It’s war

I haven’t been sharing too much about my nutritional struggles on this blog.

Let me cut out the BS and just say: I’ve been bad. It’s been six months, and over the past six months, I’ve mainly been bad.

Now. It’s getting scary to me.

This morning the scale says 198.5 lbs.

The pants say: too tight.

The tape measure says: your belly is bigger but not much else has changed.

On my waist I have seen the return of some old friends; my love-handles and belly fat! They say: we’re jiggly!



I declare war. I hereby declare war.

This is beyond “beyond 30 days of 100% paleo” and beyond “I need a reboot.”

I have systematically destroyed every last dietary rule that I adopted for myself starting back in January, 2009.

I made real life changes. But I’ve not kept them. I’ve experimented with relaxing my rules. It doesn’t work for me. I want to be IN SHAPE!!!

It is therefore time to destroy something else: that part of myself that has undermined its own success.

It is true that I am stronger now than I was in early 2009.

But I am also more injured, more beat down, and manifestly less fit in certain areas (for instance, in 2009, when I last weighed this much I could easily go out and run 5 miles; I certainly could not do that today).

Who is to blame?

No one.

I certainly do not blame CrossFit or CrossFit Asheville. Could there somehow have been more support through CrossFit? Possibly. But my problem hasn’t been CrossFit.

I do not blame Glenn Pendlay, Tamara Cohen, or anyone affiliated with USAW. Just because weightlifters don’t eat “Flexible-Paleo-Zone” and make fun of people who want “abz” doesn’t mean that I have to eat 1/2 gallon of icecream at 12:30 am before going to bed. Seriously.

I do not blame Robb Wolf, Kurt Harris, or Martin Berkhan. Even if Kurt Harris convinced me it was ok to eat heavy cream which led me to ice cream, butter, and cheese, or if Robb Wolf sings the praises of corn if you’re going to cheat with starchy carbs, or if Martin Berhan’s pictures of himself at 8% body fat eating an entire Cheesecake create the illusion in my mind that I can eat an entire key lime pie on Father’s Day because it’s Father’s day (even though I’m up to about 16% body fat). Even if! I don’t blame any of these guys.

I don’t even blame the guy at 70’s big. Justin. Who planted a wicked seed in my mind that if I don’t weigh 200+ lbs I’m not a real adult male. Believe you me! I have spent many long years weighing more than 200 lbs and being over 200 lbs, for me, DIDN’T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH BEING A REAL MAN. What has being over 200 lbs ever done for me? Nothing. Unless you count: making me embarrassed to take off my T-Shirt at the beach, killing off my sex life, or making me slow, uncoordinated, and weak.

Honestly, I don’t believe you have to weigh a lot to lift a lot. I’m lifting more now than ever. I’m going to keep doing that. But I’m hereby divorcing myself from the lie that says the pursuit of strength justifies the neglect of balance and restraint in eating.

Hell, this really isn’t about weightlifting. It isn’t about MetCons. It isn’t about training methods.

It is about eating too much, drinking too much, watching too much TV, and not getting enough sleep.

It is about choosing corn and corn flour over vegetables, allowing myself to eat gluten-laden foods, eating ice cream and chocolate, craving sweets.

It is about too many meals a day, devoting too many hours a day to food, it’s about snacking from dinner to bedtime, and not fasting long enough each day.

It is about giving in to feelings of fatigue and laziness, and letting it be easier not to eat right, etc.

What am I? Who am I supposed to be, in this universe of physical culture? I’m not that strong. I’m not that fast. I’m not that well trained.

What I am is smart. I know food and nutrition. I know diet and recovery. In theory, I know discipline.

I like being strong. But I like better “feeling in shape.” It’s a total package.

I’ve been off track but I am going on the warpath against myself. I will reclaim the high ground.

Plan War Path

Today, June 22nd, 2011. For the next four months, until about this time in October, I am officially on the warpath.

I am going to intercept and interrogate every morsel of food that I feed myself. I will not overeat. I will choose healthy food items. I will feed to refuel and rebuild and care for the machine. I will not break discipline. I will adopt the training mindset of the nutritional warrior. Each day, I will re-affirm a list of basic rules. I will wrest control of my diet and training from my self-defeating inner child. I will reestablish my own command of myself. So help me God.

Let me know what you think...