The pandemic was not particularly helpful to my mental health which in turn battered my physical health as well. There were various attempts at changing this and I actually was doing fairly well two years ago (dropped 25lbs) on the cross country trip before last. I never really had a metric or goal and was honestly fairly happy just being a relatively fat guy and having an excuse. I am 50 years old.
I am 240lbs, I have high cholesterol (not terrible but still too high) and I am considered pre-diabectic. My PSA is ridiculously low, which considering all my uncles, grandfather (father’s side) and my father have all had prostate cancer and subsequent removal was a relief.
A week later, I was told that my ankle injury when I was 25 had degenerated too far for surgery. I had high hopes for this surgery. A complete gut punch, I may have drank a little too much that day. The surgery wasn’t going to change the end game (replacement) but it was going to allow me to be relatively pain free for 5-7 more years, giving me less time with the brace, more time before fusion and eventual replacement. What to do?
Suck it the fuck up.
I am obese, that means I am fat. In June, I had a telehealth appointment to discuss testosterone supplements. My testosterone is 330, not deficient but low. I am 50. The doctor stated, “You are obese” and then backtracked, embarrassed and said, “overweight”. The hell? No. I am obese. That’s the deal, follow the science and stop treating me like a child. I am a grown ass adult. It is unhealthy. How do I fix it? I needed metrics to fix it, now I have them. I have no excuse.
Don’t get me wrong, I have plenty of reasons. I am 50, physical exertion is harder especially as an obese man with low testosterone who is out of shape. I have a trashed and arthritic ankle. I have arthritis in my neck from the accident when I was 25 and subsequent years of hunched like a troll over a computer screen (stand up desk for the win). I also have tendonitis in my right elbow. Getting old, damn at least I have lots of stories to tell.
Today, I am 230. I cried.
What has changed?
Let’s be clear, this is hard. I would much rather drink beer, watch John Wick and couch. Instead, I ordered a fitbit. I have halved my meat intake, tripled my vegetable intake and even ordered a fucking vegan burrito for lunch yesterday. The burrito was delicious but damnit, a vegan burrito? I have dropped my beer intake exponentially and switched primarily to good, red wine. I am not a heathen. I am exercising more. I averaged 3.45 miles a day in June. I am tired, I am sore, I apply voltaren cream twice a day to the ankle, ice the ankle, and consume not an inconsequential amount of CBD.
Today, I am fat and 195, I am coming for you.
My mantra: Suck it the fuck up and do it anyway.
Maybe for you: Find a goal, work for it, and define success as progress.