The secret handshake revealed (???)

Shhh… I need you to keep this on the downlow. The only reason that I am almost comfortable sharing what I am about to reveal is because my blog stopped notifying my (two) readers who used to actually enjoy reading this thing (Hi Mom!). However, I know with Al Gore’s invention, complete strangers could stumble upon this thing so I’m going to need you to pinky swear that you won’t say anything. Seriously. If you do, I’ll have to kill you. Okay, not really… but we’ll probably have to paddle each other’s bare behinds while asking for another.
Okay, here goes nothing, I joined a cult. The last time people thought I joined a cult was in 2001 when I announced that after studying it for myself, I was leaving my agnostic views behind and committing my broken life to Jesus. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have shaved my entire head but my ponytail and started hanging out at the airport while passing out flowers. Anyway, this is a real cult. You’ve seen it, you know members, you’ve heard their secret language. I feel like if I was announcing this on a 60 minutes type show, they would have my face shaded and distort my voice for my own protection. So considering this is a blog, I’ll do the next best thing and disguise my writing. Okay… deep breath… here goes: I joined crossfit.
So right now you are thinking one of a couple of things. If you are local and know me, you are thinking, “I knew it! So THAT is why his buttocks look so taut!” On a tangent that I probably should just leave alone as it has nothing to do with me joining my cult (shhhh… on the downlow, remember??), have you ever noticed that the word “taut” can basically only be used to describe buttocks. It’s like “supple” with bosom. I, unfortunately, screwed up and have taut bosom and supple buttocks. Anyhoo, back to me being newly related to John Travolta, most of you are thinking, “You idiot, how could you just join a cult???” Please… give me some credit, I didn’t just sign up… I took advantage of the free trial week first.
On my very first class the head cultmaster (get this, they call him “coach”) introduced me to my new family, “This is Tom, who has the misfortune of taking his very first class during Hero’s week.” The class giggled and whispered under their breath about eating my love handles with fava beans. Well, I wasn’t intimidated! I huffed, and I puffed, and I passed out… about 7 times. However, once the class actually started, I was fine.
When the class was over the “coach” encouraged me to come back the next day to combat the “soreness” that was surely waiting for me the next day. Ha! Shows what he knew, or didn’t know. I wasn’t sore the next day… I was completely numb. It took at least a week until I could even feel my limbs again. And then the pain was much more extreme than “sore.” In fact, I was seriously considering making an appointment to see a doctor (probably my gynecologist to help with my taut bosom), when I overheard a woman that was probably in her 60’s but looked like she could benchpress a bus, mention that she could finally straighten her arms again. If Arnoldina was also “sore”, then I knew that I would be just fine.
Sometime during that first week (probably in a secret subliminal manner), the brainwashing was complete. At the end of the week, I was ready to sign up. I marched right up to the front desk and turned in my enrollment form. Just like that, I went from being Fat Tom to being Ralphie of The Christmas Story fame when he turned in what he was sure to be his A+++++++++++++ essay. I sat there and gazed at my new leader lovingly while I pondered how glorious it was going to be when he taught me the secret handshake. After about ten minutes of me staring at him with a stupid grin on my face, he finally said, “Okay… again, welcome aboard… if I give you a free sticker will you stop staring at me like that?”
What??? A darn sticker! Doesn’t he know that if I added a “Crossfit” bumper sticker to the “140.6” sticker that I already had, I wouldn’t even be able to make it to my local Krispy Kreme without the cops looking at me and saying, “that fatty is driving a car that obviously belongs to some sort of a fitness god, let’s pull him over and beat him!” Anyway, in spite of getting swindeled with an Ovaltine decoder ring, I went ahead and joined the cult. Why do I think it is a cult? I’ll explain that in my next post. In the meanwhile, I’ll tell you that I’m back to about 5 lbs. lost. Taut I say… taut!

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Man with a plan!

Today was the first weigh-in, and needless to say, I’ve never been so disgusted with myself. 217.4. Ouch. Yes, I am disgusted, but maybe not for the reason you think. It isn’t for my incredible girth and four chins. It is because I ONLY have four chins. I started last year’s weight loss contest at 225.4. I had all year to gain weight and I report in weighing eight pounds LESS than last year??? What a loser!

So in case some of you actually want to eat in 2014, I’ll spare you the before photos (for those of you that must know, just picture a cross between Chewbaca, Dolly Parton, and Fat Albert and you’ve got it!). I got the details of the first contest today and here is the pertinent info: it runs from January 13th to March 7th. $10 entry. Weekly weigh-ins. $1 penalty every week you don’t lose weight AND $1 penalty for every pound you gain. Whoever loses the biggest percentage of weight, is the winner, winner, chicken and dumplings dinner.

I’ve decided to go ahead and win this and bring home the bacon. Mmm… bacon… I even came up with an agressive goal of losing 10% or 22 lbs. If I could get down to a svelte 195 I am pretty sure I could fit in my bro again (it is a C cup). But as grandma used to always say, “shut the refrigerator door fatty!” Wait.. not that, “If you fail to plan, you really are your father’s son!” The point is, losing over 20 lbs. won’t just happen on its own. So here is my guaranteed five step plan (patent pending if you are in the contest with me):

1. Look at my before photo often. — Should lose six lbs. as a result.

2. It is better to eat frequently throughout the day to avoid eating too much. It is supposed to be small meals, but bigger has got to be better right? So I’m going to eat large meals frequently throughout the day to make sure I win the hunger games. — Will probably gain seven lbs. as a result.

3. Hit Japanese baths with fellow obese men. — Probably won’t lose weight as a result, but might make some new friends.

4. Donate blood any other bodily fluids that they’ll take. — Probably gain three pounds because of the snacks afterwards.

5. Shave my back. — Lose 26 lbs. Booyah!!!! This is going to be like taking $10 from some other diet contestants… or something like that.

Stay tuned!

The 2nd to last supper

“Where do you want to go for dinner?” my wife asked innocently enough. Let’s see… with a weight loss contest beginning in less than 48 hours, maybe I should use tonight to practice eating healthy. Yeah right! “Krave,” was my one word answer.
If you don’t have Krave Burgers in your state, it is only because your legislators might actually care about you. “How bad could it be?” you ask. Go ahead and see for yourself.

Yes, you are reading that correctly, the Luther does say it has two glazed donuts as the hamburger bun (you should also note that right above the Luther they named a burger after me). Now I just wanted to be a glutton not a super glutton so I just went with the nice healthy burger with the fried cheese and chili (let’s be honest, there will be plenty of time for salads after Monday). However, to make sure I got my vegetables in, I ordered the sliced potato to go with it.

After making sure I cleaned my entire plate (considering the kids starving in Africa and all), my always supportive wife suggested we also get one of their adult shakes. I figured the alcohol in the shake might help loosen my quickly clogging arteries, but at this point I was just trying to remember if I was supposed to go to the light or stay away from it.

It’s probably 50/50 that I even survive until Monday’s weigh-in, so if I don’t make it please have my love handles bronzed and sent to the museum of fat.