There’s only one way to put it: I let myself go completely in December. Not in a free-thinking or hedonistic way, but in a completely gluttonous, greedy, calorific way. No cake or mince pie was rejected, no drink or cocktail was politely declined. I ate like a competitive eater and drank like a student. Plus, I got barely any exercise.
And now I’m feeling the consequences.
Don’t worry, I’m not ill. But by god, I’m sluggish. I’ve put on a stupid amount of weight and my skin looks awful. I’m tired all the time and when I’m not trying to sleep, I’m thinking about it.
The scientific diagnosis: too many pies. Honestly, at this rate, I believe if I slit my wrists, nothing Baileys would pour out.
So, what’s a boy to do? For a start (and this isn’t an elaborate New Year’s Resolution – they don’t work!), no more cake. This is pretty easy to achieve, as I think I might vomit if I was in even the vicinity of a mince pie any time between today and the 1st December. But this applies to all kinds of cakes. No matter how sneakily named or presented.
Secondly, no more drinking like a sailor on shore-leave. I fully intend to go alcohol-free for January, save for two special occasions when I’ll reward myself with a couple of beers. The empty calories I consumed through alcohol throughout December is…depressing. A large proportion of my very unappealing belly blubber is, I am sure, due to craft beer and prosecco. Delicious as it was, there’s no need to keep going flat out for another month.
Thirdly, no more competitive eating. By which I mean, no more unlimited buffets or booze brunches. I somehow got into the habit of going to these towards the end of 2017 and, while they might be good value, they’re not good for the waistline.
Finally, it’s time to get back out on the streets. No, not in a male prostitute kind of way – though I’m sure I could burn a few calories shivering on street corners – but more running. I’ve been out for a few runs already this year and while happy to get a few kilometres under my belt, it was depressing to see just how slow I’ve become compared to October when I ran the Royal Park’s half-marathon.
I’ve started using Strava as my running app, after a single, disastrous return to the Nike + app. It – of course – crashed mid-way through a 10k run around the Docklands and I was justifiably furious. Strava is reliable and the social element – many of my friends are already using it – means I get my competitive streak fuelled on a regular basis.
I’m in Dublin for business right now and I’ve amazed myself by going to the gym in the hotel each day. The weather here is criminal – storms and rain – so it’s indoors exercise only for now, but it’s been nice to throw myself around the various gym machines after work. Go me! Added bonus: I’m the only guest who seems to use the gym, so there are no witnesses. I can sweat and groan in private.
Which is how I generally like it.
So there you go. It’s gross, but it’s true. And in the interests of accountability, I’m working my weight back from a peak of 68.9kilos, measured on January 1st. I’m only 5 foot 7 inches, so that’s not good. It’s the heaviest I’ve weight in about 10 years. So it’s time to pull back from the abyss.
Wish me luck!
PS – Yes I know, I measure my weight in metric, but my height in imperial units. I also do distances in kilometres when running, but miles when traveling in a car. My mind is a very complex place. Best you stay outside…