No hundred push-up challenge, yes yoga.
More discouraging than failing to squeeze in my push-ups is that I weighed myself today. But even worse than that, I looked at my fat club pictures, the first set I've looked at since the originals were taken two weeks ago.
I know I was not expecting any heart-stopping changes, but I was not expected to see so many round, cellulite-infested, bloated bags of fat. Gosh, looking at my partially nude grease-filled fat folds was enough to make me hurl. No wonder people have trouble looking at me. Gosh. I tried flipping back and forth between the images on my computer to see the microscopic changes and NOTHING! Not a single cellulite, pock-filled, lard-infused fold out of place. No recession to the drooping layers of fat. Just spare tired from head to toe. I could equip a car.
And yet, rather than continue to focus on my glaring lack of any progress, I will instead turn my eyes forward towards the mythical land where obese people can become just overweight. Where those who don't know me as a morbidly obese fat man will come to see me as a guy who could stand to lose a few, without knowing that losing a few is all I have been doing for months. I choose to dream of the time when my thighs will not rub together on every fricken step, or when my fat fingers will not accidentally hit the undo button when I mean to get the space bar, I dream of a time when I too will be able to wear just a button down shirt to work and not feel so self-conscious that I hide in my suit jacket despite the sweltering heat of summer.
This day will come. It may not be soon, but, oh, is it on the horizon. I just cannot wait until I am basking in the glow of a just modestly overweight man. When my pants are not so large that two normal size adults could use them as a tent to wait out another tropical storm. This day will come and I will be waiting.
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