Why, oh why, did it take so long to feel this damn good?
Yes, my friends, the call of the gym was too overpowering. I had to return. From the depths of despair (which is not a new flavor of ice cream) to the towering heights of physical prowess (if tying your shoes counts), it had been many, many months since I had graced the gym with my presence. But how did I get here? Why, after so many months of blissful ignorance, had I decided to climb back on the horse and keep it going?
After the second phase of my workout plan fell through faster than a New York Jets season, I settled into a life of being mostly happy with where I was. Of course, week in and week out I would either gain or lost a few pounds, but I figured since after I reach my goal that would be the rest of my life anyways, why fight it? After being down all the way to 261.9 at one point, I put on a few extra pounds and called it good for awhile.
"The Biggest Loser Challenge" for Wii became an on-again, off-again friend. While I was getting a good workout, the confines of our small apartment and the multitude of other distractions constantly waiting in the wings kept me from getting the most out of my workout. After 10 so-so weeks of the TBLC, I had only lost about 5 pounds.
Then TBLC went away for good, as far as I was concerned. My logic at this point was my diet. Though I wasn't eating the various healthy meals I had during my first phase over a year ago, I was trying not to pig out on too much. And though I wasn't near my goal yet and wasn't completely happy with how I looked, I figured I had plenty of time to get it done.
Fast forward to a conversation Holls and I had regarding the wedding. The entire text is forgotten by me, but the basic gist was, since she has to get a wedding dress soon, and I'm in the unique position to change my own weighty destiny, we basically determined that whatever we looked like a year from now was how we were going to look at the wedding. That was around Independence Day.
Now that's what I call a close encounter.
Not 1996. 2011, Will.
Yes, my friends, the call of the gym was too overpowering. I had to return. From the depths of despair (which is not a new flavor of ice cream) to the towering heights of physical prowess (if tying your shoes counts), it had been many, many months since I had graced the gym with my presence. But how did I get here? Why, after so many months of blissful ignorance, had I decided to climb back on the horse and keep it going?
After the second phase of my workout plan fell through faster than a New York Jets season, I settled into a life of being mostly happy with where I was. Of course, week in and week out I would either gain or lost a few pounds, but I figured since after I reach my goal that would be the rest of my life anyways, why fight it? After being down all the way to 261.9 at one point, I put on a few extra pounds and called it good for awhile.
"The Biggest Loser Challenge" for Wii became an on-again, off-again friend. While I was getting a good workout, the confines of our small apartment and the multitude of other distractions constantly waiting in the wings kept me from getting the most out of my workout. After 10 so-so weeks of the TBLC, I had only lost about 5 pounds.
Then TBLC went away for good, as far as I was concerned. My logic at this point was my diet. Though I wasn't eating the various healthy meals I had during my first phase over a year ago, I was trying not to pig out on too much. And though I wasn't near my goal yet and wasn't completely happy with how I looked, I figured I had plenty of time to get it done.
Fast forward to a conversation Holls and I had regarding the wedding. The entire text is forgotten by me, but the basic gist was, since she has to get a wedding dress soon, and I'm in the unique position to change my own weighty destiny, we basically determined that whatever we looked like a year from now was how we were going to look at the wedding. That was around Independence Day.
Now that's what I call a close encounter.
Not 1996. 2011, Will.
Shit
Anywho, the realization sunk in that a lot can happen in a year. And, judging by my recent in/un/dis-progress, a lot can not happen as well. It's a frightening thing, actually: thinking how much time I lost and how I probably could have been at my goal by now.
Later that week, I decided that enough was enough. The little signs were starting to add up again. Gut and pecs were starting to turn into "second tri-mester" and "boobs" again, wasn't liking my reflection in the mirror, starting to snack between meals. Worst of all, I had spiked to 271. Not terrible, but still - it was that time. Without thinking twice, I fired off an e-mail to the gym administrator, asking if I could re-up for another year.
*****
Monday. Can't believe it's here.
I slog into the gym, full workout gear in tow. I start stretching. Pop. Pop. Pop. That was just my neck stretch. Three minutes on the treadmill warming up, and then I'm off to the races. Worst part? No music. No TV. Nobody around for me to turn to and say, "Wow, doesn't this suck?" All by myself.
But here's what's strange: my body, instead of failing me, making me nauseas, hurting in all the wrong places, instead greeted me like an old friend. This is what we were meant to do, hombre. If I apply a little pressure here...that's what I'm talkin' about!
It wasn't easy, and it never is. After a slow but sure workout, it's time to cap it off with my least favorite part of the gym: the one-mile run. As you may recall, my body and I have had our ups and downs with the treadmill, and our way-downs when my feet flew out from under me and I rocketed into the wall like a British cannonball.
Yikes. Luckily, I remained upright and relatively painfree. At least until I hit the halfway point. That's when my right side declared its independence from the rest of me and decided to contract as much as possible.
I started reaching for that stop button. But a strange thing happened. Instead of throwing in the towel, I clapped loudly and yelled to myself, "Get it together, Gordon!" The pain kept coming, but I didn't stop. When I finally hit the one-mile mark, I proudly wheezed - er, stopped the treadmill and took the slowest victory lap in the history of victory laps. I was exhausted, I was sweaty, I was thirsty...but I was back.
*****
That was two weeks ago. I've been back to the gym nine more times since then, and while I won't know the actual weight until tomorrow morning, I know I've slimmed down to the low 260s again. Even despite my parents' camp party and a few brief sojourns into the Fried Food Wilderness, I've managed to lose a decent amount of weight so far. I've sort of abandoned the goal of trying to touch 199 just once. What does it prove? That I was in the 100s again? My body type - Double Extra Sexy - would not last at 199. 225 is probably more my style. And if I keep at it, I will most definitely hit 225 by 8/4/12. And then I'll finally be able to fit into that wedding dress I've dreamed of since I was a little girl.
Every in-law's dream
How do I feel at this exact moment? On a scale of Olga Sherer to Gilbert Grape's mom, I'm Magic Johnson: hugely successful, derailed by circumstances somewhat within his control, starting to make a comeback. Let's just hope my comeback is slightly better than "The Magic Hour."
Not cool
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