4XLT

Today’s Weigh-In: 314.0 pounds

You ever have one of those times where you cannot come up with a blog title (or even much in the way of purposeful content), but you want to make sure you write something anyway? Yeah, this is one of those times. So, tonight you get to enjoy a Will Ferrell quote for a title and a little bit of random stream of consciousness writing.

Here we go!

So, it’s been five/four days since I wrote my little I’m Back for the Fifteen Time blurb. Yep. Well I’m still back, and this week was one of highs and lows. Moreso, super rock and roll highs and bleh mediocrity. Sure, I’m down almost three pounds and should be happy about that. I definitely am, because the three or four pounds a week mark is what I’m going for, but let me put it in perspective: I was doing to 310.8 this week before launching back up into the mid teens.

I hit things hard and strong the first three days, eating right and going to the gym every night and killing myself with HIIT and the rowing machine. On a philosophical bent for a second, I really think that for one of the very rare times in my life that I’ve positively physically given 99% to something: while pushing through my 100 calorie blast on the rowing machine after my HIIT routine (takes about 6-7 minutes). I’m at 91-2 calories, and I decide to go all out, as hard as I can without stopping until I hit the 100 mark. Not just hard, but all out. Completely I row as hard as I can for about 16 rows and it tears me apart. I’m gasping for air, but it was such an awesome hardcore sorta moment.

But truthfully, isn’t that the way I should be training every time I go to the gym?

But things go from awesome on Friday morning to a quagmire of bleh over the weekend. I don’t make any outrageous mistakes, but a number of smaller ones all started to add up and let to me throwing three pounds back on. Beer. French fries. Not watching my calories. Et cetera. Same ole story you all from heard from me this whole freaking year.

It was really a pretty weird weekend, mentally, to be completely honest (and what’s the point of having a weight loss / life transformation blog like this and not being honest?). It seems like every time I hung out with people (Friday night, Saturday night, and Sunday night), I started sliding so quick back into the old Will mode. I’m talking old school, high school Will. Super insecure and melancholic Will. I was in such a weird funk I went up and butchered my karaoke songs horribly. Totally bad. I’m not sure I’ve really got a grasp on what the heck’s going on there with this weirdness, and I’m not one to wear real personal thoughts on my sleeve, so that’s pretty much all I’ll say on that subject.

Ended up driving around a lot of western Washington Saturday. I saw Mt. Rainier for the first time, and that was really cool. all in all it was a really, really nice drive, but I’ve got to be honest, it really sucked to send out a whole host of text messages looking for a day trip parter and to then hit the road solo. I know people have stuff going on and it was a spur of the moment thing, but still. As awesome as the Cascades and big mountains and cool streams and everything can be, it can get lonely at times.

But that, again, is all stuff I’m not willing to open up about to most folks at any depth, much less the whole interwebz. Don’t want Obama and/or the CIA to get the wrong impression of me in case I get that secret agent position I applied for.

But I will say, in a lot of my driving and the thinking about life/future that this funk I’ve been in this weekend have spawned, it got me thinking about some de facto realities in my life that I’m going to have to get a hold of and make peace with. One of them that’s public enough for me to give an example here is making peace with the fact that I’m one ugly piece of gristle.

Yeah, yeah, I know a lot of people say it and whatever, but it both cracks me up and pisses me off at the same time when non-ugly folks give me that line. Especially girls, but I’ll mostly let it slide because you’re girls. But I’ve got some halfway to very studdly amigos (in a completely hetero way) that like to spout off that line every once in a while. I’m just like, what?? Really?? Dude (and, girl!), have you freaking seen me lately? Have you seen the giant dark and rough patches on my face that my shitty lifestyle has gotten me stuck with (for those who are wondering the dark splotches all over my face are a condition called Acanthosis Nigricans – it’s a pre-diabetic / insulin resistance skin condition that I picked up when I started getting really heavy in about 2004. From what I read, most of the time it goes away, but mine never did.) You have no idea how freaking self conscious I am about them. Really. At to that the man boobs and my bad teeth, and well, you get the picture. But at least I’m able to work on the man boobs. Heh. Really, that’s my only hope and basic game plan here in all this: I’ll never be decent looking, but at least one day, when/if I work hard, I can have a pretty damn good body (although I’m not looking forward to the skin reduction surgeries after another 70 pounds. Not at all).

But holy crap, I totally sounded like a chick there, so I’m going to go bench press a small car and fart and check some football message boards and grow a beard and stroke my chest hair and admire picture of pretty ladies in bikinis and nod in approval at the food in my fridge (diet pop, leftovers, some beer, cooked up and stored chicken and sweet potatos, and swiss cheese) to regain some man points. Be right back…

Okay, I’m back. Sweet.

But the point I’m trying to make about my amazingly hot male model looks is simply this: I can get all insecure about my fugliness, cry tears in my beers, and mentally freak out and/or get sully when I’m around my better looking buds, or I can just man the eff up, realize that there is abolutely nothing at all I can do about my looks, toughen up, and move on, which leads into more rambling sorta stuff about life and whatnot that I’m just keeping close to the chest (which I’m doing a lot of these days – not real sure why I’m writing that I’m not telling you all things in the blog here, but hey, it goes with the rambling theme of this entry!).

On a good note, I’m wearing size 40 pants now – HOLY CRAP. I’m officially in smaller pants than I was in high school. And now I absolutely cannot wait to start wearing pants that start with the number 3. I know it’s crazy to some of you, but it’ll be a mind trip for me. Just you wait.

And with that, I conclude my most odd, rambling blog post yet. Hope you enjoyed.