So you only eat In-And-Out burgers*?
I'm going back to bed.
But not before I recount my weight-gain/loss pile of sooth.
I was always skinny, not an ounce of fat, but then I graduated uni, got a job, ate what I wanted, got physically complacent. And bang. I suddenly looked, within the space of 3 months, like I'd eaten a LOT of Fray Bentos pies for a living. Combined with the cheap, subsidised Irish breakfasts in the company canteen, I (and a lot of other colleagues) put on a shedload. Then I saw a photo of mesel' on the internal website, sitting in a chair, surrounded by colleagues, all throwing Montana poses, and I was a fat fuck - less Pacino and more Corleone. Jowly, bloated, shit and unhealthy. Not long after, I moved with the missus over to Munich. And the German mates of me missus were not circumspect in saying things like "You're a fat wanker" or "when do you expect to reach
Kampfgewicht again? Chortle chortle". So I decided to change shit/me - if only to show these smug Munich wankers that there's more to life than Daddys money and when I get to fighting weight, I will have the distinct pleasure of wiping seven shades of smugness off your coiffeured, Barbour-Boy, will-never-have-to-lift-a-finger-in-your-life-Daddy-pays-the-lease-on-your-Porsche-vacuous-buttondown-blue-shirt/shitgreasehair-smug-cuntface (y'all know exactly the kind of spoonfed yuppie that this city seems to churn up in distressingly arsey amounts - they'd be called Hooray Henrys in the UK, here they're just common-or-garden cunts). I digress.
Up every morning at 7, jog on the spot, varying speeds in one place in the apartment, start slowly and shift gear according to how well I thought I could do on the day; started push-ups, 10 a day were enough for a fat 'un at the start, moved progressively to 50 and peaked at 100 after 3 months of continuous and consistent exercise. Kept that up, intermittently replaced by sex (not an aside, sex is bloody good exercise, but also directly related to how far you have to run to catch up with the circus when it leaves town without you), but the regimen was basically kept intact and I lost weight and kept it off and enjoyed doing it.
'Tis all balance at the end of the day; walk to the postbox, walk the dogs to where you'd normally drive and release them, take ten minutes in the bathroom before your shower and jog on the spot, walk the escalator instead of standing on the right with the Hermans, skip dessert or have a fruit salad with yoghurt instead of cream, drink less beer (yeah, right), set a cut-off time for stopping the bevvies even though the craic is good, less tasty bread and more steamed veg, the occasional fleischpflanzerl but offset by walking a bit more, Munich's not that big, use the bike; it's not fucking rocket science at the end of the day. Alternatively, gather stuff to worry lots about. Like kill someone (preferably a rollerblader), with half a frozen badger to the thorax. That seems to do the trick too.
Bear out.
*which are, incidentally, the best burgers I've ever eaten, ridiculously tasty SOBs.