed the majority of my clothes in three giant plastic bins.  When I got home from school, I unloaded the bins from my car but not the clothes.  They went into storage.  What was I using them for?  I didn't have a job and didn't have a legitimate reason to get out of my sleep pants.  Pajama Jeans and Snuggies hadn't yet come onto the scene so my elastic cotton bottoms and oversized t-shirts comprised my wardrobe.  I like to stay classy when I can.

And then I gained all that weight and I knew nothing would fit because, out of the articles of clothing I did take out, they were too tight.  I reasoned the rest would be as well.

But now that I've lost 47 pounds, I'm almost back to my college weight.  I decided to bust out the old clothes and see if any of them fit again.  Much to my surprise, a lot of them did.  I tried on every piece and kept the ones that still fit/I still liked and removed the ones I was no longer interested in having.

Some were still too tight but it didn't bother me because they were size small and I was just flabbergasted that I was ever able to fit into a small at all.  It just confirms the fact that I cannot see my body how it is.  I thought I was fat in college but I was wearing size small?  That doesn't make much sense.  I neatly folded the shirts and sweaters and placed them back in the bin and hoped the next time I busted them out, the ones that were still too tight would finally fit again.

And I had a lot of clothes.  I went through my closet and removed the shirts and jeans that are now too big for me and put them in with the pile I no longer wanted.  I've done this more times than I care to admit.  It feels like I'm always shrinking and expanding, buying up a size and then down a size and that makes for a very cramped closet.

I usually wear the same couple of shirts and jeans all the time because they are comfortable and they fit and I like the way they look.  As I eyed all the clothes I had collected over the years, sizes ranging from small to extra large, I realized I didn't like a lot of my clothes.  When you're a bigger guy, it's hard to shop.  The things that look good on thin people don't look good on you.  You get to be a certain size and everything hangs on you like a shower curtain.  And that's the way I was for a long time.  I often bought clothes because I needed a larger size, not because I liked the way they looked or felt.  I had given up, shopping out of necessity instead of pleasure.

But my body has changed again and I don't feel as defeated when it comes to clothing.  I still don't feel great about it.  I'm still big.  But not as big and shirts and jeans aren't as intimidating.

It was bittersweet going through the mini mountains of stretched out shirts and faded jeans with the beginnings of holes worn into them.  I've made so much progress but it feels kind of empty because I'm just re-losing the weight I already lost.  Most people I know in real life who I don't see on a regular basis probably won't even realize I had to lose the weight all over again.  It's not exactly brag-worthy.  Oh, yeah, remember how I lost all that weight?  Well, I regained it all and then had to lose it again just to go back to being chubby.  My life is a mess and I can't control my weight.  How are you doing?  You gonna finish that?

If only I could have just kept going, kept losing while I was already halfway thin.  Maybe I'd finally be in great shape today instead of working so hard just to be back to where I was three years ago.  I try not to dwell on those kinds of thoughts, though.  They don't help matters.  A lot of people don't realize that I have an illness or addiction or eating disorder or whatever you want to call it.  It's a struggle every single day not to give in to the temptation that taps at my brain.

I'm still not where I want to be but at least I'm not where I was.

insanity

I'm on the third week of the Insanity fitness program and it's every bit as intense and intimidating and painful as the advertisements suggest.

I feel like there's nothing left of me after every workout.  I'm pouring sweat within 5 minutes of the typically 40 minute programs and I'm completely drenched by the end of it.  I've never sweat like that before and have never felt so exhausted by the end of a workout.  My arms and legs are screaming and my lungs are gasping for air and I feel like I've just endured a boot camp session from hell.

But my title doesn't refer to the program.  It refers to my mental condition regarding my continual struggle to lose weight.  I noticed my weight loss started to slow down so I began the Insanity program to kick things back into gear.  Additionally, I started taking Alli consistently and have tried to cut sugar out of my diet.  I hoped the pounds would really drop with all that going on but they haven't.  Yeah, I'm still losing but it's still going so slowly.

I hit a plateau recently where I could not get under 200 pounds.  It was so frustrating because not only was I not losing any weight but I could not break that 200 pound barrier.  It was also frustrating because every plateau was time wasted.  When I committed to losing weight back in January, I wanted to lose 60 pounds in 6 months (10 pounds a month, average of 2 pounds a week, which is safe and recommended) but it's now the 8th month and I've only lost 44 pounds.  I'm very behind and it scares me because I do not want to be overweight for Christmas.  I know I have a few more months left and I even told myself that I had a couple of months of cushion room in case I didn't make my goal right on time but that cushion is slowly dwindling.  And now that I'm running out of time, I'm feeling the pressure to knock of these last 20-30 pounds.

But fortunately, I have finally broken the 200 pounds mark and I am down to 194.8 and it feels good but I am just so impatient and just want the weight to be off already.  I'm already exhausted from the Insanity workouts and frustrated because I can't eat pizza and all I want to do is inhale one so bad.  I know having a cheat day every once in a while is acceptable but not for me.  I'm an all or nothing kind of guy and I've put up a dam when it comes to food and as soon as I let a little grease slip through, the dam will break and I'll find myself on the floor, clutching a Little Debbie in both hands with lard dribbling down my chin.

