How Show’Chi Got His Groove Back

TRUST ME. I know how hard it is.

Your journey begins and you’re off to the races! Your meals are prepped, alarms are set and every day you’re motivated to do more, become stronger and reach that goal. It continues for several weeks; you’re posting your progress on Instagram sharing a bunch of health related stuff on Facebook and the cute attendant at the gym front desk is beginning to get to know you on a first name basis. Your #gymflow is ON POINT!

That’s when LIFE punches you in the gut. Your work schedule changes; something happens to affect your family; you get injured while lifting weights; you enjoy vacation a little too much and your addiction begins to dictate your food choices again.

Your #gymflow becomes ERRATIC.

A couple pounds reappear. Your clothes begin to not fit as great as they were and those nagging pains in your back and knees begin to wreak havoc on your body and you become discouraged.

Your #gymflow is GONE.

For me, not only was my #gymflow gone… my mind was officially fucked.

So how does one who has lost their #gymflow and mental focus regain that motivation and drive to tend to the business at hand?

It’s an interesting challenge and though everybody is different, I wanted to share the story of how Show’Chi got his groove back.

All that shit that I talked about in the opening about LIFE punching you in the gut… that was all me, buddy.

Not only did I change jobs and had to deal with an erratic schedule, I injured my left shoulder somehow which drastically altered the way I had been losing weight last year. Without lifting or going super hard on cardio, I adjusted my eating habits. Less carbohydrates, more protein and limited processed foods.

While this worked for the most part, it was generally an unwelcome change in my habit. I had to relearn how to lift again without hurting myself while increasing my cardio to a level where I would continue to burn fat.

While I thought I was ready for that challenge, I really wasn’t. As it turns out, my shoulder never really healed. It just stopped hurting because I STOPPED USING IT. So when I began lifting again after my initial diagnosis of tendinitis and subsequent clearance, I just continued to hurt myself even more.  Sadly with said job change that took effect at the peak of my pains in October, I could not follow up properly with the doctor as my insurance wouldn’t kick in until three months later.

My #gymflow had totally been compromised. It hurt to run, it hurt to use the cross ramp. I couldn’t get my weight up when lifting, it was fucking discouraging; and with that discouragement came self-comforting in the way of my long time addiction, food.

I think had I not been discouraged by the slow down I wouldn’t have had a problem but when I let my eating habits regressed, my mind followed suit.

It was fast food here, indulging on extra desserts there, late night eating here, drinking heavily there.

I regained 30 pounds between October and January.

Never to be one who shows frustration publicly, I began to bury myself in other activities. Work was a given but I also like to keep busy with my non-profit, Showtoriously Healthy.

One night I found myself doing research on weight loss surgery. Not for me, of course as I don’t believe in it, but for a friend of mine. She had gone under the knife years ago for the lap band procedure and was considering the gastric sleeve as the next step in her journey. As part of me lending support to folks through Showtoriously Healthy, I try to educate myself on any procedure or plan my friends are undertaking so that when they ask for assistance from me I can provide customized and  logical ways to help without hurting them.

During my research, my mind began racing with questions. Considering my stance on surgery I couldn’t believe where my thought process was taking me.

Maybe I should be considering something medical?

If I had surgery would I be healed enough to walk the aisle?

What if it doesn’t take properly? What if I don’t lose what I want to lose?

What if there are complications and I end up losing time on the job, ultimately costing me the ability to pay for my wedding?

My wedding countdown was at 205 days that night. 205 days to get my shit together. Fuck. Me.

CLEARLY I was thinking too much. I gave myself a headache.

I love myself. My fiancée loves me at whatever weight I am. My family loves me. My friends love me. Why was I beating myself up so much?

Then it hit me. It was the tuxedo, bruh.

I was married one time before. My groomsmen rocked black suits with red accents. I wore a white one with red accents. My guys were collectively a handsome group. Looking back, I was a handsome dude too, even at 390 pounds. That day though, I hated the way I FELT which ultimately distorted how I perceived my looks to be. I felt like the Stay-Puft marshmallow man from Ghostbusters and when I looked at my pictures back then, that’s who I saw. I didn’t prep for shit before my first wedding. I was just happy to be there.

Fat. Happy. Unhealthy. Whatever.

After a surprise honeymoon to Disney World, you could add SORE to that list as well. No man should spend the first night of his honeymoon in a tub filled with ice because he was too out of shape to walk a day in a theme park.

Back to the suit though. It was a size 60 monstrosity! I just kept thinking about it… my goodness, it would be great to rock a 52 or even a 48 on my big day!

Snap. I mentioned that before, hadn’t I?

PICK A GOAL AND STICK TO IT, DAMN IT.

If there’s one thing I can’t stand is a quitter. In my life I have NEVER given up or allowed myself to be beaten in any personal, obtainable challenge. Where’s my Captain America shield again?

July 25th is the beginning of my forever. This is the main event & the last marriage I ever plan on being a part of.  I refuse to go in pulling and tugging my suit and feeling uncomfortable.

205 days is 29 weeks and some change. A good measure of weight loss is about 1-2 pounds a week. If I maximize my time and effort, I could be down 58 (or more) pounds by the wedding. The concept of me at 28 pounds less than what I weighed before my injury induced depression was definitely something I could wrap my mind around.

205 days for me to get my shit together. 205 days before I ROCK that tuxedo and look my finest. 205 days was definitely a realistic amount of time to make a difference.

My goal was tangible. My goal had a timeline. My goal had purpose.

I just had to keep my eyes on the prize and GO FOR IT!

FOCUS.

As I type this I’m down 10 pounds and 160 days left. No more time for talking. I’m all about doing.

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