The body is an amazing thing, mine however, is not.
In the 2 weeks I spent sitting on my bum at home in New Zealand I managed to put on 5kg. Not of muscle, not of extra brain mass, but pure fatty fatty fat fat.
I once heard a comedian describe his fat deposits as energy in waiting, proof that he was ready to explode into action at any given moment. I've tried to convince myself that I am in the same boat, except I'm too heavy and am causing that boat to dip below the water line.
5kg's may not sound like much, some people lose as much after breakfast, but I am wee. I probably look my best around the 65kg mark, blessed though I am with a classic I shape, bereft of shoulders which would otherwise disguise my waistline. I'm currently 75kg and look like a freshly fed constrictor.
Now don't get me wrong, I like to run around and will happily chase a ball like a puppy high on life. It's just that opportunities to do so become rarer as my friends settle down, break down or just give up. Choosing to allow their bosoms to expand exponentially into full cup sizes rather than exert themselves in any way, acknowledging that life is too hard and gravity too great.
I don't want that to be me and when I grew my own bosoms in 2008, I vowed to get rid of them. Gone were the daily curries, banished to a Tuesday only affair. KFC Sunday's moved to a purely monthly indulgence. Beer was no longer my drink of choice at meal time. Not even for breakfast.
I also recognised how my habits effected my weight. Shift work had a truly detrimental effect and I found not even changing my diet could overcome the fluctuations in daily metabolism my body couldn't deal with.
I did beat my tittays, but only once I took over my timetable by becoming a freelancer. This time last year I was back down around 65 and fending the ladies off with a broom handle. It was eventually confiscated by police.
This last month though, stuck in limbo, not knowing when I would have to head to the airport at a moments notice.. has not been good for my figure. There may now be a permanent Jez shaped divit in the couch, an encrusted sweat laden crater surrounded by crumbs.
I still did push ups during this time and while a sure fire jelly knocker prevention technique, it only served to further accentuate my front hump. Though it is of great relief that I did not give up entirely and dress my hump with two folded tea cosies full of titty meat.
That's right, take a moment to recoil from your device in disgust as you let that description sink in, even I was sick in my mouth a little bit.
However news travels fast and so do I, I got the call 2 days ago and am now in the middle east, dead set on losing 5 kilos and not allowing my navel a window to the world between strained buttons.
How you ask? Yo.
In the 2 weeks I spent sitting on my bum at home in New Zealand I managed to put on 5kg. Not of muscle, not of extra brain mass, but pure fatty fatty fat fat.
I once heard a comedian describe his fat deposits as energy in waiting, proof that he was ready to explode into action at any given moment. I've tried to convince myself that I am in the same boat, except I'm too heavy and am causing that boat to dip below the water line.
5kg's may not sound like much, some people lose as much after breakfast, but I am wee. I probably look my best around the 65kg mark, blessed though I am with a classic I shape, bereft of shoulders which would otherwise disguise my waistline. I'm currently 75kg and look like a freshly fed constrictor.
Now don't get me wrong, I like to run around and will happily chase a ball like a puppy high on life. It's just that opportunities to do so become rarer as my friends settle down, break down or just give up. Choosing to allow their bosoms to expand exponentially into full cup sizes rather than exert themselves in any way, acknowledging that life is too hard and gravity too great.
I don't want that to be me and when I grew my own bosoms in 2008, I vowed to get rid of them. Gone were the daily curries, banished to a Tuesday only affair. KFC Sunday's moved to a purely monthly indulgence. Beer was no longer my drink of choice at meal time. Not even for breakfast.
I also recognised how my habits effected my weight. Shift work had a truly detrimental effect and I found not even changing my diet could overcome the fluctuations in daily metabolism my body couldn't deal with.
I did beat my tittays, but only once I took over my timetable by becoming a freelancer. This time last year I was back down around 65 and fending the ladies off with a broom handle. It was eventually confiscated by police.
This last month though, stuck in limbo, not knowing when I would have to head to the airport at a moments notice.. has not been good for my figure. There may now be a permanent Jez shaped divit in the couch, an encrusted sweat laden crater surrounded by crumbs.
I still did push ups during this time and while a sure fire jelly knocker prevention technique, it only served to further accentuate my front hump. Though it is of great relief that I did not give up entirely and dress my hump with two folded tea cosies full of titty meat.
That's right, take a moment to recoil from your device in disgust as you let that description sink in, even I was sick in my mouth a little bit.
However news travels fast and so do I, I got the call 2 days ago and am now in the middle east, dead set on losing 5 kilos and not allowing my navel a window to the world between strained buttons.
How you ask? Yo.
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