Resolutioners at the gym8/30/2023 The happy couple on our honeymoon.Īs you can see from this picture, I wasn’t lean. I stopped being insanely sore after every workout, and I began to gain confidence in what I was doing.īy my wedding, I had shed all 30 pounds of fat I had accumulated. Not huge, drastic changes, but small, incremental changes. Eventually, I was no longer a “resolutioner”. The winter turned into spring, and the resolutioners all left. I remember feeling out of place, but being determined to keep at it. I remember being envious of the lifters who were obviously stronger and leaner than I was. I remember walking into the gym and picking up a pair of dumbbells to do some incline bench presses, and being aware of my huge gut which was peeking out from under my too-small tee shirt. It was comparable to having a large, winter jacket on all the time.Ģ005 was going to be the year I turned it all around. I was carrying about 80 pounds of excess fat– no wonder I was always sweating. Even sitting down to dinner would cause me to have to wipe my face with a napkin. Doing any sort of activity would cause me to break out into a soaking sweat. That was probably the most humiliating part. I had constant heartburn, asthma, allergies, and I was sick often. I had eaten myself into a situation where I had gained around a pound of fat per week.Īll of a sudden, I understood why I felt so shitty. I had gained 33 pounds of fat in 8 months. The first time I weighed myself on the gym’s scale, an unreal number stared back at me. I was getting married in July of that year, and I was determined to not be the “fat groom with a beautiful wife”. I didn’t realize it at the time, but our high school and college coaches were woefully under trained in how to properly lift.īut I gave it my best shot. I played baseball for a few years at Eastern Michigan, and we had spent some time pumping iron during the offseasons. The time when we all take a look at ourselves and try to embark on the path to self-improvement. This was to be expected the gym was brand new and it was the busiest time of the year. I wandered into my new gym shortly after the new year in 2005. We went the next day and signed the paperwork. “Hey, honey,” I said to Kate, “ You wanna go sign up at that new gym that just opened up? I think it’s time to start working out again.” I lifted my shirt and looked at my muffin top pouring over the belt line. They barely buttoned up – and they were a 42″ waist. Grandma had gotten my waist measurement from my Mom. My grandma had sent me a pair of khakis via Fed Ex as a Christmas gift. The final straw came when I received a package in the mail. By Christmas, I had no clue what I weighed, as we didn’t own a scale, but I knew it wasn’t good. I had graduated weighing about 250 pounds. Which often meant having a bag of chips by my side as I watched television. So, what did I do when faced with the extra time? I went from working retail 20 hours per week and student teaching 40 hours per week to just working my normal job. I actually found myself with more time on my hands than I did during my senior year. I no longer had classes to walk to, papers and projects to complete at night, and the stress of the university to keep me busy. It didn’t take long for the pounds to pile on. My friend Hutch is the baby-faced ladies’ man…… Our culinary expertise consisted of cooking frozen pizzas, making grilled cheese sandwiches, and deciding which Me, 2003. (You know what I mean – it was the first apartment either of us lived in which didn’t have 40-ounce beer bottles as decorations.)Ĭonsidering it was our first time preparing meals for ourselves on a regular basis, our skills in the kitchen were non existent. I got a strange kick out of waking up in the morning, working my 8 hours, and driving home to spend time with my fiance in our first “real” apartment. I was excited to be a part of the “working class”. I had graduated from college 8 months prior and had started my career as a 6th grade teacher. During the Christmas season, 2004, I was in the worst shape of my life.
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