The year is 2008, I’m 28 and “jacked”; 230 lbs of grain fed beef. I’ve been working out regularly since I was a wee lad. Ya-ya, I have kinda slacked off for the past few years but hey, I get to the gym a few times a month. I eat a vegetable sometimes. As the pounds pack on I keep telling myself its muscle. It can’t be shit weight right? I hold my fat well which allowed me to continue to lie about just how much I had let myself go.
My job at the time was one of a vet tech. Being the sole male in an office full of estrogen comes with its perks as well as headaches. I of course had the unofficial job of protecting the Vet from all the100lb vicious, giant, wolf beasts. Many times a day I would find myself in a life and death struggle; The beast was in a head and body lock while all my weight held it down onto the table, preventing it from attacking me.
During one of these routine daily encounters, I found myself really out of breath and physically fatiguing. I started to panic thinking that the dog might prevail. I made it through, thankfully unscathed, but the encounter left its mark on me. At that moment I realized I was a fat piece of shit. After regaining my composure, I drug my lard ass to the bathroom, took my shirt off and really looked at myself. The veil was finally lifted. The lie uncovered. I was not 230 pounds of muscle. I was a socially inept, video game addicted, financially broken, physically deteriorated man. Most of us have “that” moment of realization which forces us to make an honest assessment of who we have become in order to make a permanent change for the better. This was mine.
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