The Fat Will Rule the Earth

Yup. It's that time again. Time for me to blog about running, getting in shape, losing weight, blah blah blah. I've done it before, I'm doing it now, and I'll probably do it in the future.

I am fat. Obese. Working on my first heart attack and trying my damnedest to shut down my pancreas. I seriously need to lose weight or I'm going to be reaping the bitter fruit of my life of excess eating and sparse exercise plan. I've been a yo-yo dieter with Weight Watchers for about four years now. I'll get motivated and work really hard for a week or two and then I lose it. I blow up like Oprah and it sucks.

Anyway, I went for a run tonight, as you can see below. It was cold outside. And my run still looks pitiful.

My Goal, My Dream

Ah, the Mustang. A car that elicits hatred from my wife and drooling from me. Yet, tonight, my wife uttered those magic words: "You can get a Mustang." I know she hates them and views them as trashy ("Arkansas," in her words) and impractical. I don't necessarily agree with the trashy, though I won't argue against the fact that owning a Mustang is probably the pinnacle of many a good ol' boy's life. I also see that it's an impractical car, but come on! It's a Mustang and it's also mostly a guy thing. Oh well. Anyway, my point is that Wanda gave me the go-ahead to get one of these if I wanted to; she will no longer (verbally) judge me for wanting to have one.

Under one condition:

That I drop about fifty-five pounds from my fluffy frame and get down to 180 pounds. And I also have to stay at that weight. As far as how long I need to remain at that weight is concerned, we've decided on six months for now. I suppose we'll have to see how well I do in my weight loss program and how much I've actually changed my diet and exercise practices. I mean, I'm not going to crash-diet and lose half of the weight by next week! No, this is something that's going to take me a while and that's okay. Weight has become a problem of mine in the past few years and I think something solid like this is a good goal for me to have. Nevermind that the thought of having a heart attack in ten years and dying at thirty-five doesn't seem to motivate me to watch what I eat and exercise. No, it takes the thought of owning a car that gets me ready to jump back on the moderation train with gusto. Oh well, I suppose it's progress.