Despite the 44 pounds lost, I'm still fat.  How much more do I need to lose before I feel good about myself?

There's been this wave of weight loss at work.  Several of my coworkers have gotten on these health kicks and have lost anywhere from 10-20 pounds and they are thin and look great and they didn't have as much to lose or had to work as hard as I have and it sucks because I've lost twice as much as they have and yet I'm still bigger than all of them.

They've reached their goal and can move on with their lives.  But even when I reach my goal, I won't be able to move on with my life.  This is forever.  I'll be on a diet when I die.

It also upsets me that I can't see my progress.  Well, I can.  I look in the mirror or see older pictures of myself and I can see a thinning in my face and frame but I still think my perspective is skewed.  I don't see enough change to be encouraged.  I have a problem seeing my body they way it is.  When I was heavier, I mostly ignored my condition.  I ate because I was depressed and couldn't see the damage I was doing.  I was in survival mode, eating so I wouldn't throw myself onto railroad tracks.

But when I finally faced it, I couldn't see how big I had gotten.  You have to remember, I was thinner in college, the thinnest I had been in my young adult life, so I graduated being as close to thin as I have ever been.  I fell into an intense depression after college and I went into my room at 174 pounds and came out of my room at 238 pounds and although it didn't happen overnight, it felt like it did.  I think in some ways I still saw myself as still being thin because the weight slowly crept up on me.  I was used to seeing myself as thin and since I didn't face myself as I gained the weight, I went along unaware.  I wouldn't have noticed at all except for the fact that none of my jeans or shirts fit anymore.  And they weren't just a bit snug.  I literally couldn't put my clothes on.

And now that I've lost weight, I can't see how smaller I've become because I've shifted my perspective to being "the fat guy" again.  I couldn't see how big I had gotten and it's only now that I've lost quite a bit of that weight that I'm starting to see how big I was/still think I am.  My body is always changing and my mind is always working to keep up with the bingeing and purging of fat.

It's hard but not impossible.  I'm going to keep going and I'll probably continue to be unsatisfied with my performance and the slow rate of weight loss, all along beating myself up for over eating and under exercising.  But it'll be all right because I'll get there.

But this is forever, remember.  So when I get there, I'll have to then shift my focus and fight to stay there.  No matter how much weight I lose or gain or maintain, I'll always be the fat guy.  I'll always have that mentality, always think about how what I put in my mouth will make me fat again.  My head goes to fat content and calories and the fear that comes along with it all.  There's no taste without trepidation, no dinner without despondency, no satisfaction without slicing myself open.              

salt skin

I only have about two weeks of my old school Power 90 left.  I'm trying to fight through the monotony of the same routines every night.  Seeing muscle form under my arm fat helps out with that.  And while I'm exercising, it's not even that bad.  It's just getting started.  It's always getting started.  Putting on my shoes and firing up the DVD and taking those first steps.  Somehow, for the past 70-something days, I've managed to block out the lethargy and get it done.  I can do it for another two weeks.

The weirdest part is I actually look forward to the sweat.  I suppose it makes me feel like I'm really doing something.  If I can finish a workout and not be drenched, I feel I haven't exerted enough effort.  Sweat is how I determine how well I did (or didn't) do during a particular workout.

I almost like the feel of perspiration running down my face and torso.  I like the way it flings off me when I punch and kick, the way it snakes down my torso, caressing that sexy muffin top.  It's oddly sensual.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not some dripping Adonis.  I'm still a fat sweaty guy but knowing I've worked my body up into a slick machine with tight leg muscles and a heart drum solo-ing in my heaving chest pleases me, makes me feel like I'm one step closer to attaining attractive.

It's a lot like coming down after sex, minus the humping.  Erratic breathing balances out and the cool saline strokes your body and you sit in the wake of activity and listen as your heart rate slowly regulates in the stillness.  I like that feeling.  It doesn't last long but I savor those moments of recovery.

But once the afterglow has dimmed, I pretty much feel like crap again.  Where are those endorphins everyone is publicizing?  Exercise is supposed to make you feel better, more energetic.  But I don't.  I wake up in the morning and feel totally wasted.  Yeah, I get enough sleep so that's not the problem.  It's probably my crap nutrition.  Just because I've been cutting out the grease doesn't mean I've been eating healthily.  I go throughout the day in a fog and then come home and sit around until I have to get up and exercise again.  That fog also plays a part in my reluctance to get back up and work out once more.  But I manage.  I only ever feel decent when I'm almost finished with my routine and then do those final stretches and revel in my salt skin for a few minutes.

And then it's back to being a bum.

As many years as I've exercise and as much as I've always hated it, for whatever reason, here and now, I can actually see how people enjoy exercising.  That's not to say that I do.  I still hate it.  I'm definitely not going to adopt some mountain biking, Muscle Milk drinking, kale eating lifestyle, but I can see how it appeals to others.  I almost wish I could be like that.  And maybe one day I will be.  If only I could find a way to hang on to that fleeting feeling of sweaty satisfaction.