Oh, How the Mighty Have Fallen!

Well…well…well.

I never in a million years thought I’d be the kind of person who’d have health apps on my phone. In fact, I’m pretty firmly in the camp that believes such apps are the pure and sole province of masochists and people with too fucking much time on their hands and insufficient hobbies.

And yet (go ahead, call me a hypocrite), in the last three hours, I’ve downloaded three of them. I’m not going to name names or brands, because they’re not paying me and I’m not going to plug something I’m not being compensated for. If they decide to sponsor my website, fine! Until then, here are the types of apps I’ve acquired:

  • A step counter
  • A workout planner/tracker/monitor
  • A stop smoking monitor

Of the above, I’m most proud of the last one.

You see, I started smoking cigarettes at age 15, and became a habitual smoker at age 17. I’m 40 now. Do the math.

From Saturday, March 31st to April 4th, I had ONE cigarette and ONE cigar. This is a major victory for me in itself, because you don’t break a two-decade-plus habit overnight. Then, April 5th, I had a rough day and bought a pack of cigarettes.

And…

They tasted horrible. They smelled worse. And they left me feeling absolutely awful.

This seemed very strange to me. The cigarette I’d had Tuesday night seemed fine…but my usual brand? Not so much. I smoked the whole pack, because I bought it and I’m loath to waste money, but I didn’t enjoy it. At all.

By augmenting high-nicotine vaping with nicotine gum, I don’t even miss cigarettes. The thought of one actually turns my stomach. I already can’t tolerate the smell on, say, a smoking patio. This last bit sucks, because there’s a definite social aspect to smoking and don’t want to become one of those holier-than-thou types who gets mortally offended being in the presence of smokers. I get why people do it now, but I also understand just how difficult quitting smoking is and why talking shit on smokers is less than helpful.

I’m also not going to be one of those people who gets all lofty and says, “Tsk. I VAPE,” like that’s not still a nicotine delivery system or somehow less of a crutch than puffing on something which burns at one end. Yes, there are studies which indicate vaping is better for you overall than smoking, but sooner or later I’ll need to get off that too.

Add to this that on Friday, I stopped off and bought a new pair of black BDU pants (cargo or tactical pants) for my first public dungeon outing in almost two years. I tried on my customary size 34…and immediately realized that wasn’t going to fly. I needed a 36, which is a size I have never worn in my entire life until now. This hit me where I live, because I’ve always been proud of my relatively small waist. I’ve got, in all immodesty, a great ass and pretty eyes, and I’ve always filled out a pair of Wranglers with style.

but my expanding waistline was like a Gibbs slap from the universe right on the back of my clean-shaven grape.

So, this morning, I went for my first intentional, timed run since I graduated the Texas Department of Criminal Justice Officers’ Training Academy. (That’s coming up on a decade ago.)

And it SUCKED!

I started out with a five minute brisk walk, then ran for 60 seconds, then back to walking for 90 seconds. Wash, rinse, repeat eight times.

By the time I got done, I was dripping sweat. My shins burned as if someone had soaked them in gasoline and lit them up. I was coughing up the results of who knows how many years of accumulated gunk in my lungs.

And I was pissed at myself.

I couldn’t believe I’d let myself go so badly. I was shocked at how quickly I got winded and how much effort it took to run for 60 seconds, even with a 90-second walking rest in between spurts. I know I struggle to keep up with Mouse’s fairly moderate pace when we hike, but today threw into stark relief just how much my conditioning has devolved and how far I have to go.

So, right now, as of today, I’m between 5’8″ and 5’9″, and I weigh in the neighborhood of 225. That’s about fifty pounds over what this chart says my ideal body weight ought to be. Knowing this, I set some goals:

  1. Stay off the cigarettes.This, ironically, seems like it will be the easiest to manage.
  2. In one month, I want to start tapering my nicotine intake down by 3mg each time I buy new juice. (My current blend is 12mg/mL.) Augment with low-nicotine gum at 2mg/piece as needed to curb any cravings I might have.
  3. Augment my burst training with 10,000 steps a day of walking, 30 sit-ups and 30 pushups until they start getting a little too easy.
  4. Start eating salad-style versions of my favorite meals and limit carbs and eating out as much as possible.
  5. Limit beer consumption to one per drinking session. If I need/want something else, it will have to be whiskey with soda.
  6. Cut down to 170lbs/77.11kg by September.

“So…what does any of this have to do with kinky fuckery or writing, J.S.?” You may be asking.

Actually, they have more to do with each other than you think.

You see, I understand body dysphoria and having body images issues. A size 36 isn’t huge, as so many people in my kinky Kik group have reminded me…but it’s still bigger than I ever imagined I would be and it’s WAY bigger than someone of my size and build ought to be. It’s hard to encourage and motivate others properly when I look in the mirror and see Jabba the Hutt staring back at me. At best, it smacks of insincerity; at worst, hypocrisy (which, as we’ve already seen in this post, I’m not altogether immune from).

This is relevant because, like me, my girls struggle with their bodies, size and weight. Of all of us, Mouse is probably the most proactive about it to date, and I’ve held her too many times while she cried because of the numbers on the scale. My girls are beautiful to me no matter what; I didn’t fall in love with them because they were a size two. I honestly, genuinely do not give a shit about that. I don’t fall in love with people because of their bodies, but their minds and hearts. But if I can be a more positive motivating force in their lives, and those of unnamed others within my sphere, that’s a net benefit to everyone involved and House Unicron as a whole.

Second, a healthier body will of necessity promote a healthier mind, one which is more efficient and better equipped to deal with the increasing demands I’m going to be placing upon it in the very near future. This, in turn, also serves my House and my readers by making me more capable of delivering the quality of writing they’ve come to expect from me.

Third, I will be better able to provide the release which BDSM offers to myself and my girls by gaining more endurance, breath control and stamina. It will also increase my sexual performance, which is no small thing either!

Fourth and finally: I have no intention of leaving my girls for a very, very long time. I don’t want to burden them with a wheezy, broken, clapped-out shell of a Lord and Master, or force them to watch me slowly decay as the excesses of my life drag me away a piece at a time. To serve my girls as they deserve and need, I have to be around. For me to be around, I have to be healthy.

And for me to be healthy, I have to put in the damned work.

As someone I follow on Tumblr, Instructor144, says:

Screenshot_20180402-151620

I’m a wolf.

And I’m going to do the wolf shit.

Even when it sucks. Even when it’s hard. Even when I don’t want to do it.

Because my girls and my House are worth every drop of sweat and every flicker of pain it costs me.

 

 

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