You may have already figured out by now that I’m one of those, “do what makes you happy, chart your own course, & tell everyone who doesn’t like it to piss off,” sort of guys. So when your Dr tells you that you can either change your diet and return to the gym, or you can start popping pills for the rest of your life, it makes a fellow like me a little grumpy. Well, as much as I don’t like being told what to do, I like taking medicine even less. And, truth is, I’ve been 10-20 lbs overweight for the past few years, making the motivation to heed the doctor’s orders even greater.
Back when I turned 40, Lori and I decided to get a grip on our bodies and see how good of shape we could get in. We went on a 12 week program in which we ate 6 small meals a day, a protein and a carb. One day a week was “free,” we ate anything we wanted and as much as we wanted. We went to the gym 6 days a week: 3 days cardio and 3 days weight training. We followed that regiment religiously. By week 8, we had both undergone a pretty significant transformation. Lori was small to begin with and already had Janet Jackson abs, but still managed to lose about 17 pounds. I did not lose a single pound. However, I went from wearing a 34 waist pant to scrounging the stores for 28’s. My niece though I aged 10 years, but I felt great.
There was nothing easy about it. It took a lot of dedication…and planning. When we went to Indy shopping, we took a cooler of food. We would sit in the parking lot and eat low fat cottage cheese so that we wouldn’t be tempted by The Cheesecake Factory when we went inside. Poor substitute, I know. If someone came to visit and it was gym time, we gave them the bum’s rush. Nothing stood in our way. Not want, not desire, not lust for a pizza pie. We carried shakers, protein powder and creatine everywhere we went.
We managed to maintain that for a few years, but gradually fell back into our old habits. And now I’m paying for it. Good old Doc gave me 8 weeks to improve a couple blood count levels or else I get to go buy a pill box. No thanks. Plus, I don’t like the idea of thinking I’m so weak and I undisciplined that I can’t control my own desires. I guess I don’t like my body telling me what to do either.
So, for now it’s goodby refined sugar, goodby white flour, see ya later bacon, burgers and steak. Hello gym. It’s day 3 and I’m sore all over. And hungry. And fussy. No berry pie, no pumpin muffin, no Bluegrass Burger and fries (save me a seat guys!), no Angio’s supreme pizza. No Mark’s pork BBQ. No craft beer…no Wild Eggs Kalamity Kate. Wait! What? Has it really come to this? Am I to become one of those people who denies themselves the pleasure of biscuits and gravy just because they aren’t good for me? I mean, I’m going to die eventually anyway, no matter how I live. And just look at Keith Richards…nothing can kill that guy!
Anyone have a pill box they can loan me?