Losing Weight

I weighed myself last night and this morning I'm looking at all food like it's the proverbial devil with the blue dress on. Tempting, but evil... sure it tastes good all slutty and warm in your mouth (provided we're talking about, say, a double-bacon cheeseburger deluxe, which we are), but after the moment of ecstasy fades... after the remnants of beef juice are wiped away and all that's left is a daub of mustard on your shirt... that's when it strikes! Or, rather, it spreads out... to your ass and thighs and gut and man-boobs.

What I'm trying to say is, guess what you guys... I'm totally fat. Like, to an unhealthy degree. I'm the kind of fat that leads to people shaking their heads in a cemetery on a Wednesday afternoon while saying, "He was so young... but still, a body can only process so many blocks of Wisconsin cheddar and deep-fried Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Tragedy, though, that his heart exploded out of his chest like it did. Reminded one of a 4th of July celebration! But disgusting."

Morbidly obese is what they call the state I'm in. Morbid. As in, "you're gonna die, you fat sack of crap." I don't mind telling you how much I weigh... in fact, I think putting it out there is going to do me a world of good (and I'll get to why I think that in a second). So here goes... kiddos, your old pal C-dog is exactly one pound shy of a perfect bowling score. That's right... 299 pounds of steel and sex appeal and very little muscle tone and more blubber than most Eskimos see in a lifetime and Cheez-It crumbs and residual sorrow for the semi-demi-quasi-athlete I once was. Which, by the way, is one of the worst parts about all of this... I used to not be all that fat. I mean, I've always been a stout sort, but you know... there was a point in my life... and I've got the sexy pictures to prove it... where I could be called "in shape" and "physically fit" without back up from an ironic wink or the peals of a cranked-up sitcom laugh track.

And the fact that I've let that slip away blows goats, man. The cold, hard fact of the matter is that I'm about a month and a half shy of my 28th birthday... not getting any younger, though I'll be the first to admit that I'm not quite ready for an AARP membership just yet. But the older one gets, the harder it is to lose the excess weight. Laziness becomes ingrained like driving a standard or riding a bike or walking in high heels (all of which I do wonderfully, by the way, including the laziness). Old habits... bad habits... they take root and they ruin your life the way weeds can ruin a lovely golf course that goes ungroomed or a garden that gets left behind when the guy who tends to it dies because he's an enormous fat ass who people always assumed was a manager at Dominos because he constantly smelled like a pepperoni pizza.

Which brings me to my point: It is time to lose some weight. Now, I'm realistic... I don't think I'll be looking like a Tour de France winner by late August. I don't think I can just cut back a little and suddenly I'll get mistaken for Iggy Pop. I don't think that this will be easy. Because it won't. But it has to happen... like, has to. Which is why I'm bringing it up now, in public; I don't mind telling you how much I weigh because now it's out there, in the world, or at least it's in the brains of the people that read this blog. And that will serve as a motivating factor; me knowing that you know how fat I am and that you're judging me (in my mind, anyway) will serve as that prod to put down the bag of chips and take a walk around the neighborhood! It's better living through perceived guilt!!!

So yeah... the journey towards a healthy, slimmer C-dog begins today. I'm going to take it slow, at first. I'm not immediately switching from Italian heroes to a plate of mashed yeast or something because that would lead to a complete mental breakdown on par with that guy in A Beautiful Mind who thought he was being followed by the CIA. I don't need that. Being crazy and fat is just unacceptable. But still... the healthiness starts now. Counting calories, making an effort towards exercising more, enough with the lazy all ready... that sort of thing.

Fingers crossed, mon amis. Here's hopin' this takes.