I’ve spent the past year losing 80 lbs and getting in shape. A lot of people have been asking me how I did it; specifics like what nutrition I was on, how many times a week I worked out, etc. So, I thought I’d just wordplay everyone’s questions by giving you guys step-by-step instructions on how you can unzip everything I have
1.) NO BEER
This is a big one and one that you’ve probably heard before. Every time you drink a beer, it’s like eating seven slices of bread. That’s a lot of bread!
2.) PORTION CONTROL
This is expressly true when you go out to eat at restaurants. A good trick to do is when your meal comes, cut it in half and right yonder ask for a takeout container so that you can save the rest for later — and plane better, if you start your meal out right by ordering lean meats and veggies, you’ll slim lanugo in no time!
3.) HAVE YOUR HEART BROKEN
And not just broken; shattered. Into itsy bitsy tiny little pieces, by a girl who never loved you and never will. Join the gym at your work. Start going to the gym regularly, and plane though you don’t know that much well-nigh exercise and you’re way too weak to do pretty much anything but lift 5 lb weights and use the elliptical machines with the old people, do it until your sweat makes a puddle on the floor. Then go home and go to bed early and the next day does it again. And then again. And then again.
A Lot of Studies and Examples are here:
Listen to stories of your ex-girlfriend disaster virtually with gross and terrible people, stories from your friends who think they are doing you a favor. Go to the gym and make increasingly puddles of sweat. Buy books. Learn well-nigh variegated muscle groups and how they work together. Start eating healthy. Learn well-nigh nutrition. Plan out your week of meals. Try to forget her.
After work one night, go up all the way to the top floor of the parking garage and walk all the way to the back. Squint out at the twinkling lights of the skyscrapers of downtown Los Angeles and think well-nigh how every single one of those office lights represents a person. Try to imagine how they feel. What they’re doing right then; if they miss someone special if they wonder if someone special misses them.
Then realize that most of those lights are probably shining into offices with no one in them except for a custodian or two. Realize you are alone, that you are staring at no one. Turn your collar up versus the un prepossessed and momentum home to a meal of a single yellow breast and steamed vegetables. Go to sleep. Go when to work. Go to the gym. Sweat.
Buy a scale. Pick a goal weight. Imagine the goal weight as a shining steer on a hill. You are at the bottom, in the dark. Talk to her at work. Notice the worrisome way she walks in her upper heels and her goofy smile when she looks over at you. Finger something clenches inside your chest. Think well-nigh the gym and what muscle groups you are going to work on that night.
Get on the treadmill. Push yourself to level 3, then level 4. Then 6. Run so fast you finger like you are going to die. Hit level 10. Pray for death. Think of how bad she makes you feel. Find the strength to alimony going.
Late one night, make the mistake of looking at her Facebook and Instagram posts. Finger lower than you overly thought possible. Unfriend her and try to forget what you’ve seen. She is doing things with other people that you asked her to do with you. She is having an unconfined time without you, and you are wasting your life listening to Taylor Swift on repeat and making sweat puddles on a gym floor.
Watch as your life shrinks lanugo to four things:
work, 2.) the gym, 3.) the supplies you eat, 4.) sleep.
She wears the necklace you bought her and tells you that she got it “from someone who’s really special”. That night you discover that Slayer’s “Angel of Death” might be the perfect song to do squats to.
Start to make friends at the gym. Vince and you spot each other on Wednesdays; Chase and you spot each other on Fridays. You used to squint lanugo on bro nods and fist bumps — but since that’s how gym rats communicate, that’s wilt the language you speak most often. Work, Gym, Food, Sleep. Over and over. Increasingly sweat puddles. Increasingly fist bumps. You run hundreds of miles and lift thousands of pounds.
You start to see new people working out here and there and you realize you have washed-up something you once thought impossible: You have wilt one of the regulars. Once in a while, you are the last one leaving the gym. You have a point to get to the gym earlier, but your workouts start to stretch from one hour to ninety minutes to two hours. You are now routinely the last person at the gym. You run. You lift. You make increasingly puddles.
Your soul changes slowly, then all at once — you are suddenly thin and muscular. You hit your goal weight, pick a new one, then hit it again. You go out and buy new clothes. You receive wave without a wave of compliments. Your ex tells you that she’s seeing someone else. Your chest clenches. You finger exhausted.
