I allowed myself to do something against my better judgment and slip out of my normal routine of healthier eating and exercise into inactivity and junk food. In just under two weeks, I’ve gained close to 10 pounds.
Tomorrow, I pull the reigns and get back on track, getting a head start on 2014 and pounding home the nail in the coffin of my final goal weight and body composition. I have spent the better part of 2013 sitting around 190 pounds, with little to no downward movement on the scale and a frustrating lack of fat loss.
Starting tomorrow, I’ll be cutting carbohydrates out of my diet almost completely, limiting myself to less than 40 grams per day. What carbohydrates I do consume will come from vegetables, which I dislike. Having done this in the past, I know the coming week will be one of the hardest of my lives, as my body cleanses itself and adjusts to its new diet. Also, I hate vegetables.
It’s going to be a long process.
I’m going to keep track of things here, for my own mental sanity, to document the process. I hope I don’t go mad.
If you took a beer and infused it with the essence of a rainbow, filtered it with the blood of cosmic beings born of dreams carried between the stars, and then you threw it into a keg along with the first time you kissed a girl with your hands under her shirt, a mint condition copy of the first appearance of Spider-Man, and five nude Polaroids of Christina Hendricks, that beer would be “Hop Stoopid” by Lagunitas.
You could save a puppy from a shark with your bare hands and still not feel as good as you will after you drink Hop Stoopid. If you drank enough Hop Stoopid, say… five or six bombers… you could probably walk backwards up a skyscraper or gain x-ray vision of some functional sort. Not the kind where you have to see people’s gross insides, but the kind where you get to stare at people in their underwear. Then you see someone really weird without their clothes on, like they have a bunch of moles in odd places or maybe they just have a shape that you don’t quite comprehend, and then you regret having the x-ray vision. Hop Stoopid is exactly like that.
Cracking open a bottle of Hop Stoopid is like having a beautiful woman appear on the water and hand you the sword Excalibur, making you the rightful and true king of all England. Bigfoot may appear at your front door and ask for your autograph. You could spend all day making minimum wage writing manuals on how to install ICQ on computers, but if you drank a Hop Stoopid, you’d be the go-to authority on how to slay a wendigo.