So It Begins...

Hello, my name is Brad, and I am a fat bastard. Not like this guy, but at the rate I'm going, It won't be long. I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me, or marvel at my work ethic. Eating a banana and then doing 4 pushups before tangibly vurping is not something to marvel at anyway. I'm not going on some "journey" like some of those slobs on TV, either. This is just an attempt at being held accountable for something. I figure the more people I get to look at how ponderously round I've become, the more likely I'll be to feel the need to do something about it, because apparently watching my wife dry heave every time I do the truffle shuffle, isnt enough motivation.


*Sigh* It's only hilarious when he does it. When I do it, someone barfs....


Here we go.

My wife and I decided to go on this journey (FUCK!) - I mean take this on together. After having gone through about a week of this already - I am convinced she is doing it with me so she can constantly remind me how big of a pussy I am. Oh, she acts all supportive - but I CAN FEEL HER JUDGING ME!!!
We have started the P90X program workout program, and a Weight Watcher Diet program. The WW program is perfect for foodies (aka - fatties with no will power, self respect, or dignity) like me because you can eat what you want - you just have a food budget. 
"Want a slice of pizza?  Go ahead - but then you don't eat again until June, asshole." 
It does work out pretty well, though. My wife and I have figured out how to make it work for us. So surprisingly, the diet has been the easy part. 

The workout program - or as I like to call it: Satan's Steeplechase is another matter. Don't get me wrong, it's OUTSTANDING, but: as a result of how outstanding it is - you spend approximately 60 minutes of every day cursing the birth canal of Tony Horton's mother for spewing forth this turd nugget of Lucifer into our world. Oh how I loathe Horton for those 60 minutes. He makes me want to take a bubble bath in aspirin and bourbon.... He does; however, say enough douchey things to fill up 90 days worth of this blog, so I should thank him.   

We ordered a pull up bar and some weights that are necessary and are awaiting their arrival so we've only done some of the workouts - out of order. The reality is these workouts are great and wifey and I are already seeing results. 

5 Things I learned this week:

1) I cannot do a good pushup. Not one. I get half way down and my arms feel like my humerus bones are going to splinter through my pasty underarm flab, bitch tits, rib cage, and puncture my already weezing lungs. So I do them from my knees for now. I have put my man card in the safe deposit box at the bank...

2) Nothing makes you feel fatter than doing jumping jacks in your home by yourself and having a picture in another room fall off the wall...I just know my wife has a glass of water out like the T-Rex scene in Jurassic Park when I do that workout.

3) Working out with your spouse or loved one seems like a good idea.  DON'T DO IT!  She looks hot doing it, but you do not. You think sliding over and smacking her butt cheek at every opporunity is hilarious until she sweeps the leg. Oh -  and everytime you take a COMPLETELY unecessary water break, you will feel guilty/ashamed that she has powered through the entire workout. You may have jumped higher than her during the warm up, but if you were having to jump over unending waves of poisonous death beetles for over an hour....she wouldn't be the one that died would she?  WOULD SHE?

4) Yoga is NOT for pussies. I never really thought so; but, I DID think it would be something I would enjoy doing.
"Maybe if I do yoga I'll add a few inches onto my reach!
I'm an idiot. 
All my body did was stretch out a little bit but the snap back together like it was made out of the same material as a gumball machine sticky hand. Also please refer to #3 when doing Yoga. Nothing earns you the face searing death stare faster than commeting on how every position she gets into looks bonerific. 
I've been having PTSD flashbacks of Yoga day ever since.....

5) I learned that despite the violent, irascible, rage I feel towards this smug fuckface of a trainer vomiting fitness enthusiasm all over me. I do feel better, and my feeble fitness will grow stronger over time. In the meantime, I am going to go longingly look at a bottle of bourbon for an hour, then drive by the Jack in the Box in the rain.....

Questions, Comments, Concerns, Political Statements, Songs, Poems, Rock Anthems, Power Ballads, or Haiku's?  Drop an email to bcbarmore@gmail.com !