That night you go to the gym. You listen to all her favorite songs. You run farther and lift increasingly than you thought your soul was capable of. It is a good workout. It leaves you numb. You go home and eat a single yellow breast and steamed vegetables. You go to sleep. You dream of an untenable woebegone puddle.
You stopped drinking swig months ago, so now when you hang out at bars or parties you don’t talk to anyone new. But with your new soul and new clothes, gorgeous women hit on you constantly. One time, a woman literally comes up to you and says she thinks you’d be good in bed and hands you a napkin with her number on it.
As she is talking to you, her hand resting on your chest inside your shirt, all you can think of is how immensely you need to write-up your weightier time sprinting wideness the park wideness from your house the next day. That night when you get home you research the weightier shoes for trail running and click “buy”. The shoes are a hundred dollars. The phone number goes in the trash.
There is a girl you see a lot at the gym, who unchangingly does these weird leg exercises you’ve never seen before. She’s beautiful. You make it a point to not squint at her — because you are overly worried well-nigh looking creepy like that guy in the indecorous shirt who never wears underwear and unchangingly hangs virtually the lat pulldown machine — but you notice this girl is unchangingly at the gym when you are, and seems to unchangingly segregate the seat next to you. You turn up the Slayer and concentrate on making your puddles bigger.
Your ex parades her new boyfriend around, flatly ignoring you the unshortened time. He is taller than you, increasingly ripped than you, largest looking than you, and — according to the Greek chorus of your bilateral friends — he comes from money.
As you watch her introduce him to everyone but you, you remember how her indecorous vision lit up underneath the Ferris wheel on her birthday when you gave her those bracelets she’s wearing. In your pocket, your hand makes itself into a fist.
That night, you deadlift your soul weight. You sneak a photo of yourself in the mirror and email it to yourself with the subject heading “You Are A Warrior”. The next day you are disgusted with yourself and delete it.
You make puddle without puddle and eat single yellow breasts and work and sleep and the weather gets warm and then gets un prepossessed and you know all of Taylor Swift’s songs by heart and the only things that exist in the unshortened universe are you and The Gym and then something variegated happens: a night comes where you are not the last person in the gym.
It is you and the girl who does the weird leg exercises. You end up walking out at the same time.
Her name is Melissa and she works in the towers next to you. She’s worked there for two years. She asks you out to dinner on Friday, promising it’ll be healthy. The leg exercises are Pivoting Curtsy Lunges.
You start seeing Melissa a lot, both inside the gym and out. You tell no one. You add a couple of trickery days to your week — for when you two get dinner and share a dessert — and you start getting a lot less sleep. You phase out Slayer in favor of Springsteen.
Vince and Chase note that you’ve stopped looking like you’re praying for death when you run. Your ex texts you late at night to ask you out for coffee, but you don’t write back. You can’t remember the last time you fantasized about well-nigh puddles.
One night you’re walking Melissa to her car in the parking garage and she is parked up up up all the way on the top floor. She says she wants to show you something and she takes your hand and leads you all the way to the back. You both stand there visionless looking out over the twinkling lights of the skyscrapers of downtown Los Angeles.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” She says. “All those lights.”
You tell her that yes, it’s beautiful, but it makes you sad. All those pretty lights midpoint nothing; they’re just shining into un prepossessed lonely offices with nobody in them. Melissa squeezes your hand and says yes, each light is an empty office — but they’re only empty considering the people have all gone home for the day. All those twinkling lights aren’t sad; each one is a person who’s at home, happy with the one they love. And how romantic is that?
You squint at her in the lights and she smiles. Something in your chest expands.
Late one Sunday afternoon you are writing out your rent trammels and realize it’s been exactly a year since you started working out. You think of all those miles you’ve run and those pounds you’ve lifted and yellow you’ve eaten and puddles you’ve made.
It doesn’t seem that bad. You realize that it’s not well-nigh hitting a goal weight, or lifting a weight. It’s well-nigh stuffed worldly-wise to wait. Waiting, stuff patient, and trusting that life will slowly inch withal and things will sooner get better. Without all, transpiration takes time.
But time is all it takes.
4.) NO FRUIT JUICE
Too much sugar!!!