I was weighed on Friday as a part of the whole zorbing thing – if you’re too heavy you can’t the ball will explosions death etc you get the point. I weigh 86kg. That works out, for those of you still on Old Units, as 13 and a half stones.
Now, when I began my quest to get fit back in March of 2011, part as a way of distracting my mind from grief, part because being in a relationship where the primary food consumed was butter, I weight a rather portly (I will also accept ‘stout’) 17 stones. I had two chins at the very least, and I often caught myself wheezing. It was unacceptable.
But I have dropped three and a half – two and a half in quicksmart time last year, the extra one in the time from when I stopped regularly working out around November 2011. But it’s not to be sniffed at. I am actually quite proud of it. I look a lot better than I did, and I feel a lot better. I can run for more than 15 minutes when playing football. My knees don’t instantly buckle. I injure less. I get ill less. Did I mention I’ve gone sexy? Because I’ve gone sexy.
But it’s unfair for me to keep this secret of my success to myself, as I know many of you ask the question when you see my transformation. You want in. You want to be a part of it. You want to know how you too can look like a 50s conman like I do (“did”, once, a month ago).
And for the one-off cost of just $29.95, you too can know! Oh alright then, free. Here is my step-by-step guide to shedding a fair bit of weight and ending up a better person as a result.
Change your diet entirely so you don’t eat anything that’s bad for you. “WAAAAH” you cry. Nothing. Ever. No treats. None of that shit. When you’ve brutalised yourself into a new regime and lost loads of weight, then you are allowed treats. And massive Chinese takeaways.
Seriously, put the fork down you fat motherfucker.
Exercise. A bit at first, more as you go on. It’s so simple, you don’t have to join a gym, you don’t even have to leave the house. I didn’t. Also you can do it naked if you do it at home, which always adds to the hilarity.
Less cheese. Better yet, no cheese you porky numbskull.
Don’t break the rules, unless you want to die of Fat at the age of [whatever your age is plus five years].
And there we have it. Simple. Though not necessarily easy. It takes the kind of self-discipline I wasn’t aware I had, and the kind I seem to have lost in the interim. Still, 13 and a half stones. Fuck you, chub squad. I win.