(Insert Montage Music Here)

My personal favorite montage song to work out to. Seems appropriate for this.

With only thirty minutes of time to spend before I zonk the hell out, I guess I can word vomit onto this wordpress my thoughts of anxiety, my moment of pride for another, and my dawning realization that three days of bad behavior can ruin a lot of hard work.

First, the anxiety. Yes, I’m still in the running to get my series 7 license, but it’s not getting any easier to accomplish. I’m falling behind on what the syllabus is saying I should be up to, not to mention I progressed in the wrong chapter today and so I need to back track tomorrow. Top on the fact that I need to spend the beginning of tomorrow going to the Veteran Affairs office because someone fucked up my DD214 (magic paper that says I don’t belong to the military anymore), I’m losing a few hours of my time spent to study. I’m overwhelmed and afraid, but I refuse to back down without a damn fight.


My moment of pride, on the other hand, goes to my darling wife. She had her own little epiphany that stemmed from some reluctance on continuing her beach body work outs. I won’t talk shit, but she was getting a little spotty with her commitment. If it wasn’t for the fact that I can’t go the gym I wouldn’t be doing it myself. However, today when I saw her she had gotten to the point that she wanted to resume on her own accord, and she wanted to do it right. So now, on top of making a food plan to ensure maximum efficiency, now we are doing two beach body videos a night together. Tonight was Pilates and full body cardio fix, and I’ll be damned to say that this was the first time that these workouts genuinely made me have to stop to catch my breath a few times.

Now then, my last note. Turns out I need to get the extra workouts in as well. After a full weekend of minimal activity and crappy food (delicious Chinese), I found that I jumped up TWO FUCKING POUNDS back to 277. How the hell does it pile back on so quick?!

Maybe just one more slice of pizza…

Not only that, talking to my sister to wish her a happy mothers day, she reminded me that she’s expecting to see the results on the day of my birthday and will get the rest of my family to badger me as well.

I did have a half-hearted thought to say “screw it, my birthday, I’ll eat what I damn well please”, but I dismissed it myself because I’d be lying to myself. If I can’t keep a promise to myself, why should I bother lying to you, who took time out of your life to read the words of a (total) stranger who couldn’t keep his word? Well, my sister’s not having any of that, and you’d better believe I’d never hear the end of it if I tried to skip past my birthday without a weigh in. So, knowing the facts, I’ve decided to follow my wife’s enthusiasm and will be donating one hour every night to ensure I get to have my pizza one month from now.

Seven pounds in thirty days. This is not the safest course of action, but I need to see it through. Wish me luck, fellow believers, and may the Force be with me.




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