Clean-living doesn't always mean bigger heavage
It seems there are more guidelines that exist for how to
improve your life than any one person could ever get around to adhering to.
Whether it be books on finishing your creative endeavors, or magazines devoted to
you gaining more muscle, or websites focused on helping you achieve the career
of your dreams, or daily inspirational emails reminding you to be happy because
life could be worse – there seems to be an awful lot of people telling you how
to make your life as great as theirs.
Goodness knows, I have certainly tried more than my share of
“self-help.” Because in my mind, and I’m assuming (hoping/praying) in many
other people’s minds as well, that I feel there is room for improvement in my
life. There have always been things I wasn’t satisfied with.
Four years ago I made a haphazard decision to try (for the
zillionth time) to quit smoking. In order to help me, I chose to stop drinking
(because nothing will kill the willpower to fend off a nicotine craving more
than getting drunk at happy hour mere days after quitting cigarettes…). What
was to be one month became three and then upon realizing how good I felt, I
chose to push the envelope and go an entire year.
And it worked. By removing my usual downfall (drinking), I
was able to stay coherent and sharp at all times. I was in charge of my
decisions. And since I desperately wanted to quit smoking, I did. The last time
I ever smoked a cigarette was February 28th, 2011. Four years have
gone by. I have impressed myself.
As for drinking, well, since the original plan was to just
stop for a month, which became three, which became 16-months cold turkey, I had
decided that I would ease back into drinking. That first time drinking again,
and the (about) five other times I tried drinking again since stopping, made me
incredibly sick for days. And I had to make a choice of whether to try to push
through the sickness just to drink, or to just stay sober.
Forcing my body to endure alcohol withdrawal just to have a
silly night at the bars didn’t seem worthwhile to me any longer. I had become
so focused on making my body as physically strong and healthy as I possibly
could, why would I want to hinder my progress? And by that point I had gotten
past the habit of having booze to celebrate good times, or commiserate bad
times or ease nervous tensions or relax at the end of a long day. So I decided
to hang up my party shoes for good. New York City nightlife had gotten fifteen
very strong years out of me already, it didn’t need me any longer. The very
last time I had a drink was Labor Day 2013.
And in those past four years I have done everything I
possibly could to make my life the best it could possibly be. I upgraded gyms
to Equinox, hired a trainer and set out on
a quest to have huge muscles. I have tried to produce as much art as I could
(my self
portrait project and work-in-progress screenplay are coming along…). I have
tried to clean up my diet to the best of my abilities (this year I’ve been
trying to cut out all wheat products; I DESPERATELY miss bread). I joined the
gay volleyball league of NYC (Gotham),
and not only discovered a love for the sport but also expanded my social
circle. I have focused on teaching myself how to be happy regardless of how
off-the-path I may feel my life has gone and find peace and satisfaction with
every day joys, no matter how small.
To be clear: all of those aspects of my life are still
entirely HUGE works-in-progress.
What’s frustrating is that I always assumed if you followed
the self-help books or the workout plans or the career advice that you’d become
exactly what you wanted.
I grew up extremely skinny. And during my teen years
Abercrombie and Fitch catalogs with their huge muscled male models were all the
rage. I’m not sure if I wanted to be like the models or just HAVE one of the
models, but either way, I decided I needed to look like that. But, gaining
muscle easily does NOT, apparently, fit in with my body’s plan for me.
Why? I’ve seen the infomercials that say in 90-days you can
transform your body. I’ve read the magazine articles, I’ve hired a personal
trainer, done deep tissue massage/acupuncture/chiropractors/physical
therapists, had my testosterone levels tested, taken 12-week nutrition
programs, experimented with different protein powders… the list goes on and on.
And yet, despite all of that, I still don’t look like I should be shirtless, greeting
people at the front of a store.
I spoke to a guy at my gym the other day who has muscles for
which I would push people down stairs to have. While I stared at his bulging
heavage, glistening with sweat in front of me, he told me that since moving to
NYC a months ago that he’s been eating like crap and drinking more evenings
than he can count. He could be on the cover of a men’s muscle magazine and
that’s the lifestyle he leads. The injustice! Why is HE able to eat crappy food
and drink booze and look amazing while I am sober, eat clean and workout
religiously and still don’t have bulbous pecs?
No matter how well you follow the instructions of the plan
you’ve put together for yourself, sometimes it doesn’t quite work out as
expected. You can drive yourself crazy trying to think of what you may have
missed, or what plan you didn’t follow or whose advice you didn’t take. Or you
can just keep on trying and be happy with the progress you’ve made. Because why
be miserable with “what isn’t” when you can be happy with “what currently is?”
But I still want enormous pecs.
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