Last December, J.C. Hutchins – novelist, screen writer, and all around cool cat – announced that he was going on a weight loss routine to improve his health. As I recall, his stated goal was to lose 30 pounds by the end of February. I believe he passed that 30 pound goal early, as he went from this:
in TWO MONTHS.
When he mentioned that he was going to lose his weight, I said that I was going to shoot for just 20 pounds. I figured that would be easy in two months. I haven’t managed to lose any weight since I said that, and depending on whose scale you use, I might have gained weight.
I simply have no excuse to still weigh over 220 pounds when I know I should be at least 200, if not the medically recommended 180 (BMI calculated, age and height adjusted weight). Well, let me take that back – I have *excuses* – there’s the kids, and work, budget’s tight, no time to exercise, the wife’s sick a lot on the weekends… but those are *excuses*. I have no REASON to weigh 220 pounds.
So now I’m mad. I’m not mad at Hutch, because he did a hell of a thing, and he looks amazing. I’m mad at myself for not being able to do even half of that. I need to lose weight for my health, the same as he did. But I’m lame and weak. I can’t pass up a candy bar or cookie to save my life… which is just the phrase I’m looking for here, because I am trying to save my life.
So now I’m mad. And the thing about me is, when I really get mad, $#!+ gets done. I broke myself of my hypochondria after my doctor laughed at me about it. It pissed me off, and I finally got control over it. So now, I’m pissed again. And this is going to happen. I just polished off the last Cadbury creme egg I’m going to eat this year – PROMISE. I’m going cold turkey on the fizzy drinks again – PROMISE. I’m going to squeeze some kind of exercise into my daily routine, even if it’s just walking the halls at work – PROMISE.
And that pic of BatHutch is going on my phone to remind me every time I look at it that if he can do it, there’s absolutely no excuse for me not to do it.