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After the unthinkable happened, I ran in a 5K race in Avon, New Jersey, I wondered what was going to happen next (besides desperately trying not to throw up at the finish line). The one thing I should not have done was to call my ex-wife, Arlene, and tell her what I had accomplished.
ME: “Hey, just finished running the 5K, but I pulled a muscle in the back of my leg”.
ARLENE: “You never listen to me, you don’t become a runner overnight. I told you that you were going to get hurt”.
ME: “Yeah, well, at least I can tell people I ran a 5K”.
ARLENE: “Well, (long dramatic pause) you didn’t actually RUN a 5K”.
Why did I ever divorce her? The love and support oozed out of my cell phone (and we have the family plan).
To me, this was a major accomplishment. It’s not that I overcame a debilitating injury to run the Boston Marathon; not even that I broke my leg and was now able to run a few miles. No, what I overcame was a lifelong condition that finally came to a head two years ago.
That condition? I was fat.
Not ‘break down the side of my house and airlift me, and the couch that I’m literally attached to’ fat, but I was not what anyone would call healthy.
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It came to my attention two years ago (apparently, I had ignored every mirror I ever walked passed before that) when, while on vacation with my sister and nephews, that the point was driven home.
As I pushed myself into the incredibly narrow confines of a booth in a pizzeria (it’s a booth in a pizzeria; it should be the width of an airport runway) I muttered a little too loudly, “I’ve put on a few pounds”.
There was a short silence, filled only by my heavy breathing. Then:
“Yeah,” my sister said, “we’ve talked about that”.
We’ve talked about that? Have I been the topic of some secret negotiations? The subject of some future intervention (we love you, Al, but Macy’s called and wants to book you for next year’s parade – you need to change something)?
It’s a bit annoying to find out you were the topic of conversation, but more disturbing to realize they were right.
After I finished eating my pizza (it was already ordered; it would have been wrong to waste it. Fat men around the world go to bed hungry every night) I spoke with my nephew, Joe, who was in the Navy at the time, and in excellent physical condition (a young version of me, actually). Stay away from wheat for a month, he said, and you’ll feel better.
Pizza and bread made up about eighty-percent of my diet. This wasn’t going to be easy.
It was July, 2015 when I had those conversations, so I gave myself a start date of August 1st. Then it turned out August first was a Saturday (no one starts a diet on Saturday), so I began in earnest on August 3rd.
I’ve tried diets before, cut out fast food, maybe run a little, but I never really fundamentally changed the way I ate. This time I did. This time I ate – God forgive me – salads.
Not just salads with lettuce, but salads with spinach. Anyone who knows me would be aware of my intense dislike of vegetables. So, to suddenly eat spinach was life-altering. People reading this are thinking, “The asshole ate spinach; babies eat spinach”, but I ate spinach, and gave up pizza and bread, and started to exercise one hour every night (elliptical).
At the reception for my nephew’s daughter’s christening, I ignored the bread and loaded up on salad, chicken, tomatoes, and stayed away from everything I desperately craved. Once I settled back at the table my brother turned to me and said, “Who are you?”
Good question.
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It’s been two years now, I’ve lost nearly fifty pounds, and work out every night. Occasionally, I slip back and order a burger on a bun (the horror), but for the most part, my eating habits have dramatically changed. When the opportunity to run in a 5K emerged, I jumped at it (no, just kidding, I was volunteered and signed up before I even knew what hit me). But I’m glad I did it and I look forward to the run next year.
Anyone who might think I’m trying to boast with all these ‘look how good I am’ comments above, you may have noticed one small exception: I never said anything about giving up drinking.
After all, it’s not like I want to live forever…
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This post was originally published on HuffingtonPost.com and is republished with the author’s permission.
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Hey Good Men Project Readers! Fitbit is an affiliate partner of ours, check them out! Then you can answer the question “How far did I run?” along with “Why?”
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Photo credit: Getty Images
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