I'm burning this off at the gym tomorrow. This may sound logical. Sometimes, for a particular fitness goal, you need to load up on carbs, protein, and other fuel so you can burn it off. This sounds like the best excuse for someone like me to a.) stuff my face with food, and b.) force myself to the gym. However, I'm quite fickle minded when it comes to my fitness goals. There are days when I want to look crazy beautiful thin like Francisco Lachowski, or insanely fit like that Brody guy in Glee, and sometimes, I wannna be as massive as Dwayne The Rock Johnson. So, it's really frustrating when I eat like a hippo, hoping to run it off like a Cheetah, onlyy to go to the gym and meander around like a pregnant mammoth.
I deserve this for the day I've had. Ok, so sometimes you have one of those days that you just want to stab clients in their weird eyes that look like they're watching people from two different directions. Also, there are days when you're so pleased with something you've done, you feel like you deserve a reward. The worst is when I'm dealing with a particularly difficult client and somehow managing to overcome the challenges, then I eat for, like, 5 people. Two of them drowning their sorrows in carbs, the other two are celebrating, and there's the lonely guy who just came along for the salad.
I will start on my diet tomorrow. AKA, Dead Man's Last Meal. So, once in a while, I get this crazy idea into my head that I am desperate enough to starve myself gorgeous. Usually, this happens after mildly stalking Filipino bodybuilders from my model friends' network of other really insanely fit friends. These guys have a thing called "a season" where they basically obssess about eating nothing but fish and vegetables and protein supplements and spending mad amount of time lifting cars so they can compete in body building competitions. I don't get bodybuilding competitions. It's like it's halfway between a real sport and a beauty pageant, and it's madly competitive. Anyway, dedication to look that way demands an insane amount of discipline, and perhaps, a healthy dose of mental illness.. I have an insane amount of mental illness, and the discipline I have is reserved for BDSM nights with strangers I meet up with from the internet. So, as I browse through galleries after galleries of these almost naked men and their bulging muscles, I can't help but feel the deepest and sincerest of envy. I wish I can look like that. So, immediately after drying my eyes from ugly crying over the physique I so badly want, I make a resolution to never eat anything again, unless it contains 20 grams of protein per serving. This resolution I celebrate the night before by eating a meal equivalent to the weight of Kim Chiu. The next day, I immediately forget about being on a diet because I get distracted by watching American TV shows on my laptop.
I don't get to eat like this everyday. So, I'm at a restaurant with friends. Or I'm alone, and I'm looking for a place to eat before I write in a coffeeshop. Anyway, I enter a place, with all the intention of ordering the tiniest portion of their lightest salad. My expectations don't go beyond nibbling on a piece of carrot. Instead, I end up ordering like half the menu. Because I'm thinking, I don't get to eat like this everyday. See, I was born poor. I grew up in the ghetto of Kalookan's 3rd Avenue. If you haven't been to Kalookan's 3rd Avenue, count yourself lucky. Now that I have my own job, and I'm making my own money, I suppose I can treat myself to dinner that my parents never could have afforded. Which is a really stupid way to justify eating a 6-course meal alone.
Just so we're clear, I spend an insane amount of time at the gym and training for mixed martial arts. When I'm at the gym, I'm usually all pumped up and sweating my blood out. I'm not like one of those limp guys who go to the gym just so they can check-in on Foursquare. If I increase the intensity of my physical activities, my heart would probably just burst.
The problem is really with how much I'm eating. I wish I have a friend to intervene. It's sad that I would need intervention.
But then, I can always eat the sadness away.
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