I can only get so fat and then well, I get pissed off.
The worst thing about getting old is that with a complete loss of testosterone and human growth hormone- a man's body only requires about 6 calories per day. Everything else is stored as fat.
So when you eat like a pig like I do- sometimes consuming an entire bowl of oatmeal with a few blueberries sprinkled on top- you can expect to participate in at least one "Iron Man" competition or marathon that month to cancel out the effects of that one bowl of oatmeal.
There is always some nutrition nazi willing to point out the flaws in anything I consume. I usually find them at the gym. They are usually in their 20's and they believe that they have been blessed with a body that will never age, knees that will perform flawlessly forever, and a brain that tells them they are special. I wish I could see them 30 years later humping a treadmill.
I am in absolute awe. When I was a young man- I could eat an entire semi trailer full of twinkies without gaining a single ounce. Now that I am roughly the age of Methuzaleh, all I can safely eat is celery washed down with purified water.
Growing old sucks. I've never found the alternative visually appealing either.
So when I stepped on the scales May 1, I weighed 282 pounds. That's when I got pissed.
Sometime in the 90's I was introduced to a miracle called the Atkin's diet. I call it the meat and cheese diet. You can eat eggs, meat, cheese and some meat, cheese, and eggs. Maybe a black olive here or there. And baby- it works.
I do it every 18 months or so, generally when my belt buckle starts carving a big notch in my flesh.
I love it when people say, "isn't that diet unhealthy?" I say to them- matter of factly now- "yes it probably is, however carrying around an extra 40 pounds of blubber isn't exactly healthy either."
I am not one of those guys who can diet for 18 months hoping to lose 15 pounds. I don't have that kind of glacial patience. When I diet, I bring the fucking pain. Now.
Farm animals die. Roosters hump. And only now and then- do I allow myself a pineapple slice on a pile of cottage cheese washed down with that horrible tasting almond milk. I throw in two miles of running every day. And when the smoke clears...
I expect to lose 31 pounds in 31 days. So when I stepped on the scale this morning at 254- I was three pounds short of my goal for May. This of course has now triggered an additional 10 days of hell wherein I will finally stop when I arrive at 242 pounds with absolutely no hint or trace of a man boob having ever existed on my manscape. I will probably add another mile of running every day.
Then ever so slowly, through summer, fall, and the holiday season and all of 2105- a combination of apple pancakes, cinnamon rolls, bridge mix, pizza, pasties, pork chop sammichs, hash browns, french fries, and ice cream- will all begin to work their evil charms and restore me back to the full sized man that I used to be. Some 18.5 months from now, this whole nasty cycle will repeat itself.
Fat and angry is no way to live your life. I have to figure out some reasonable way to eat within my means. The thought of another 41 days of this shit seems a little unbearable to me right now.