170 days of hell

I have a new timeframe. 170 days until my 42nd birthday. My new goal is to hit my old goal by then.

I don't know how much I weigh now or how far from that goal I actually am. Chris & Steve, my trainers, know how much I weigh and I've vowed to "piss pound" them if they tell me. Scales annoy and distress me but more than that, they defeat me. All of my life, I've let scales determine my self-worth. Enough.

More important than hitting a number on a scale, I am working toward being in the best physical shape of my adult life by the time I turn 42. It's probably not as lofty as it sounds considering the poor shape I've been in most of my adult life.

Currently, I am in the hands of two extremely knowledgeable exercise physiologists who really enjoy their work, as sick as that is. I've agreed to do whatever they ask of me, which may be even more sick.

One thing I do know for certain, exercise and changing my eating habits saved my life 4 years ago. Another thing I know for certain, I've lost ground over the past year. It's been a bigger mental obstacle for me than a physical one but I know exactly how it happened. I quit working out and I ate too much crap. Shocker. And now for my next earth-shattering revelation...Uhhh, I got nothin'.

My crystal ball does tell me there are a lot of squats in my future. I'm not getting there without the squats. Chris doesn't even know any exercises that aren't performed in the squatting position. I don't find squatting terribly feminine, to be honest (unless you are in a rice paddy giving birth at the time). I remember the first time someone suggested I do squats. It was in the weight room at my high school. His name was Neil Larson and I remember thinking, "You are out of your mind if you think I'm doing something called a 'squat' in a room full of horny high school boys. Nice try."

You know what else isn't very feminine? Standing over the toilet after you do a lot of squats and actually considering peeing standing up because it's too painful to sit. Being dragged naked over broken glass would be less painful than attempting to sit after squats on the power rack.

Well, here I go. Wish me luck. Or don't. Here I go, nonetheless.