Raw Turkey: My Public Humiliation Begins

So.

It's official, folks: the insurgency is well underway. The rebellion began exactly one week ago today.

I weighed 265 pounds.

This morning, I weigh 255 pounds.

Hell Yes.

My clothes are already fitting me better. My t-shirts are loose (which unfortunately makes me look fairly slovenly). My pants, which last week could be worn without a belt, are now loose enough that I could drop my drawers without unbuttoning my pants (not that I make a habit out of dropping trou, but it's nice to have the option, like when I'm at the supermarket or on a train).

One week ago I took some pictures of myself, as well as measurements of my torso, waist, limbs, neck, etc. This morning, I took another round of pictures to see if I could notice a difference.

Two things happened.

First

My God, I hate these pictures. My skin is bumped and flawed. In its pallor, it truly resembles the skin of a dead and uncooked turkey. The scars on my back (and a newly developing keloid) make my back look like an untended and overused sandbox littered with clumps, dried insect carcasses, and cat shit. My cylindrical man-breast slope off my chest like a molded JELLO salad slipping from its tray at a summer picnic.

And my belly: the crème de la crème of my packed and bundled fat cells. It pours over my waistband as if trying to swallow my legs, slowly and carefully.


I look at this bulbous collection of fat engulfing my body and think: Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You stole my life. Prepare to die. 


I am motivated to win this. When I look back at these images, I will not feel the shame that I do today, but rather a sense of overwhelming joy at my accomplishments. 


Second


I have made a difference.


My body has changed in the course of a week. My struggle to keep up with the workouts -- doused in sweat and trembling with muscle fatigue -- has changed me, physically, mentally, and emotionally. 


You may not see it, but it's there. My belly has deflated, my love handles are, ever so slightly, smaller, and my man-breasts, though still at gravity's beck and call, have begun to recede into my chest where they belong.


And this is only after one week.


I noticed the biggest difference in my belly. After reviewing the pictures, I took new measurements of my gut to see if a difference had actually been made.


I lost two (2) inches in my belly. 


Shit. That rocks.


I have 3 more weeks of this routine before moving into an even more intense regiment. I know my weight loss may plateau, but I am confident that if I maintain my motivation and commitment (something I have struggled with throughout my entire adult life), I will be a new man by September...a better man...a healthier man...


A spider man.


The Pics 


Yeah, so by posting these pictures, I am 100% committing to finishing this program as a fit bastid (Boston Brahman for bastard). And if you decide to judge me or scoff at these pictures, that's fine. It's your prerogative. But as you do so, be aware that I'm busting my ass to make a change. 


Some of you more slender readers may not have ever struggled to maintain your body type. And you may think that fatness is something that happens as a direct consequence of laziness. And yes, that is true to a certain extent.  But it is also true that some people have a higher hereditary or genetic likelihood of becoming overweight. For me, once I am trim, I will always have to work out and watch what I eat, because I will rapidly gain weight otherwise (it's happened before). So, if you are slim and never have to do anything to stay the beautiful person you are, good on ya. But go to hell if you want to scoff at my pictures; there is nothing ignoble or lazy about my struggle to become a new man. 


Nothing worth scoffing at.


Without further adieu: 

Before
\/
After

I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did. 

Bleh.

mdm