Yukio Mishima said that he could not entertain the idea of romance if he was not strong. Romance is such a strong and overwhelming passion, a weakened body cannot sustain it for long. — Henry Rollins

Is today going to be the day I discuss weight loss in earnest?

I suppose, since I started the day by actually breaking my low-carb routine, I’ll go ahead and speak of details first. I am currently 180 pounds, standing five feet and six inches tall. Anyone who has asked me about these meaningless stats have the initial reaction that I am pudgy.

I am not. However, there are days when I feel like a combination of a frog and a tadpole [WTF? --- Ed.]. I have very muscular legs (though not well “defined” as some of the fitness buffs would call ‘em) as a result of a walking routine I went through when I was nineteen, for over a year. I have skinny arms that have only a little bit of muscle on them. I have a barrel-shaped torso (most Pacific Asians and Hispanics have that body type) and slightly narrow shoulders, which make it difficult to actually get that “V” shape coming along. Finally I have about two to two and a half inches of fat on my belly.

I understand that there are many people who would kill to have an average figure like mine.

Understand this: it may be that my sense of self will never be satisfied with my figure no matter how skinny, or well-defined, I get. I am, however, teaching myself when to actually stop, so to speak.

I do not measure progress in terms of weight lost, or inches gained. If it works for you, like it might work for Vinny, go for it. If I try to keep track of my progress that way I go tharn and tend to get frustrated. I take a slightly different approach one inspired by Iron, a write-up by Henry Rollins. From the essay:

Monday came and I was called into Mr. P.’s office after school. He said that he was going to show me how to work out. He was going to put me on a program and start hitting me in the solar plexus in the hallway when I wasn’t looking. When I could take the punch we would know that we were getting somewhere. At no time was I to look at myself in the mirror or tell anyone at school what I was doing. In the gym he showed me ten basic exercises. I paid more attention than I ever did in any of my classes. I didn’t want to blow it. I went home that night and started right in.

I take pictures of myself very rarely. Usually, within the order of a month apart. If I do have to take them more frequently than that I never, ever, look at pictures taken recently before that time. The last pictures I compare myself to were taken in November. I also do not look at my body in the mirror. I cover the mirror in the bathroom, and I dress up there, since I have a four foot square mirror in my bedroom.

In a way, the mirror tells you that nothing has changed. Sometimes it cannot be avoided, but photographs hardly lie. This is where I see my progress: by surprising myself.

Nor do I consider this as something I have to feel something about. If you ask me, I hate exercising, I hate lifting weights, and I would rather lounge around and eat massive amounts of delectable food, but I know that this is something I have to do for myself. For my own health, for my own self-esteem, and for my own confidence (which, though I may come off as cocky and totally confident at times, also suffers).

The final challenge once I am there is to teach myself that once I reach my goals, that I should also learn to appreciate what I have done: to not feel unpretty day by day. Maintaining a good figure is a lifelong task, whether you treat it as a bitter, necessary pill as I do, or however you want to see it.

I have always, always respected people who have lost weight and have gained both confidence and discretion in its expression. The fat boy who became a jock but keeps his feet firmy planted on the ground is rare. I am blessed to be very good friends with one.

This will be the last time I will write about my weight loss for a very long time — perhaps never again. This is something I have always considered a private thing, but I also respect those who prefer to include it in their online personas. They too can be a source of inspiration for others.

If there is one thing you need to read regarding the attitude towards personal improvement, I would recommend Iron. A final quote:

I have never met a truly strong person who didn’t have self-respect. I think a lot of inwardly and outwardly directed contempt passes itself off as self-respect: the idea of raising yourself by stepping on someone’s shoulders instead of doing it yourself. When I see guys working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity. Strength reveals itself through character. It is the difference between bouncers who get off strong-arming people and Mr.Pepperman.

Maybe this journey really is about coming to peave with myself and giving me the self respect that I need. Must have been about this, from day one, and I am only recently coming to terms with it.