For the last few weeks I’ve been planning to take the T-Dawg 2 diet for a test drive. What started as a little bit of extra fat around the mid-section, suddenly turned into some pretty noticeable blobs of fat, commonly referred to as love handles. I mean, hell, summer’s right around the corner, and we all know what that means: hot days, cool water, and tanned fit bodies running around soaking up the sun. I’m not gonna be the out-of-shape, pasty white pud that sticks out like a marshmallow in a bag of chocolate chips.
I mean, I was gonna do it.
Well, my wife, bless her heart, decided to light a little fire under my formerly fit ass. She joined our gym’s annual “Fitness Contest” aka “Clone of Bill Phillips’ BFL Challenge”. You know, go in wearing Calvin Klein underwear two sizes too small for your “Before” pictures, hunch your shoulders forward, push out your boiler as far as possible, unshaven, every muscle flaccid, and a look on your face like you just lost your best friend.
And then, 12 weeks later, you walk in wearing shorts that fit, you’re tan, lost a few pounds, stand up straight, flex every muscle harder than you’ve ever flexed in your life, and smile like you’ve just won the Megamillions lotto. You know the drill.
Well, my response was “Screw that. Good luck.”
Then my wife, the lady who has never, and will never, count a calorie, fat gram, keep a food log, doesn’t give a shit about how much protein she should have, and shakes her head condescendingly while watching me feverishly adding up all the numbers in my food log, says to me: “Good thing you’re not in this, 'cause I’d kick your ass”. Oh, really?
It’s on. Putting all my disdain and disgust of B.P. out of my mind, I went down to the gym, and did all of the above for my “Before” photos. (the guy even coached me; for the side shot he says, "Okay now put all your weight on your back foot – we want that front calf relaxed so it looks like there’s no muscle there!) Um, okay.
So, the contest is on – let’s get ready to rrrrummmmbllllle!!! Wish me luck, T-Nation. The real goal isn’t to make the wife eat her words – I’m glad she’s into this seriously, and it’s going to be fun – but to focus, persevere, and kick some serious ass in the gym. And to work to make sure it carries on after the contest.