In my youthful 20s, riding a desk for 8-10 hours a day added a few pounds, but nothing I couldn’t live with. In my early 30s, serving the local populace their rations of choice stripped off the extra weight. In 2008, at the age of 33, I returned to the desk jockey world and I discovered something.
Youth is a fading flower.
Not mentally, because let’s face facts—I’m never growing up in my mind. I still think I’m like 12 or some shit there. But my body is all too aware of my feeble activity level and my middle-schooler food cravings. Ramen noodles! Mac and cheese! With hotdogs! Tacos! Spaghetti! Chips and dip!
Sedentary life + crap food choices = Oh my God, I weigh how much?
Now, if you’re at all like me, you try to disavow the problem. Kind of like the Mission Impossible narrator always promised to do if the agents ever got caught. They tried to assassinate a third-world dictator? I have no idea what you’re talking about. And no, I have not gained any weight since the last time you saw me.
It works for a while. Our clothes have some wiggle room. And we’ll pack ourselves into the same size until the seams are screaming for mercy and we have to flop around on the bed like the catch of the day to get those favorite pair of jeans zipped.
In just over 1 year, I gained 30 pounds. Hello, Secretary Spread. Over the last 3.5 years, I’ve added another 10 pounds. There’s been some up and down during that time, but the net result is I’m 40 pounds heavier than I was 5 years ago.
So I’ve reached a breaking point:
Buy New Clothes | Get Off My Ass
Obviously, from the title of this post (and assuming a reasonable reading comprehension on your part), you know which I’ve picked. I’ve made a commitment to myself and those extra pounds: I’m going to release my flab back into the wild where it belongs.
Some of you know I’ve kicked off this commitment with some biking (hey, there’s that reading comprehension thing again… oh, and a bunch of Facebook posts talking about my love-hate relationship with my Target-special, two-wheeled hooptie). I’ve been riding home from work off and on, between 1-3 nights a week. A recent moment of horror on the scale has inspired me to commit to 4 nights a week, minimum. Additionally, I’m changing what I eat, but that’s a whole different post.
I want to chronicle my journey for a couple of reasons. One: it motivates me to keep going. Two: Maybe I’ll amuse you or inspire you to join me.
The numbers are hard to acknowledge, but it’s like a 12-step program. Step One is just greeting the elephant in the room. So here it is, for all to see.
Say ‘hi’ below and join me, tell me about your successes or failures, cheer me on, maybe all of the above…