At 49 years of age I have little to show for all my training. Six days a week, I do an hour of high-rep military workouts combined with power yoga. Sundays I run with my buddy for an hour in deep sand at Redondo Beach. Yet a month ago my weight was approaching 240 and my gut was getting thick. My waistline (the flattering photo above conceals the unsightly belly) was an affront to my pride and mocked all my hard training.
Fueled by rage, I quit eating my wife’s baked desserts and similar foods and over a month I got my weight a tad south of 230, a step in the right direction.
It’s amazing the amount of anxiety and energy and obsession that was invested in this weight-loss. It seems disproportionate to the amount of benefits I received.
Another source of discouragement is this: A few days ago, I cheated just a little bit: a spicy cheeseburger one day, 2 slices of pizza the next, some Thai food the next day, and some Indian food the following day, not really bad food but more caloric than my protein salads, and my weight is currently a little north of 230. I gained a little less than 2 pounds. That is very discouraging and makes me think about the inevitable rage of my fitness quest.
I’m full of rage over a growing waistline, punishment for eating a few good foods, that mocks my hard training. But I’m also full of rage over the enormous effort to get my weight down, which seems an exercise in futility. I mean the salads with some kind of protein mixed in, tuna, eggs, tofu, or whatever, is a form of punishment and even without eating sweets if I eat something more caloric like a little pizza, Thai or Indian food, my body gains a few pounds and essentially tells me to go screw myself.
So eating what I want fills me with rage as my weight creeps up to unacceptable levels, but not eating what I want fills me with rage because the diet is so punitive. Frustrated by this dilemma, I'm tempted to say the hell with it all and surrender to the Gluttony God but if I do that I'll go down a slippery slope to nihilism, a very dark place I can't afford to go to, especially as the father of 18-month twins.
Rage and frustration seem to be the inevitable condition of my existence. I’m convinced I’m not alone, that in fact millions of people feel the way I do.
That felt good. I feel like I just vented my issues at a Weight Watchers meeting and I didn’t have to pay anything.
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