Ugh. I don’t know why I do it all.
On Mondays I go to the gym and do heavy lifting with Mike. We usually end with an hour of one on one basketball or a Dance Jam class with Meryn where I show all the slender, non-sweating, perfectly toned others what a tall weird looking fat white guy looks like when he tries to ghetto dance. They tell me lifting weights will make me stronger, look sexier, and help get rid of my stubborn fat. They tell me dancing will help strengthen my heart.
On Tuesdays I go to the gym with Meryn and flop a yoga mat onto the floor in the middle of several dozen jaw-droppingly gorgeous women and spend the next hour wondering why my body can’t do what all their bodies can do in Pilates. My bum is so sore afterward that I find myself tempted to buy a block of ice just to sit on. They tell me Pilates will help my flexibility, balance, and will also help counteract the heavy lifting so that I don’t turn into a tank.
On Wednesdays I go to HIIT class with Mike and Meryn. That stands for high intensity interval training, and is more brutal than any name they could ever give it. For 60-75 minutes we do high intensity, grueling, body killing exercises for 30 seconds followed by ten seconds resting. Each exercise we do six times. Ten seconds is never enough for my heart to calm down. By the end, I’m usually lying face down wishing for sweet death. The only saving grace that class has is our tiny little Mexican instructor, perfectly athletic, mustache, short shorts, and a love of jumping and punching. “Okay, now ponches,” he always says. They tell me that this class will help build my endurance and help strengthen not just my body but my heart.
On Thursdays I go to barbell class with Mike and Meryn and setup a bench and a yoga mat. This class actually has men in it. All of them are stronger than me, but I go anyway. Still, it’s mostly women. Most men think the classes aren’t manly enough. I don’t know why. For an extremely intense hour, we use different weights on the barbells and do curls, triceps routines, squats, dead lifts, shoulder lifts, bench press, rows, upright rows, core, and more. By the end, my entire body groans at me. They tell me this class will help me build all the muscles in my body in a balanced way.
On Friday, if I can find any energy at all, I go to the gym on my own and find an elliptical machine or a treadmill. I put in my headphones, and I go until my sweat starts out-dripping the beat of the music. And then I go and do planks, TRX straps, and more. They tell me that cardio, at just the right speed, and for at least an hour is going to make this fat go away eventually.
On Saturday, sometimes Sunday, I usually find a mountain trail and I push myself up it. Sometimes two miles. Sometimes twelve. They never get easier. I just get a little faster, I suppose. And as I climb large boulders and steep inclines, my hamstrings, quadriceps, calves, and bum burn as they get their final workout for the week. They tell me that hiking will do more for the lower body than just about anything else. They tell me that the lower body is the key to getting rid of the fat on my upper body.
This has been my routine for months now, give or take the occasional variation. It wasn’t much different before that, though I had a personal trainer to get me going. I’ve been going non-stop since March, sure that it would all pay off. Sure that if I just go often enough, work hard enough, and sweat profusely enough, this fat will disappear.
This fat from when I was really fat.
My obesity fat.
But it never goes away.
Every two weeks or so I step on my scale. I did this morning.
I weigh, to the exact pound, the exact same as I did in March. Not a pound more, not a pound less.
I have had to get good at not believing that the number on the scale matters. If I couldn’t do that, I’d probably be in the loony bin by now. After all, with how hard I’ve worked, I’d really like to see that number drop.
But it doesn’t.
And sometimes I wonder if this is worth it at all. What am I doing this for. Why am I strengthening myself? Why am I strengthening my heart?
I hurt far more often than I feel good. That’s the cruel irony of working out all the time. If you do it properly, your body will be in a constant mode of recovery. And recovery mode is when your body hurts.
That fat around my torso is still there, haunting me. It never goes anywhere. It doesn’t melt off. It’s obesity fat, and it will be there forever, or at least until I finally give in to my demons and go get it sucked out with a big rubber hose.
I hate it. I can see beautiful muscle forming in all sorts of places beneath the fat. Sometimes after a hard chest workout, I have two boobs on each side. My muscle boob that makes me look awesome. And my fat boob below it which sags worse than an old woman.
I can also dig into the fat on my belly and feel a beautiful six pack forming. I can feel definition and tone on my obliques. I can see definition in my arms, taunting me below a nice layer of pudge.
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