Woke up today and decided to actually weigh myself and see what the dreaded result would be. Ahh, 236 lbs. Wonderful! Wait, not wonderful at all. What is going on around here? Did I wake up in a new dimension within the multiverse? Nope, just eating like a slob and not exercising like I used to.
I remember the days when it took a week to drop a few pounds to get back into fighting shape. That is no longer the case, and reality has set in. I’m 47 years old and not getting any younger.
I’m no stranger to fitness or healthy eating. Throughout my adult life, I’ve cycled on and off with different fitness routines and health-kick diets. To be honest, I usually go really hard in the paint for a while, then fizzle out. The problem is I never find something that’s sustainable for me. Sustainable for some, sure. Sustainable for me, nope.
The ancient phrase “Know thyself” (Gnothi Seauton) was famously inscribed on the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, and for good reason. It’s arguably the hardest project you’ll ever take on. As I get older, I suppose I become more familiar with myself. I’ve always envied those who figured this out early on in their lives. I’m not one of those people.
Recently I got back to daily walks since the weather has gotten nicer. Usually two miles. To add a little more, since I can never do anything the way it’s supposed to be, I’ve been rucking. If you don’t know what that is, it’s when you wear a rucksack, aka a backpack, with some weight in it. Currently only 10 lbs of extra weight, but it feels good.
To close this post, when did it become a thing that a new sentence starts after one space? I could’ve sworn it was always two spaces. Multiverse!
Anyway, 236 lbs. That’s the number. Not hiding from it, just lacing up and walking it off one rucksack session at a time.