Notes From the Overweight
It's all about diet and exercise. I've decided I need to lose a minimum of 30 pounds, and it's not like I don't know how to do that--it's like Craig Ferguson says: "eat less; move around more!"
The whole thing is a mental process, like writing. Unfortunately, unlike writing, it doesn't come to me naturally. I don't have the diet-and-exercise gene in me--it has to be a conscious process, and a constant one. There's no point at which it will kick in and become second nature. It requires careful planning, flawless execution and perfect mental discipline.
So if somebody could let me know where to get those cheap and easy, I'd greatly appreciate it.
Every year when I visit my doctor for a check-up, my doctor (who, it should be noted, was a contestant on the second season of "The Biggest Loser," and no, I'm NOT making that up) will advise me that I need to lose weight. Like I don't know that. "Wow, Doc, thanks for the info! I thought I was tall and lanky!" (I've always wanted to be "lanky," and let's face it, I could lose 100 pounds and not be "lanky." It leads me to the conclusion that like so many things in my life, this is all about being short--I'm the perfect weight; just the wrong height. Now, how do I go about fixing that?)
Then he'll go on to suggest that I write down everything I eat for two weeks, and bring the "food diary" back for him to peruse. And I nod, tell him I think that's a great plan, leave the office, and immediately don't do that.
He's operating (you should pardon the expression) under the mistaken impression that I don't know what I should be doing. I know precisely what I should be doing. Doing it is another thing entirely.
Here's what I should be doing: I should immediately cut down seriously, if not completely, on the simple carbohydrates I take in, virtually all the time. Breads, pasta, sugary cereals, bagels, rolls... did I mention pasta? That's first. And they should be replaced with complex carbohydrates, apparently consisting mostly of beans, because the Diet Gods don't think I have gas enough yet.
Next, I should increase intake of fruits and vegetables. This, too, makes tons of sense, and there's little chance I'll do it other than to eat an apple every day and have some salad with dinner. When you get up in the middle of the afternoon, writing away at a novel, an article about residential real estate trends (they're all bad, by the way--welcome, President Obama, could you rush that Jan. 20 date a bit?) or a book proposal, and head for the kitchen, is the first thing on YOUR mind, "oh boy, celery sticks?"
I didn't think so.
That brings us to exercise. I hate exercise. I don't mean: Oh, it's a drag to have to do exercise, but I know it's good for me, so here I go. I mean, I HATE exercise. I hate the way I have to catch my breath. I hate the stress on my legs and my back. I detest every second of it, and think the entire time of when I'll be finished. And I hate the fact that, no matter how much I stretch afterward, various muscles will hurt later.
I'm told there's such a thing as an "endorphin rush." I'm still waiting to see what that feels like. The only rush I get is when I'm finished and don't have to do THAT again today. I hate exercising; I love having exercised.
On the other hand, there's the experience of what a heart attack must feel like, and that I'm not too crazy about getting first-hand. So I have to do SOMETHING. Any suggestions will be gratefully accepted.
Keep in mind, I'm a guy who couldn't sustain exercising via Wii Fit for more than a couple of weeks at a time. I've worked with a personal trainer and found ways to avoid doing anything on a regular basis. And I have feet that absolutely, positively will not tolerate running, so don't even think about it. (In the interest of full disclosure, I'm writing this as my wife is out running. The show-off.)
I'm not giving up, mind you. This IS, in some ways, like writing. You can't ever just stop. You can't ever decide this isn't your life. You can't just say, "well, if the heart attack comes, it comes." No. I have a strict policy of not dying that I absolutely will not violate on penalty of death. So I'm still trying to force myself to do what I should, if I actually value, you know, breathing.
It's the "how" that's the problem.
