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Jambo!(And then you’d say: “Jambo Sana!”). Little Swahili lesson for you. No big deal, just getting your ass cultured. Speaking of getting cultured, my parents came to visit me in New York City a few weekends ago. First time they’d been to NYC since I moved here. Did we do anything cultured? Well, we were going to do a museum, but my dad hates museums, and it was a be-A-utiful day in the city, so we spent the day kind of aimlessly cavorting around Central Park. Even taught my parents how to #ThrowItLow. Talk about cultured, right?
Besides treating ourselves to fine dining, comedy shows, and even teaching my parents how to ride the NYC subway, I got the usual chirps from mom and dad about my body. “Do more cardio” says mom. “Stop shooting your body full of dianabol” says dad. You know, usual mom and dad advice. So of course I laughed them off “hahaha” and said the usual responses: “I’ve been the same size since college,” “I can’t go on long runs anymore because I have a bad lower back,” “I like taking illegal steroids from Uzbekistan that make me look like an anthropomorphic bowling ball.”
But in the privacy of my own gym locker, among the sea of old man dick, I tepidly decided to step on the scale for the first time in months.
The scale tipped 207 pounds. 5’8″, 207. Those stats, according to a BMI calculator, make me obese. Obese?! Does this look like the body of an obese 27-year old?
According to my BMI, I'm obese (5'8", ~ 205lbs)… this looks like a dude who's obese? pic.twitter.com/EHm8arX8eX
— Boston Max (@BostonMaxG) April 9, 2018
Nevertheless, if you’re not trying to improve yourself, you’re just not trying. There are ample pounds to lose. I’ve been eating and drinking like a king the last three-ish months, because when you’ve got a girl you’re dating, you’ve got to treat her like a princess and no price is too much (and by that, I mean we just Seamless dinner all the time and wash it down with the finest lagers courtesy of Anheuser-Busch Inbev and the most delicious Trader Joe’s wines south of $20).
So maybe I gained a few El Bee’s. Had a few Chardonnays. What of it? Thing is, even with my parents chirping me, wanting me to get down to my high school wrestling weight of 140, or my girl telling me she likes me having a bit of a shmushy tummy, it’s not THEM who my body is for. It’s for ME. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to lose a pound or two or fifteen. If I could get down to like 190 by mid-summer? I’d be a beast. Benching 300 lbs and saving babies from burning buildings. Plus, I’d just look hot AF up on my rooftop pool. The question then obviously becomes: how am I going to do it?
I eat pretty freakin’ healthy Monday through Friday. I do a 5:2 kind of thing where during the work week I eat like an asshole. I’m talking eggs, organic meats, fish, salads, avocados, quinoa, and protein shakes. No booze. No sweets. No empty carbs. I’m in the gym eating weights. But then Friday night comes around and I do like we all do. I don’t count the number of IPAs I’m drinking. I have drunk late night pizza. I go to the bar to crush Bud Lights, wings, and plates of nachos. I live in a perpetual state of limbo where I basically ruin a week’s worth of hard work over the course of a two-day weekend. It’s how I live in equilibrium. It’s how I break even Steven all the time like I’m Jerry Seinfeld.
The only way I knew I’d be able to tackle my little love handle dilemma was something kind of drastic. Like, giving up my weekend indulgences. But, I love beer I love wings I love nachos. I enjoy NOT doing high intensity interval training on Sundays when I could in fact be brunching instead. Late-night pizza? It’s the best. It’s better than winning the lottery. I would know, I won $5 on a scratchy once. So how was I going to conquer my BMI and not be obese, and maybe drop down into the “overweight” category? I decided to do some diet research.
I worked round the clock for weeks searching the dark corners of the internet for secret diet tricks. Workouts they only tell you about when you’re an East German Olympic athlete. I even went on Amazon to try and procure Ivan Drago’s state-of-the-art workout equipment. I took PTO days from work. I locked myself in the New York public library with the homeless and the indigent. After combing through countless PhD students’ theses, I’ve found the diet I’ve decided to commit to until pool SZN: the 5:2 fasting diet.
It’s wicked simple. Two days a week (non-consecutive day), I eat no more than 600 calories. I tried it last week. On Tuesday and Thursday each day I only ate three eggs and three protein shakes. It sucked. I was hungry all day. I went to bed hungry. And after all that, I actually lost a pound last week. Hell yeah. So, I think I’m going to commit. For two days a week, for the foreseeable future, I’m going to basically starve myself two days a week.
It’s going to suck. It will be painful. It’ll be annoying. I’ll have to say no to weeknight sushi with my new girlfriend. Maybe have to say no to watching playoff hockey at the bar. But friends, I can’t be obese. Is BMI a crock of shit? Yes. But according to modern science, BMI is basically a good population health predictor of obesity and co-morbidities (like diabetes and heart disease), and I qualify as obese. (Then again, so is Gronk at 6’6″ 265 but I won’t be the one to tell him he’s obese).
Anyway, I’m not going to let any Tom Dick or Poindexter be able to tell me that according to #science I’m obese. So I’m going to starve myself for a while. .