Weight Maintenance Is Really Boring
I’m at a crossroads in my weight loss journey. I don’t need to lose any more weight and I’m not particularly enamoured at the idea of maintaining my weight.
Let’s face it, weight maintenance is boring. There’s none of the excitement that comes with weight loss. There’s no-one there to slap you on the dick and shake your hand for staying the same weight.
When people lose weight they think that their lives will change dramatically and for most this isn’t the case. You just become misery condensed.
You have to make it a lifestyle change, whatever the fuck that’s meant to mean. Walking the same distance home every day using a new route is a lifestyle change. Doing the second half of your life gay is a lifestyle change. Becoming French is a lifestyle change. Only 2 of those are advisable and walking is so last year.
If you’re feeling fucking miserable now whilst fat that isn’t gonna change when you get thin. You’re likely fat because you’re miserable, not the other way around. AA and NA try to make this out to be a disease but it’s really just how we’re programmed. Capitalism profits off misery by selling a solution at a markup. If the message of capitalism was “you’re actually OK, nothing we have will make you live forever but you can make the most out of what time you have by not being a massive cunt and relaxing a little” then it’d fucking die in a flash.
Being miserable is a team sport in the West. Everyone loves being offended. You get those who love being offended by those who get offended. Then you have cunts like me (reluctant Guardian readers) who love getting offended at those who get offended at those who get offended. We’re all cunts. Getting offended reinforces why we think we’re right even though we fucking hate ourselves. Which is ironic because if you were right, surely you’d be at peace with yourself?
I have no idea what I’m doing with my life and the confusion surrounding all this shit is why NOM Snickers NOM. There you go. Feels good yeah? Until you can’t get the nuts out from between your teeth and the sorrow returns with a vengeance.
I’m on my third salad today and I ran 6 miles tonight. I tried to go downstairs to the Travelodge Cafe for a pizza but they were sold out. I stormed out in a fury and tried to boot the bottom stair, missed and almost went over tits over arse.
This is all from a man who writes a “health and fitness” blog. LOL. True class. If I was a proper influencer I’d have smiled, ordered a slimline tonic water and made small chat with cunts in the bar. Now instead I’m upstairs alone here on the 4th floor harbouring what will probably wind up being an eternal grudge against the ‘sorry we’re out of fucking pizzas’ lady.