I think I’m at the point in my life where I finally understand that what I put into my body as fuel impacts the way I look and the production I get in all aspects of my life. I was Chad Ochocinco. Back in college I would order Cyclone Fries, which is basically one of those kids meal-sized bags that is filled with french fries. I could devour the entire thing and run a full court basketball game afterwards. These days I can’t think right after a Big Mac. I have to balance my massive desire for junk food with my massive desire to not die.
The other day I overheard one of the little girls I coach talking about how she hates McDonalds and it makes her stomach feel funny. I feel ya, girl. Certain foods do not appeal to me. The grease slides down my throat and speaks to me, saying, “I’m about to jack you up, fool.” It doesn’t feel nice.
Being out of shape also does not feel nice. Lets move past my own kids poking fun at my belly and towards the more meaningful issue of not being dead. I certainly cannot keep the engine running as it used to, which is a reflection of my quickly advancing age, but also points to the fact that I need to be out there working on my body and getting it where I want to be.