If you reverse this image, you'll see the progression to my current size.I am a big fat fatty. Of the fat-fatty-fattiest variety, actually. The worst kind of fatty, because I actually have a heart condition and my blood pressure likes to dance with the devil in the pale moonlight. There’s a history of diabetes, stroke, heart disease, and spontaneous combustion in my family, and even though I made up that last one I’m pretty sure I can find a trace of it somewhere.
There was a time, about a year ago now, that I made this whole big lifestyle change. I got aggressive about limiting calories to 1,200 per day. I exercised every day, walking my bulbous buttocks around the block a few times each week. I ate mostly fish and chicken, and various accoutrement that can be considered healthy sides to fish and chicken. I removed all sugary drinks from my diet, consumed water that, when not pure and clear, was often laced with lemon juice, apple cider vinegar, and/or cranberry juice. And I did good. I went from 278 lbs (I can hear the gasping … wait, that’s me) right on down to 238 lbs (are you actually mentally pronouncing it “elbs?” I am.) in about a 3 month period. I felt great. I looked great. I was on my way to skinnyville, population me! And Calista Flockhart.
I stayed around the 238 mark for a while, actually. Almost a year. Nine months, minimum. I was kind of frustrated, to tell the truth, because my goal was to get down to a svelte 200, which would put me at (believe it or not) my high school graduation weight, and that last 38 pounds seemed to want to stay. So admittedly, in the back of my mind I figured I’d land around 220 and be perfectly happy.
Today, I’m at 265.
I honestly can’t tell you what happened. I mean, I can … I ate a bunch of stuff. Chicken wings, cookies, chicken wings, pizza, chicken wings, cake, chicken wings, and possibly some celery, though not a lot. Sodium.
I blame stress, but I’m not deluded enough to believe that stress paid for all those chicken wings. There were literally times when I ordered chicken wings with a SIDE of chicken wings. I may have made a sandwich consisting entirely of chicken wings at one point.
OK, so stress. I had a rough patch for a bit there. We bought a house. Said house had the typical and normal level of problems that had to be paid for. Kara left her job and went back to school to get her teaching certificate, so that put some financial strain on the situation for a while. I had some contracts fall through and some clients fall out. Some folks I love died. Some other folks I loved moved away.
That list sounds a lot like “life,” doesn’t it? So, no excuses there.
The truth is, somewhere in my brain is a little voice that keeps telling me, “Eat everything! Consume! You should be fat. You DESERVE to be fat. Eat the whole world, one bite at a time, ya fat loser.”
My inner voices can be cruel man-bitches.
So here’s the deal …
October is my birth month. I turn forty on October 12, 2012. That’s just over a week away. No chance of getting slim and trim by then, barring some fat-sucking miracle. But as October is my birth month, and I will be turning a round number, and October 1st fell on a Monday of all things, and my birthday falls on a Friday, and, oh yeah, I’m a huge fat ass, I have decided to get my butt in gear and get my life back.
I’ve started riding my bike every morning at 5 a.m. I’ve started limiting my calories again … this time to 1,600 per day, though that’s still far better than the scary levels I was eating before. I’m committed to drinking more water, eating more veggies, and moving around whenever possible. And I’m committed to being accountable to all the folks I’m in contact with via social media, so they can ridicule and goad me. Because goading is the only way I will learn.
So here it is. I’m 265 pounds today, October 2, 2012. By January 1, 2012 I’d like to be 220 pounds. That’s me losing 15 pounds per month for three months. A goal of 45 pounds.
Is that realistic? Tell me in the comments, and maybe I’ll have to make an adjustment. But it seems realistic to me.
Is my plan healthy? Stupid? The slow way? The fast track?
Got any advice, tips, suggestions? I’ll take ‘em. I’m not proud. I’m also fond of helping other people, any time I can, so whatever you tell me, if it works, will be written about here and posted all over the friggin’ place via social media.
Let’s make Kevin less of a man than he’s ever been before.
AND THAT’S NOT ALL …
Are you with me? Want to commit to a goal for January 1st? Three months to a new you? Comment with your goal and your progress, and we will ridicule and goad each other away from fatness and toward fitness.
Let’s do it. Let’s be sexy bitches together. Rarrr.