Damn, I wish I was overweight/fat

I gotta admit that it kind of sucked to do a few seconds of research yesterday and find that I’m clinically obese.  The word carries a certain weight, no pun intended.

Thinking of yourself as “fat” isn’t too bad.  In my mind “fat” is conceptually kind of close to “chubby” and sometimes chubby can harmlessly pass for cute.

Thinking of yourself as overweight isn’t really too bad either.  It feels the same as driving 30 miles an hour in a 25 zone.  You may be a little out of line but you’re not out of control and it doesn’t take a lot of effort to get to where you should be.

But obese is a different matter entirely.  There’s a good deal of shame and humiliation in that word.  But if that’s what it takes to start moving my sorry butt in the right direction, then so be it.

It’s not like I couldn’t see this coming.  It’s not like friends and family didn’t warn me that I was getting out of control and it’d be hard to reverse course the longer I let things slide.

But I blew it off.  I always counted on tomorrow being there to bail me out so I indulged myself in the present.  Now I look in the mirror and see a tired, chunky, middle aged dude looking back at me.

Now that reckoning day has arrived, now that “tomorrow” is here and it’s time to take on my weight problem, I look around and find that I’m so tired and busy from work and raising two kids that I don’t know where to start.

Changing my diet is one thing, I don’t have any doubt that can be accomplished.  It’s just a matter of will power and changing habits.

Exercising is a whole other problem and the one that really seems to stand in my way.  My basic understanding of losing weight is the simple idea that you have to eat less/eat better and move more.  Finding the time and motivation to get my rear in gear is going to serve as a major roadblock to a slimmer, trimmer me.

On most “normal” days I barely get out the door on time to get my kids to child care on my way to work.  The end of the day features me picking the kids up and helping my wife keep them entertained until my 2-year-old son goes to bed at around 7:30.

After that it’s time to try and eat dinner, clean up, pay bills, etc. and help with my 4-month-old daughter.  By the time I get a chance to take a deep breath and relax it’s often almost 10 p.m., I’m out of gas and all I want to do is get ready to sleep so I can try and take on the next day.

I just don’t see where there’s any wiggle room or energy to squeeze in some exercise.  I can’t really get up any earlier, it’s too busy at work to do anything and staying up later isn’t a palatable option when relaxing after a hard day is an attractive alternative.

A gin and tonic while vegging out on the couch watching TV and surfing the Net has a lot more sex appeal than a brisk encounter with our elliptical trainer at 10 p.m. 

If all this seems like pathetic, self-pitying wallowing in my own lard to you I have to admit that I kind of have the same take on it.  But I also think this might lead somewhere productive if I just get my excuses in front of me in black and white to see how weak and annoying they are.

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