So I'm a fat-ass. Not in the revolting blob sense of the word, but living in a mountain town in Colorado, you assume an eight percent body fat percentage as norm here... what with all the skiing, kayaking, hiking, running, and ridiculous vegetarian diets that all the Colorado transplants move out here and try. Me, I grew up here. I don't care to have dread-locks, I didn't mind living in a crappy house for 5 years, but it's nice to have granite counter-tops now. Most of the people in my town are transplants, coming out here to live the "experience" of a mountain town, college town, hippie town, wild-west town, ranching town, whatever kind of town you want to call it. For me it's just home. So sitting on the cusp of 30 and recently married to a beautiful woman who's an outstanding cook, I have become... a fat-ass.
It's not that I was ever Joe Six-pack to begin with, but I'm finding much more time these days spent in the kitchen or on the couch with homemade chicken, pork and steak pastas, sandwiches, and other entree forms. I've discovered dishes like American Chop Suey, Homemade Meatball Subs, Tenderloins and other dishes that I though existed magically in my mothers kitchen... The Lord has truly blessed me...
My scale, however, has not. Not surprisingly, I've actually lost weight since the marriage, the problem was I put it all on during the courtship. My wife is no fool and the way to my heart became quickly apparent.
So I mention I am now sitting, biting my finger-tips, counting down... Four More Days !!!! This past Sunday we (by we I mean she) had an idea. Let's take a week and eat mostly raw fruits and vegetables. "OK" I said, "Why not, I'd like to lose about thirty pounds from where I am now, and that will be a great way to kickstart the first ten or so." What was I thinking?!? By Tuesday afternoon (for those of you counting, that's a grueling one and a half days later) I literally would have vomited had I stuffed another piece of raw broccoli in my mouth. So I tried something. Flexing the rules ever so gently, I went to our local "transplant" grocery store and purchased some vegan quality items which branched ever so gently away from our original agreement. I really hate going to the hippie store. Not because I don't enjoy fresh, local produce and the sandwiches and lunch items they make for on-the-go eaters are amazing. What I don't understand is that why to the unhealthiest-looking people in America shop at the so-called "health food" stores? It's not that they don't serve meat, they serve delicious, free-range locally raised meats that are far better than the stuff you pick up the chain grocery stores. It's just that majority of people shopping there seem they are there for the same reason they moved to this town to begin with, to live their fantasy of what hippie Colorado is supposed to be after reading too much Timothy Leary and smoking too much weed back in Akron or Chicago or Santa Cruz or wherever they come from. There was one young guy in there who had the same look in his eye as me, wearing an Iverson basketball jersey and Nike's, and we clearly both noticed each other and realized we were out of place compared to the vegan zombies trolling the aisles in their Keen's and Birk's muttering proclamations of smug wonderment over themselves and their amazing life choices. I thought to myself, "Bud, for guys like us, it's always because of a girl." I knew if I had said it out loud, he would have agreed. Before leaving the store I picked up, among other things, some tempeh and ground corn tortillas (I made sure to find the ones in which the only two ingredients listed were corn and water), and came home and cooked it up along with some other vegetables and made veggie fajitas.
Now my wife is an amazing cook. I am not. I can make the basics pretty well, pasta with meat sauce, pancakes... I guess that's about it, but those ARE the basics at a bachelors house. Although I must add that as someone who would have prided myself in my amazing ability to produce the "perfect pancake" I had no idea what I look back and realize I had no idea what I was doing until my wife came along and introduced me to baking powder.
We sat down and ate my attempted creation. It was amazing. Well, it was that night. When you eat nothing but broccoli, carrots, cauliflower and fruit for two days (again, I mean one and a half days) anything tastes good. So I tried it again the next day, yesterday, for lunch... it was harder to choke down than the broccoli had been the day before and I literally almost went to the store to get more of the small green trees that had been my nemesis only twenty-four hours earlier. Desperate and frustrated, I did the only thing a man could do... I walked away from the kitchen, hungry and angry, and played computer games through my lunch break. My salvation was when my wife came home for her lunch break with a huge box of fresh strawberries. I could have cried they were so amazing.
My wife, probably understanding my pain more than I was myself, made her way to the store last night and cooked us up some brown rice and beans with veggies mixed in. It was so good I think this time I did actually cry. I begged her for more, but her brilliant understanding of the REAL issue at hand, quantity not quality, prevailed and she said with a smile on her face, "I didn't make you enough for seconds."
So here I sit, four more days to go, on one of the most painful journey's of my life, wondering if I will season my salad I'm having for lunch today with half a lemon or half a lime... perhaps I will splurge and do a little of both.
I'm also losing almost 2 pounds a day. I know that cannot be sustained for an indefinite period of time, but again, the thought was to jump-start the process and hopefully encourage. Regardless of the progress, I still count the days down until Monday, when I will be taking my wife to Home Slice for a Yard Bird with Pineapple, or Old Tymer's for Burger Night. I haven't decided yet, but it doesn't matter. Until then, my bag of broccoli and I will survive.
