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Two years ago, my girlfriend broke up with me and moved to California. I was devastated, but it was exactly the shock that my system needed. In guiding me through my heartbreak, my boss gave me a simple piece of advice that literally changed the course of my life: “You’ll never make anyone else happy if you’re not happy with yourself.” These words hit me hard, and I knew I had to take a long look in the mirror.
My reflection was a veritable tub of lard staring back at me. Since I graduated high school seven years earlier, I had ballooned from an athletic 190 pounds to a whopping 260. Blame it on college–the binge drinking and eating, the absence of athletics, and of course, my comfortable transition into the role of the fun chubby guy.
But damn. Two-hundred sixty pounds?
I looked like a tick ready to burst. Staring into the mirror, I told myself that I had done this through my own negligence. More importantly, I told myself that if I could do it, I could damn sure undo it. I decided to lose the weight and get my ass back into shape. And besides, I figured, I’d probably never get laid again if I didn’t.
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My journey started with baby steps—John Basedow would be proud. I would get up half an hour earlier than usual each morning and jog around the neighborhood, what I figured to be around a mile. I knew that I should be hitting the gym, but quite honestly I was embarrassed to be seen there. I soon realized that a short jog each morning was not going to get me to my goal very fast. I needed to see results. I needed to bust my ass. I needed to hit the weights.
