About a year and three months ago I set out to clean myself up and lose some weight. It wasn’t easy, but I was diligent and determined. The shocked reactions from people who haven’t seen me in a long time have been intoxicating. Compliments are my drug. But lately those positive remarks have been punctuated with “… but you’re done dieting, right?” As of this morning I’ve lost 88.4 lbs. I think that I’m at a good place now. They’re right. It’s time to slow my roll. And eat more rolls.
Though I welcome the input from my loved ones, this is my call. I reached this decision for three reasons:
1) I’m more than content to be “TV fat.” All along through this process I never desired to be svelte. The waif look wouldn’t suit me. You know what I mean by “TV fat": In the bizarro world of sitcoms, characters will make fun of the weight of actors who are average-sized in real life. The most recent examples that come to mind are Nick from New Girl and Max from Happy Endings.
While they aren't super fit, those guys are hardly obese. I never dreamed I’d be their size. “TV fat” is just fine with me.
2) Buying new clothes every few months is getting expensive. My fixed income can't support the buying and rebuying. It’s gotten very tiring. A suit I bought for a wedding in December now needs to be taken in a few sizes. The other day I weeded out about 95% of the now-too-big clothes in my closets and now I have barely anything left. I want to be one size and build my wardrobe back up.
3) I want to eat and drink like a normal person. Well, maybe not today’s Biggie Sized version of “normal,” but an idealized version from yesteryear. For fifteen months I’ve restricted myself to a daily intake of around 1500 calories. (A little more on workout days) That doesn’t leave much wiggle room to enjoy life. And since alcohol burns before fat – and most drinks are empty calorie bombs – I’ve more or less severely restricted my booze intake. On the plus side, though, that’s made me a cheap date, which is nice. Anyway, I want to go out to dinner and get more than a salad. I want to drink more than one beer in a sitting. We’re fast approaching pumpkin spice season and I want to LIVE, dammit.
So that’s my reasoning for why I’m packing it in. Sure, in my mind I could stand to lose more. I need to come to terms with the fact that, like with almost everyone else on the planet, there are parts of my body that I hate, but am just going to have to live with. (I’m talking to you, gut and moobs.) Building back the muscle mass I’ve lost – and then some – should help out with that.
The trick from here on out will be maintaining. I’m pretty confident that my being deathly afraid of backsliding into my old ways will keep me on the straight and narrow. And so long as I’m still on the market I can’t get complacent… ladies.
Lastly, I’d like to give a shout out to my brother-in-law RJ and friend Suzanne, who convinced me to start this whole weight loss thing in the first place. You can't put a dollar figure on how much I owe them. I’m cheap that way.
Note: this post was written while shoving a piece of pumpkin pie down my face.