On 23 January 2017, someone decided to write a post called ‘Dad Bod: It’s time to go!’
That someone was me.
My post went something a little like this:
“Blah blah blah I’m not going to beat around the bush… I have officially (by my own admittance) reached fat bastard status! I got to that point where I realised I had two options available moving forward regarding my diet and my weight. Either stop eating… or buy a whole new wardrobe full of clothes. And let’s face it, to stop eating is definitely the cheaper way to go!”
“Blah blah blah I mean, it’s pretty bad. Like so bad that the t-shirts I own look like they’re about 2 sizes to small when I wear them. If I start to raise my arms it looks like I’m wearing a midriff! Plus none of my pants fit! We went to the Redcliffe Lagoon just before New Years and I couldn’t do them up. I have buttons popping open on shorts and I even had to use a hair tie on the top button of a pair of jeans because I couldn’t get it done up! Yes, a hack I learned from my pregnant wife.”
“Blah blah blah I’ve embraced the Dad Bod for long enough. All the delicious food and the cold beers and the tasty burgers and the amazing chocolate and the delightful doughnuts and the… IT’S TIME TO STOP!!!”
Pretty convincing stuff right. Well, I must have thought so at the time, because I was clearly fired up enough to put down in writing that I was going to lose the dad bod and gain a six pack that would give Zac Efron a run for his money! I was making claims like I was going to be the next inspirational body transformation story to go viral around the world and have everyone asking me “How did you do it?” I was talking like I was going to be the next Instagram male fitness model with abs of steel, calves that could cut through glass, biceps that would make The Rock jealous and an ego to match.
Fast forward to the end of June and I’m now peaking at 90kg in weight, I haven’t given up any of the bad foods I said I was going to give up, I’m drinking more beer than I did at Christmas and New Years, I’ve had to buy the next size up in underwear, and I’ve had to buy half a wardrobes worth of clothes that actually fit me.
I think I’ve practically just given up trying to lose weight and get back to my peak fitness level. It’s like I’ve just thrown up the middle finger with a “f*** it… I’m having cake and beer!” I mean, cake and beer is freaking delicious!!! Who doesn’t want cake and beer! Just throw in some mac and cheese, dark chocolate, a full family bag of cheese supreme Doritos and some ice cream and you have a bloody good night in at home on the couch watching some Netflix!
Losing weight is just so damn hard these days. I mean, I never really thought that being in my early thirties would have that much of an impact on my health and fitness but f***… it’s like my body just turns whatever I eat to fat and stores it there for an eternity.
So bugger it… I’m just going to keep enjoying myself. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still exercise and sh**… but I think I’m going to give up on the dream of being the next Arnold Schwarzenegger!
With that said, I’ve got to go… I’ve got a 7/11 Slurpee and king size Mars bar calling my name!