Oh, starting an exercise routine and a healthy new diet is easy enough. We're good at writing Chapter 1, especially when it's preceded by a prologue where the hero comes face to face with mortality. The second you realize something isn't right here -- your favorite pants are suddenly too tight, you can't make it to the bathroom without sucking wind, you pee frosting -- you resolve to make a change, regardless of whether it's New Year's Day. And for a short while, it works. You work out every day, trim your menu down to boiled kale and plain yogurt, and make everything an excuse to squat. As a result, you drop a few pounds, it now takes three trips to the toilet to get winded, and overall you're looking and feeling great.
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"Well, hello there, Wang Chung. It's been a while since we've seen each other."
And how do you react? You forget to exercise one day. But that's OK, because it's a "rest day." You slack on your diet and order a pizza. But that's OK, because it's a "cheat day." Unfortunately, often one rest or cheat day extends into another, and another, and suddenly you're back to your old fat and winded self. All that progress made by eating well and moving around now means absolutely nothing.
Eventually you'll start to feel like shit again and realize that your lifestyle needs to change, stat, and the cycle begins anew. And this will keep cycling until one of two things happens: you stick to it and become a non-roidy version of the Rock, or you drop dead of heart disease at way too young an age.
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But goddamn, those pizza rolls were worth it.
It's taken me forever to figure this out, and I've paid for my ignorance. Literally. In my continuous start-stop attempts to get in shape, I've purchased at least five goddamned gym memberships throughout my life, none of which I've utilized even sporadically. I always had something better to do than work out, even though that "something better" was usually "update Myspace."
Each time, I convince myself it'll be different. I'm going to go five times a week. I'll spend two hours a day there. I'll actually work out instead of lounging at the juice bar all day, watching Judge Judy.
Nope to all counts, because I quickly remember why I stopped going every other time -- every hour spent walking up imaginary stairs and lifting heavy chunks of metal is an hour spent not masturbating, doing something productive, or masturbating while doing something productive. So I scale back from five times a week to three, then down to two, then one, and then, fuck it: I'm fat, just gonna accept it.
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"This is the episode where Judy yells at dumb people. I can't miss this one."
But you don't have to accept it, or anything else, for that matter. Learn from your mistakes, get better, stay better, and, perhaps most importantly, never ever, ever, ever be like me.
Don't be like Jason, but follow him on Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr anyway. That way he'll finally stop crying.