Ten Pounds In A Month

Part II. The Beginning

A few weeks before my 36th birthday, I decided to give gym membership another try. I didn't go back to the Y, I never felt comfortable there anyway. The shy, sensitive bookish guy with the BA in English who sold toilet cleaner didn't fit in with the meatheads, oddly enough, so I went to one of our locally owned gyms.

Not knowing really what to do, I walked in off the street and talked to these two guys behind the counter, both of whom happened to be trainers. I struck up a conversation with them, signed the membership papers, and scheduled an appointment with one of them.

He was very smart, and very kind, and very honest. He laid out our goals. I said I wanted to lose ten pounds in a month. He immediately, and kindly, said that that would be too much too soon.

I was immediately impressed by that. I knew then that he knew what he was doing. He wasn't going to try and sell me some quickie fad diet weight loss program.

He made out a meal plan for me, with calorie and exercise goals. He calculated my target heart rate, and put me on the elliptical trainer.

Now, I'm still smoking a pack a day, and still having a drink every night. But I followed the meal plan and the exercise program. Our first workout together, I have to admit, was a little embarrassing. I could barely do a push-up. But I stuck with it. (His attitude was wonderful. He never made me feel like a failure). And before I could catch my breath, he upped the cardio by a mile!

By the end of the second week, I had gone from a pack a day to about five or six. Cigarettes. A day. And the level of vodka in the bottle hadn't moved.

It was getting closer to our first measurement. He had been encouraging me not to smoke, and would ask me sometimes if I'd been smoking and how many, and he was always nice about it. I knew he really wanted me to quit.

Honestly, I had no intention to quit when we first started working together. But I was doing something good for my body, and my body was thanking me. I was eating healthy, I no longer skipped meals, and was exercising 3-4 times a week, either cardio or resistance training.

And I hadn't felt better in years.

So, I knew decision time was coming. With each passing day I was smoking less and less. I still had cravings, but they quickly went away after lighting up. My body was telling me, okay, you've done your cardio, you ate a good breakfast, and now your doing this??!!!  And I should say, I absolutely loved smoking. With everything. After meals, with coffee, with wine, with vodka, etc.

It was time to close this chapter. So, on a fine summers night, on my deck while listening to the crickets, I lit up my last cigarette. I was very calm about the whole thing. I looked at it, took one last puff, told it (and myself) that this part of my life was over. And I've never looked back. I have never taken another puff, I've never had a craving, I've not ever missed it.

Coming up:

The First Measurement

Part III: Strength
Part IV: Maintenance
Part V:  So what happened?