I missed all kinds of deadlines this week – we didn’t hike last week and I won’t be going tomorrow, but I have a fun-ish story to tell about my trip to Pittsburgh, so I’ll supplant that entry tomorrow with that. I was pretty busy running around like a crazy person trying to get crap together for my graduation in Florida next week (getting my MFA and speaking at commencement because I won an award). Add work and trying to have a social life in pursuit of a meaningful connection with a woman on top of that and things get a little crazy. So that’s deadline explanation.
This was a weird week. I lost a pound but ate somewhat poorly, so I’m not too pleased with it. My workout schedule was also constantly abused by the reality of the rest of the world. And it’s completely impossible to guess at the nutritional values of well-prepared foods and nice restaraunts. I had something like a tune steak and two slices of white pizza as well as a glass of red wine, and I can only guess at how terrible the whole thing was. It was also fairly decadent, which is not something I typically go for, but I was pretty impressed and, you know, when you’re shooting for trying to be good company, it doesn’t hurt to step outside your comfort zones.
What was really cool about this week was the ability to review some footage of myself from a few months back. Specifically, eight. Becky and Zach had never actually showed me photos of their wedding (almost a year ago, which is like, what?), but now having seen them, I was accosted immediately with two distinct thoughts:
1. Holy crap I was fat.
2. You are still fat, dude.
That second one sounds like I’m disparaging myself, but it’s a reality that, while I like the way I feel and the new ethic or continuing to be aware of what I’m consuming and how much physical activity I require of myself, I still need to inflate the musical volume levels vertically, inflate ’em vertically, as it were. I worked out the math and I’m a good pant size smaller than I was then. I’ve also been learning how to make an intelligent adult person decision when it comes to the acquisition of suits and their constituent pieces, so I no longer appear to be swimming in them as I was in those photos. I have very little shame of those photos. There was an obligatory “jump” shot where the whole bridal/groom party thing had to jump so the photographer could snag an image of it. While almost all of them feature me in some shameful bout of exuberance facially, on at least one, I achieved an unrivaled vertical clearance, and the positioning of my arms makes it looks like it is my intent to deliver a flying Muay Thai -style knee-smash to the head of the bridesmaid adjacent to me. Which is terrible, because she was, by any recollection of the moment, a lovely person, lovely enough that I have no memory of wanting to stove in her skull with a flying knee to the cranium.
So in a lot of ways, I’m a little regretful that I’m not one who is more for photos. Seeing a former ultra-tubbo version of oneself proves to be vastly inspiring toward becoming even less so. Life has a fascinating and cruel way of making that, it must be said, quite difficult.