The road to fitness is a lonely one. A jungle where muscles grows scarcely and with great difficulty among the roots of perseverance and determination. Where waterfalls of fat are draped over cliffs of protein stacks, scattered along the river of sweat. It’s a narrow, winding path with many obstacles. It leads you over and under and around dumbbells, barbells, treadmills, water fountains, headphones, playlists, guy nipples, yoga pants, public showers, nakedness and douche bags. It’s a treacherous path, not meant for the fainthearted or the weak. Or normal.
And don’t get me started on the food, or shall I say, the lack thereof.
In this desolate arena of trying to morph flabness into fitness, there is the inevitable reality of having to dine on all things disgusting. Only because mankind would rather spend a gazillion dollars on placing a hundred people on Mars; than save humanity with the invention of a burger-that-contains-zero-percent-fat that actually tastes like a burger-that-doesn’t-have-zero-percent-fat. Because let’s face it, anything worth putting into your mouth makes you fat. Or causes cholesterol. Or heart disease. Or obesity which is like double fat. Or even cancer. (If you believe everything you find on Google.)
All things delicious results in the withdrawal of your six-pack deep into your mid section, hiding behind your spine. Which is why you have to shove an array of all things atrocious and tasteless into your mouth, trying to entice Mr Sixpack from its hiding place. Especially in summer (or any other time) when you want to take your shirt off. And I’m referring to the nasty things like broccoli, asparagus, muesli, tuna, tofu and cardboard snackers.
I shouldn’t complain. It was my decision. No-one forced me to get into shape. Or stay there. It was all me. I take full responsibility for embarking on this road to hell. But I might need some professional care for staying on my chosen journey of endless torture. I probably have some deeply ingrained, dark, hidden need for attention. Or maybe I’m just a closet sadist. No wait, that’s wrong… I enjoy pain…So that must make me a Kardashian fan… No wait….that’s still wrong…I think the word I’m looking for is a masochist.
Yes. I like the pain. I love walking out of the gym feeling like a fitness cover model. Especially when I look nothing like a fitness cover model. It’s my therapy sessions. It’s either a gym membership or a life sentence. I really don’t aspire to end up as someone’s bitch just because I cracked a colleague’s skull with a snow globe. Or a stapler. Or a computer screen. So I go to the gym.
But let’s be honest for a moment, shall we? Let’s look at the facts.
NO level of commitment or any kind of crazy will allow a person to live like this for an indefinite period. And I’m specifically referring to the diet. Or eating plan to all those fitness fanatics, lifestyle coaches and online-instructors who, reading this, just had a small aneurysm. It happens to them when they read the word “diet”…I’m so sorry, I just did it again…It’s called an eating plan people, or a lifestyle change, it’s not a di…Shit… I almost did it again…
Point is, at some point you WILL break. It’s inevitable. Human nature. People are surrounded by food all the time. It never dissipates. And Eve made us weak. She fell for an apple for goodness sake! What chance do we have with pizza and cake and milkshake and wine and beer and burgers and demon donuts….and…I’m hungry now. No normal person can eat salad and shit every day of their frigging life. And if you think you can, you’re quite simply, a f*cking liar. It doesn’t matter how motivated you are.
So with that in mind, I will admit that I tend to break my healthy habit every so often. I cheat. *insert gasp* I stray. *insert horror face* I know, I’m a bastard.
Like yesterday. I didn’t pack lunch. There were no salad-stuff in the fridge. Wife forgot to buy some. (Bless her heart!) It was un-frigging-fortunate. So I went to the office and I got me some hungry. Hungry is just a synonym for grumpy and annoyed. People notice this quickly and tend to avoid me. Another way of keeping me out of jail, would be to eat. Prevention is better than cure, right? So I got myself a burger. A delicious, fat, juicy, saucy, double patty, three cheese, stacked burger. With fries.
I also had a diet soda. And we all know you can have anything as long as you wash it down with a diet soda. Ask any fat perso…Sorry, that was rude.
What I meant to say was “Ask anyone”.