Beauty is Pain

I’ve put myself on an exercise regime as it appears all those health professionals are right about the mid twenties metabolism slow down. I say regime because I am incapable of normal exercise. I can't comprehend a light jog. I rarely remember to stretch and I have no sense of pace. I know no limits until the next morning. Last night I did an intensive ab routine and my stomach internally bleeds every time I laugh now.

I’ve never committed to regular exercise in the past because it’s boring. Those of you who know me well also know my body has a tendency to pull a Scarlett O’Hara and faint rather than sweat when exerted. Not to mention, I expect immediate results. If I do cardio for an hour, I expect to lose at least a pound and a half by morning.

I’m far too competitive for a workout partner. If I go for a run, I literally cannot let a stranger on the other side of the street run faster than me. It’s retarded. Despite this, I convince myself that I’m not disciplined enough to do it alone but have no friends that have any desire. And when someone does offer I find justification to do it later. When Chad asks I usually convince him that having sex to burn calories is way more fun than running. After awhile I think he started using it as some sort of erotic pavlovian cue. And Quinne used to run for like two hours without complaining, no thanks masochist.

Whenever I talk about this people always say, you get used to it and grow to like it. That’s just plain not true. If I became a vegetarian, I would always crave meat. I would miss it more and more every day until it got to the point where I’d be gnawing on a bloody steak bone at three in the morning while simultaneously grilling bratwurst. I already miss eating shitty and drinking profusely and it's only been like 6 days. Regardless, I’m going to lose ten pounds this month.

With the exception of late night stoned drives to Wendy’s for spicy chicken wraps, I’ve started some vague sort of diet that entails glancing at the caloric content of something and then ignoring it and then feel guilty about it thus forcing me to exercise. It’s really just a vicious cycle of sacrifice. If I eat dinner, I can’t drink 5 beers. This logic entails thinking-If I eat a small dinner, I can drink more. So for the last few weeks I’ve been snacking on edamame and getting wasted. This has transitioned into opting out of the beer and eating more mom-influenced macrobiotic dinners. Baby steps right?

New/old body here I come.