Now that Mary the fattest lady ever on Australian Biggest Loser pleaded to be gone in a red faced, tear filled, emotional elimination – we can all take the rest of the week off and breathe a sigh of relief. I’ve only been to the gym once this week and I feel my personal journey won’t cease to a halt like poor Mary. If Mary’s experience has only taught us one thing being that Shannon may be able to push you up a hill but your personal hill is in fact a mountain with a complicated VPL. Giving up isn’t easy, So well done, you made one of your biggest life decisions in an oversized blue t-shirt purchased by a bunch of smug television executives. You’re going to die while Commando fucks Michelle Bridges and the viewing public wonders who’s the next fatty to fall off the treadmill?
So cheers Mary!
Feelings and feeding ceremonies are the very similar. Some feelings leave a bad taste in your mouth. Some food hurts your feelings. You can always dress up a meal of tongue with a brain mousse garnished with fish row with a table cloth, nice china and some Chrisofle silver, you will pay good money for that, if you are into fine dining. Same goes with eating KFC driving in your car in your pajamas, It’s a good feeling.
If you switch the context and serve the tongue and brain mousse in a public toilet you will feel sick. Furthermore if you paid 50 clams for KFC and are expected to eat it with a knife and fork the experience will be soured. When people are in a bad mood it is ok to serve but efforts should be made for the sake of formalities to dress it up. Mary would want it that way.
Yesterday was a complicated day. No exercise, no calorie counting and most of all one of the most spectacular lamb roast I have ever eaten.
After a hard day in the office and viewing what can only be described and macabre human misfortune by way of inappropriate email, I left the office felling someone unsettled with a loss of appetite. My southern European threshold had me pinned against the proverbial wall. Crestfallen and delirious with shock I forgot to pick up the mineral water on the way home. My drama-o-meter was off the scale with the needle smashed through the glass and stabbed into a main artery while the eagles circled waiting for me to eventually lose the strength to fight them off.
Meanwhile – roast time.
This roast was prepared the following way. (I had nothing to do with the preparation). A lamb shoulder was plucked from the butcher angels, then salted from flakes collected from ancient waterways, oregano that was played the most complex classical music, pepper, olive oil pressed individually by a salt bush and corn fed Nona and finally a 6 lemons bought from a supermarket floor. These ingredients where massaged over previously wooly beauty and during this process we heard the lamb murmur softly and carmly from beyond the abattoir, “bahh”. Following this lenghty process the meat was cooked in a cast iron pot enclosed in the BBQ slowly over a blip of a flame for 3-4 hours until amazing. The chef then added lambs best friend – the potato, cooked with lemon and oregano and a side of greek salad.
After the day’s shock the last thing I felt like was meat. The savage nature of eating the flesh of nature’s creation only made my mind refer back to the previous day’s imagery. I managed however to put these thoughts aside and enjoy was can only be described as god’s gift. I’m not a holy man but thank you, amen sister!
What I did realise was when food is amazing and when shared over a table with great company, all bad thoughts and food guilt melt away. Our bodies are designed for pleasure which makes me think that limiting these pleasures is working against our designer’s intensions. While common belief is that we eat food to survive, have sex to procreate, get cuddled to release endorphins then why did we get a brain that understands this. We are clever enough to realise that these satisfactions are good for the soul and comprehend to some extent that our time is limited and abstract. Then why do we try and hold back? Not eating this roast would be a crime, even if it does takes you another few days from having a perfect six pack. You can’t enjoy your own a six pack in the face?
If food can bring us back from the depths of depravity and make us feel good can you really afford to get in the dumps about emotional eating? We like to tell ourselves that we are complicated and yet happiness is derived from such simplistic pleasures.
Yesterday I managed to consume 3040 calories. It was a better day. Finishing the night with two gin martini’s a couple of darts and finding myself at a loss using the My Fitness Pal application to find my liquid nitrogen Tira-miss-you ice-cream.
