There’s been a lot of talk about Dad Bod lately, and quite frankly, it’s making my head spin. The Italian Renaissance and Victorian England were both accepting of rounded women with large breasts and full hips. But now? Unless your name is Kim Kardashian or Kate Upton, you’re expected to be a bean pole. But that’s society, guys. Fair or not, this world is full of fickle beasts.
Up until recently, I had always said to myself, “Will, you need to be in better shape, man. Your skinny-fat frame isn’t doing you any favors, and it’s only going to get worse the closer you get to 30.” So while everyone is rejoicing at the new Dad Bod phenomenon, I’m going to get an eye for the future for when this passes and I need my body to be tight again.
Am I going to milk my Dad Bod for the foreseeable future? Of course I am. What are you, new? But I’m also a huge fan of properly preparing to prevent poor future performance, so I’ve constructed my perfect diet that will be implemented immediately upon society once again deeming the Dad Bod as unacceptable.
Move To Wine
I’m currently sitting at my desk feeling fat as hell after a weekend of beers, southern food, and couch surfing from sporting event to sporting event. My estimates put me at about 15,000 calories and 36 beers this weekend, which isn’t doing anything for my waistline or my psyche. And, the sad thing is, this isn’t the first time this has happened.
My move for the next couple weeks? Move from beer to wine. Before you jump down my throat, let me clarify that I’m using zero science to justify this. Just some skewed logic that I’ve never woken up on a Monday thinking, “Oh, man. I wish I hadn’t drank those 36 glasses of wine this weekend.” This switch will (seemingly) cause me to ingest less liquid by volume and therefore reduce the toll it takes on my physique.
Will I probably be ingesting the same amount of calories? Yeah, I mean, probably. But it feels like less and being skinny is like 30% mental anyway.
One & Done
As a 28-year-member of The Clean Plate Club, I know a thing or two about serving sizes and that whole “eyes bigger than your stomach” thing. I’m the type that loads up on my favorite parts of the meal and then doubles back to eat the things that you’re supposed to eat, like peas and salad.
But in times like these (you know, pre-summer/pre-wedding season/pre-babes in white pants), it’s essential that I buckle down and limit myself to one plate of food per meal, complete with all the “well-rounded” parts and not just the meat and potatoes.
Pre-meal grazing? Can’t happen. Snagging an extra piece of flank steak while doing the dishes? Nope. Stacking your plate so shit is falling off it as you approach the dinner table? Have some self control.
The Vehicle Salad
You can’t be the “skinny” part of “skinny-fat” without mixing in a salad here and there. But your boy isn’t eating a salad if it’s just chock-full of greens and root vegetables. Just nappenin’.
Much like banana bread is a vehicle for butter, I use salads as my vehicle for the naughtiest part of the salad. The pieces of romaine are like little surfboards being ridden by globs of hummus, pieces of overdone steak, and way too much avocado just drenched in blue cheese dressing.
But, as I previously stated, being skinny is as mental as it is physical so just the simple act of eating a salad puts out a “I’m in shape” vibe to the rest of the world.
Yesterday I was at a crawfish boil where the restaurant just devastated the food with spices. I cracked an absolutely hilarious quip about heartburn which spurned someone to offer me some heartburn medicine so the meal wouldn’t come back to bite me.
“Sure,” I responded before slamming mass-quantity crawfish, sausage, and shrimp. That jagged little pill put me on a destruction path for the rest of the day which culminated with a brown drink and Bananas Foster.
That acid-reflux med was like my Limitless pill that made it okay for me to shamelessly devour everything with no repercussions. That is, until I woke up at 2:30 a.m. with a belly exploding with shellfish and beer that will probably cause me to skip lunch today. That medication was my crutch, so by banishing them from my repertoire I’ll essentially be imposing some much needed self-control.
Standing Room Only
You know when you’re standing at the bar and a group of people clears out only to have your group of friends usher in and take their seats? Yeah, that’s over. No more sitting down at the bar, no matter how long you’re there for. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.
The whole “standing desk” phenomenon may have something to it after all. Reducing the risk of obesity by taking advantage of movement opportunities? Sounds good to me. I’ll be burning calories while watching the NBA Playoffs and polishing off some wine (no beer, remember?). And I can probably drink more too because my stomach will be stretched out from standing.
There’s no way I’m ever using a standing desk at work, though. I don’t have that much energy..
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