"Blog" Just Sounds Like A Fat WordShareThis
Now that I don’t play hockey, I’m getting fat.
I don’t mean like, haha-collapse-a-lawn-chair fat, I mean Phil Mickelson I-wouldn’t-call-him-fat-but-he-probably-shouldn’t-have-bought-that-gas-station-brownie. I’m a slender guy, but the pot belly thing is always an option, especially for a guy who enjoys the odd Stella Artois or six.
Being the degenerate couch growth I was for the months involving my jaw surgery, I learned to perfect the art of being a bum. I used to view movies as a two hour drain on my day, and all the sudden I’m the guy with a collection. I officially need to be wearing sweatpants once I’m in the front door, where I used to just stay in jeans until bed time.
In short, the injury lazified my home lifestyle. People really are creatures of habit, and let me tell you, the being lazy thing is a tough one to break. Don’t get me wrong, I work a lot, but now that my work involves sitting in sweats with snacks and typing, I’m finding the line between couch ridden slug/hard working journalist pretty blurry.
And the snacks thing? You really don’t know what ya got ’til it’s gone. During the nearly two months my teeth were laced together with wire, when I ate, it was a production, and a forgettable experience (I swear, if you have to blend soups into a single consistency, you’re better off going hungry). So when I got the wires off and tasted salty popcorn and pretzels, double stuff oreos, cookie dough ice cream and pop ‘ems donuts, I officially fell in love all over again.
I’m an active guy who loves sports. But my old job consisted of burning more daily calories than Krispy Kreme produces on a weekend, where the only calories I burn now are chewing. As if the slowing metabolism of aging wasn’t enough, now I have to add one of the seven deadly sins, sloth, to my list of life concerns.
But what’s a guy to do? What’s everybody to do? I understand chubby people; food tastes great and resting feels okay too. With the added sit-stractions like TV and the internet, a little cellulite is bound kick around a few peoples backsides. Not that we should welcome it, but it’s inevitable.
I go for a daily run (ballpark 7-13 minutes, honestly), and bust out a couple push-ups. My theory is that any maitenance is better than a complete free-fall into my wife-doesn’t-find-me-attractiveville. Plus, like everyone else, I console myself with the “once ________ happens, I’m gonna get back on top of it” lie. My blank is getting settled in my own home, but everybody has a different version. Until they have to work more and get tired. And then they have kids. And then they only get one day off a week and want to enjoy it. And then… And then…
I’m not really writing to offer a solution here. I’m writing because it’s cathartic, and because it’s a written lecture, a physical reminder of the fact that I see the changes in my body happening, and instead of accepting it, I need to do something. I used to bitch about forced workouts as a player, but I can already tell I’m about 10 months away from paying someone a monthly fee to force me to work out.
The point now is to keep it fun. For me, the only real way to burn calories is to do it in a way that you don’t notice it. There’s no way after running for miles I’m going to come home and bust out a few extra wind sprints. But if I’m in a basketball game, and circumstances call for the hustle, I will not let my team down. Maybe it goes to overtime. Maybe all the sudden my hockey league, racquetball league and soccer leagues have me with more friends and clear hearteries because I hate to lose.
So Fun is my new calorie-burning fitness guru, the new trainer who supplanted the old duo of Fear and Necessity that used to run my life as a hockey player.
So, I’m headed back to Kelowna soon… Anybody need a teammate?