- I am not a dietitian. I do some research to decide what makes sense for me, act on it and evaluate the results relative to my goals. Just because these things work or do not work for me does not mean they'll have the same results for you.
- I am not a personal trainer. I do some research to decide what makes sense for me, act on it and evaluate the results relative to my goals. Just because these things work or do not work for me does not mean they'll have the same results for you.
- I am a male aiming to increase muscle mass in addition to losing fat. If you are a female trying to achieve a toned physique, ignore my recommendations on protein consumption, weight routines, and DEFINITELY stay away from the testosterone supplements.
- I prioritize muscle gain over extreme cardio fitness. If you are trying to run a marathon: run as far as you can. The next day, run a little bit further a little bit faster. Repeat.
- The "H" key on my laptop is funky. If you see a mis-spelled word due to a missing 'h', get over it.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
The Disclaimer.
Please bear the following in mind:
Why I chose fitness
I'm probably not much different than most of the people out there. Growing up I was in decent shape, able to eat as much as I wanted of whatever I wanted without repercussion. Then I turned 21, and realized I could drink beer whenever I wanted - which turned out to be about 2 bottles a day. Eventually, I found a young woman and settled down, pouring myself into work so I can come home to relax in comfort with the ones I love.
3 months ago, I took a long, hard look at myself in the mirror and realized that I had to make a change. Sure, I've noticed that I had a belly before then, but I always told myself that I could lose it whenever I wanted -which was always "soon" but never "now". But this time I looked closer.
I noticed that my 'beer gut' had grown from a little pouch up front into a monstrosity that extended far in front of me and wrapped around my sides. From the side, the curve of my belly was starting to be reflected in the curve of my ass. My face had swollen to the point where I was starting to lose my cheekbones, and I had a double chin depending on the angle at which I held my head. I had to be careful what shirts I wore, lest I showcase my 'man boobs'. I faced the cold hard truth: somewhere along the line, I had become fat.
The next question: how fat was I? I googled for 'ideal weight' and found something called a BMI (Body Mass Index) calculator, which determines your amount of body fat. After entering my stats, the result floored me:
I was not fat - I was obese.
Obese...wow. Although admittedly at the the low end of this class, I was still medically categorized with those who were as wide as they were tall. I understand that a good amount of the truly large out there are either happy with how they were (they're free to be who they are and I'm not trying to judge them) or they are burdened by a real medical condition or just plain bad genes. But not me: I was not happy with my weight, and I had nothing to excuse it.
I am turning 30 in January. While I'm not stressing it, I realize that I'm not getting any younger; now is the time to decide who I'm going to be for the rest of my life. I could be the fat guy who dies of a heart attack at an early age, or I could take responsibility for my own health and no longer cringe whenever I look into a mirror.
Three months have passed, and I'm happy with my progress. Am I where I want to be? Not yet, but that's OK: I know that I will get there - and more importantly, will not get further away from where I want to be.
3 months ago, I took a long, hard look at myself in the mirror and realized that I had to make a change. Sure, I've noticed that I had a belly before then, but I always told myself that I could lose it whenever I wanted -which was always "soon" but never "now". But this time I looked closer.
I noticed that my 'beer gut' had grown from a little pouch up front into a monstrosity that extended far in front of me and wrapped around my sides. From the side, the curve of my belly was starting to be reflected in the curve of my ass. My face had swollen to the point where I was starting to lose my cheekbones, and I had a double chin depending on the angle at which I held my head. I had to be careful what shirts I wore, lest I showcase my 'man boobs'. I faced the cold hard truth: somewhere along the line, I had become fat.
The next question: how fat was I? I googled for 'ideal weight' and found something called a BMI (Body Mass Index) calculator, which determines your amount of body fat. After entering my stats, the result floored me:
I was not fat - I was obese.
Obese...wow. Although admittedly at the the low end of this class, I was still medically categorized with those who were as wide as they were tall. I understand that a good amount of the truly large out there are either happy with how they were (they're free to be who they are and I'm not trying to judge them) or they are burdened by a real medical condition or just plain bad genes. But not me: I was not happy with my weight, and I had nothing to excuse it.
I am turning 30 in January. While I'm not stressing it, I realize that I'm not getting any younger; now is the time to decide who I'm going to be for the rest of my life. I could be the fat guy who dies of a heart attack at an early age, or I could take responsibility for my own health and no longer cringe whenever I look into a mirror.
Three months have passed, and I'm happy with my progress. Am I where I want to be? Not yet, but that's OK: I know that I will get there - and more importantly, will not get further away from where I want to be.
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