What I discovered from Monday was after eating my salad for lunch drenched in olive oil (good for the heart), balsamic glaze (good for the glaze), and sesame oil (good for international relationships), was I’d left myself hungry. I went into food rage, searching for whatever resource available. All I had at hand was peanut butter. Lunch shifted to provocative gestures between me, the spoon and the licking of the peanut butter at the polite Filipino girl in the office. I got awkward and did what anyone does and ask “is this gross” as an extension of an olive branch to normalise my behaviour. Her words said its fine but the body language was like when you try and force a guinea pig to love the shit out of your face as a child. Fear, discussed and the urge to move on quickly.
Failing to satisfy myself with only peanut butter from the 1.4kg jar, I slinked across the road for a small mc cheeseburger meal where I sat by myself away from the eyes of my colleagues.
Following the days caloric food intake I took myself to the pool to ‘smash out some laps’ (8 laps completed) realising it’s been a year of consistently weight lifting at the gym and not having the body I had expected – I have decided to move to cardio. The disturbing thing about sharing a public pool is the level of mental control you need to block out that you are actually swimming in a pool of mainly water, sweat, shit, pubic hair, piss, blood, scabs and mystery flavour. I had made it past this mental obstacle by assuring myself that filters and chemicals are amazing only to have my attention diverted by a question in my mind, ”do middle aged ball bellied men look fit when wet in speedos?” It is easy to assume anyone with that much body confidence to jam their junk into a cock jock must have dedication and stamina. They have age on their side which is a trophy of time to apply themselves to consistency in the pool. Is this the sign of an athlete? Or is a wet body like a car commercial where they can make an affordable Asian import look sporty?
Irrespective of these sporty, wet Asian affordable middle age men I gave it my best and discovered myself dizzy from hyperventilating then having to avoid quick balancing manoeuvres out of the pool. That would never happen in a car commercial.
Exercise is a challenge and many other bloggers speak about pain, commitment and determination. I feel the challenges lie in what floats by in the swimming pools of our minds when we are wearing nothing but budgie smugglers and what gets stuck. Do you have what it takes to find satisfaction in your physical abilities? Or are you seeking peanut butter or something else and is it really worth looking for?
Dogs can be slimming if you hold them in front of you.
Hi potential readers … I have created this blog to sell more hamburgers track my own journey to the gun show. The reason why I thought I should join the cavalcade of bloggers with ripped abs, twin identical brothers, Jenifer Hawkins and sports bra’s is because while the information is helpful it misses the point. KFC is awesome, McDonalds Big Mac’s were put here by god and smoking cigarettes and boozing is fun. We have lifestyles that get us out, on the streets, throws a beer into your hands and all you can do is run loose spitting your kebab over your mates.
I am a 31 year old male, weighing in at 108kgs. I am 194cm tall. I eat a lot of food.
I work in client liaison for a company that provides property investment portfolios to people with the objective to build wealth for retirement. During my training I had to sit with one of the consultants and he spent an hour explaining and asking me various questions regarding my retirement plan. When asked how much money I wanted when I retire I said – do I really want to live that long? Rather than work toward a retirement plan can’t we use our money on alcohol, delicious fatty food and nicotine? Surely that will relieve the tax payers having to support pensioners. Why do we want to live so old anyways? Surely they should drop the price of cigarettes and booze and support high fat and salted food? – He saw my point.
Is health and fitness all about prolonging our lives before inevitable incontinence gets us? Or is it about looking and feeling great? Because I know when I’m drunk in a freshly ironed shirt I feel and look great.
Regardless I shook off this flight of fancy and realigned my thoughts. I’m going to be fit and healthy. In this blog I am going talk about food and fitness to some extent and the rest my day to day activities. How with all the vices and luxuries people like us indulge, fail and rebuild to continue to feel overwhelmed by fads, fun runs, superfoods, calorie counting, surprising facts, strippers and general sky larking.
Bring it internet.
Ps. Im a bad speller. If this takes off I expect a lesson in spelling rather than a correction. No body likes a smart arse. So take that on board and maybe people will like you more or at least hate you less.