I’ve started counting my daily calories. I’m using an app called ‘Diet Diary’. It’s as vanilla as they come, which I love. The icon is a cartoon cucumber and notepad, with the words ‘Simple Diet Diary’ in a comic sans-esque font. It’s the pure-hearted underdog of diet-tracking apps. It has only the few computational conveniences you want, and no more. I keep track of calories and protein. The app shows me my totals so far for the day, and I can copy and paste past entries. For the last seven days my average daily calories has been 2172 and my average protein 141 grams. The idea of recording calories for evermore isn’t such a wonderful prospect. It sounds a bit of a strangled existence. The thought of it gives me butterflies. But not counting them is also a headache. It may well be a thirty-days-to-build-the-habit kind of situation, by which point it will have stopped feeling uncomfortable. I’ll have to see.
This is me and a survey of my weird gut across five photos. I think the endless amount of squat I’ve been doing this year has given me a stronger stomach, as squat does (because it calls on the stomach), but it’s also made it protrude. I’ve looked it up and big time weightlifters call this a turtle-shell stomach. As a skinny kind of guy I really can’t be dealing with the combo of thin shoulders and a big gut poking out. So I may have to quit squat, which is heartbreaking, because my legs need it and because it’s the only thing I really liked doing anymore in the gym, and I was making good progress with the weight.
In the first photo I’m standing in my normal posture, hunched. I should straighten up, I look better when I do. My damn abdomen feels like it’s sitting about five foot in front of me when I pull my shoulders back though. Plus, although that posture looks normal in the photos, it felt ridiculous pulling it. Even in my hunched posture the stomach is there a bit. Sometimes it’s not there, like in the second photo, depending on when the air is in me I think. But then the third photo shows what can begin to happen, and the fourth photo across is gut armageddon. That just won’t do, even if it happens only now and then. The fifth photo is at the end of exhaling all the air out of me and relaxing completely. It shows I have some fat around there which I was thinking might have been contributing to the whole thing. I’m still not 100% sure what the deal is. The fourth photo suggests there’s some development that happened that isn’t too nice. My plan is to eat really well for a while, do lower ab work and stretching in the gym, and, frustratingly, cut out the squat and abandon my progress there. I’ll try that for three weeks starting today and see how I feel.
Here is Brad Pitt trying to hold it together wearing a corset. I’ve always thought he doesn’t belong where he is. He’s too uptight. He’s always been forcing it, playing it safe as either a dead-eyed cool dude, or the equally safe ‘crazy outsider’. If he had any integrity he would just roll with the love handles. But he doesn’t have the character for that. I think him aging is going to be a real car crash.
BONUS EXTRA: I read in the memoir of the actor Tom Sizemore (an extremely depressing read) that Juliette Lewis, who Sizemore was in a relationship with, had previously ended her relationship with Brad Pitt in part because he kept her late arriving to the Oscars (when she was nominated) because he couldn’t settle on which shoes to wear. Ha! That’s like something I would do, but I’m not flying around the world touting myself as an ‘icon of cool’. The man needs to set up a weekly delivery of junk food from his local supermarket, shut the door, and watch TV until it’s all over.