While I’ve never possessed the frame or build of an NFL quarterback, I’ve always been blessed with having a lanky and willowy frame, complete with a metabolism faster than a Ferrari filled past the windows with cocaine. From the age of 18 onward, I’ve maintained a consistent weight of 178 pounds, and have rarely gained an ounce above or below that weight despite meals that contain a calorie intake that could feed an entire family for a day. Two large cheesesteaks? Psh. One and a half extra large pizzas? Amateur hour. For over two decades, I was better known as Metabolism Hero, and never had to give two shits about anything I’ve ever put into my body. If I could burn away 3,000 calories in a day with absolutely no effort, why would I bother eating shit like kale? Eating healthy was never a priority as there was never any downsides to eating an assortment of foods that would make a goat puke. I was happy that I got to enjoy a musical career where I looked and felt great but could still enjoy the special kind of happiness you can only derive from pounding down 50 hot wings in one sitting.
Despite making as long as I have with zero effort, it’s true when they say: all good things must come to an end. No matter how hard you may try, Father Time has a way of finally putting a damper on your freewheeling idiocy by dialing back that metabolism and making all those drunken Totino’s Party Pizzas dissolve directly into your ass fat. Nobody can keep the same metabolic rate throughout their life, except for that one old guy that was selling juicers and pulling boats through the bay with his teeth. I’m pretty sure that dude is dead which isn’t the greatest endorsement for a carrot juicer.
Yes, even a punk rock demigod is still mortal, and yes, I may have put on a few pounds. Over the last couple years, I’ve tacked an extra 60 pounds onto this same willowy frame. Based on my current stats alone, I have the same numerical dimensions as some NFL players (6′ 3″, 231 lbs: THE Ohio State) but I actually look a lot more like the green alien from Explorers. It’s true, all around the world, rock and roll is here to stay.
Instead of staying the path I’m on, I want to improve myself both physically and habitually. I want to be fighting fit again in order to be presentable in a bathing suit, or at least be in a ready state of “stage hot” in case we ever attempt a reunion tour. Nobody wants to go home with the fat bass player. Ever.
I’ve got a plan; and it involves a three-tiered attack. I figure breaking this into several descending steps will work better than cutting off everything and trying to take on new habits all at once. That feels like a recipe for failure, as I prefer tiny changes to my routines as opposed to trying to pull off a complete 180 out of the blue.
These steps are:
- Cut out all sugar. Actively avoid drinks, candy and food with any sugar (INCLUDING CORN SYRUP) in it. This goes for “diet” drinks as well, since that garbage still triggers your pancreas into overdrive. I know it’s impossible to cut it out completely, but even just knocking out candy and soda will be likely to make a huge impact.
- Change overall diet. Once sugar is finally conquered, I will then start taking out the other crappy stuff in my diet like red meat and dairy products, substituting in better choices (but still no fucking kale).
- Add a workout routine. Once I’m sugar free and eating less dead animal, I will then try to supplant these positive dietary changes with some physical activity. I’m already pretty active at work, but an hour of intense workout tacked on after a workday could be the tipping point in sculpting me back to my glory days again.
I will go into greater detail about the first part of my plan and all my baseline pictures (gross!) and stats with the first official post as my supply of soda has dwindled down to a college fridge half full of random sodas and a couple cans of Coke Energy, which means I’m still not quite ready to cut off my dealer just yet.
I would guess I have about one more week’s worth of garbage down here to feed my sugar addiction, which will also give me some time for getting into the mindset of how insane this is going to make me. This is going to be exceptionally difficult for a man who woke up from a drunken stupor (and a Vegas hotel room coated in blood and stomach fluid) and then proceeded to pound a 2 liter of Mtn. Dew and a bag of Hershey’s Kisses to return back to functionality. Sugar is a way of life. But not for much longer.
Stay tuned for the first official entry in my saga, when the sugar tap finally runs dry and I really see if all these different Bubly flavors and teas can suppress my primal desire to DO THE DEW.
Teh Ben is a newly retired soda blogger and also moonlights occasionally as the prince of parties. He has a legit pro-Trump twitter feed, some pictures of bikes and kids, and a YouTube channel where he throws up on-camera a lot.