I’m typing this while laying down in my bed because I can’t hold my arms in an extended position for any length of time.
I just had my first workout with my new personal trainer, Mr. Brian Kizzia of Fort Gibson.
Some of you might remember the little “Journey through the Xs” I made a couple of years ago. You know, the one where I lost 73 pounds in about 13 weeks, taking me from 370 pounds to 297.
|A look at “The Shirt” pics that I took over the course of the year.
I was losing weight. The Missus was losing weight, even Kid Funk was losing weight. I was happy. I was working hard, but I was happy.
When the moment of “under 300” came, I was thrilled. I lambasted Facebook with pictures and joyous outbursts, and swore I would never again rise above that dreaded weight.
Then the next week I weight 301 pounds.
I was devastated.
From there I spiraled out of control, trying to desperately to contain the damage, but I had lost all hope on the inside. Eventually, I gave up trying, and the next time I bothered to weigh I tipped the scales at 363 pounds.
That was January 1, 2012.
I made a New Year’s Resolution, and I busted my tail for about 3 months. I dropped about 30 pounds, then…I gave up again.
Today is December 31, 2012.
Height: 5’11″Weight: 353.6 lbs
|My measurements. I don’t need any comments about my right bicep being bigger. I’ve worked on that since I was 12.
Currently I am taking 4 prescription medications:
Metformin 1500 mgs a dayGlyburideLisinoprilFenofibrate
These drugs control my Type II Adult Onset Diabetes, my blood pressure, and my liver enzymes.
I am, to put it mildly, in bad shape.
If I had to guess, my daily caloric intake ranges from 4000-7000 calories, and aside from a few heated games of Call of Duty per week, I lead a very sedentary lifestyle.
In short, just like every other male in the Sloat family, I’m on track to die before I turn 40.
A few weeks ago, I asked Brian if he would work with me in return for a little publicity. He agreed, and we’re going to work together to make a new Travis Sloat in 2013. He’s preparing a meal plan, he’s going to train me in cardio and weight lifting, and in general be the bane of my existence for the next couple of months.
I’ve agreed to go 100% with him through the month of January, and given him my word that I will stick to a food plan, in order to show people what an actual diet and exercise “diet” can do.
Now here’s what you can do.
You can head here and “Like” my Facebook page. There you can see in-depth the struggles and successes of my previous journey, and the new one.
You can head here and “Like” Brian’s Facebook page. If you are interested in having him help you out, you can contact him. If you want to wait to see what he does with me, that’s fine too.
And, starting tomorrow, if you see me out and about, and I’m eating something I shouldn’t be, I want you to punch me in the face. No questions, just slap the food from my hands and punch me in the face.
Then run away. Because I for sure can’t catch you in the shape I’m in now.
I am receiving a discount in return for these publications. All opinions expressed are my own, and all results you see will be real and not modified in any way. These blogs in no way correspond with any other writing I do in a professional capacity.
I would just like to forewarn visitors today that the post you’re about to read contains a good bit of graphic material. Not language, but stuff about the loving. Also, there is a tastefully edited picture of me without a shirt on. Ladies, control yourselves, and proceed at your own risk.
|You’ve been warned.
It was a normal Monday night, really.
We had breakfast for dinner, watched Home Alone, put the kids to bed, I had a bath, then we watched Sweet Home Alabama.
Okay, so that doesn’t happen every Monday night. Normally I yell at the kids, then The Missus yells at the kids, then they gripe about not having dinner, we throw some hot dogs at them, then yell at each other, and I spend a lot of time petting Fabulous.
But for some reason, last night went well.
As The Missus and I crawled into bed, we began the early stages of, for the courtesy of the reader, what shall heretofore be called “activities.”
All of the sudden, The Missus got a text.
She looked at her phone, said, “It’s a wrong number,” and set the phone down.
As a man, you would think at this point I’d want to pick up where we left off. Resume the activities, if you will.
“Hand me your phone.”
Thus began a series of text messages.
From the get go, Donnel seemed only interested in one thing. He sent me a picture, so I of course asked him if he wanted one back, and I also asked him if he’d like me to be topless as well.
It seemed as though I had captured the young man’s heart. I would like to say I’m ashamed of the fact that my ample bosom could inspire such lust in the heart of a young black man, but we all know I’m not.
The conversation, which I’m sure you’re keen to get back to, continued.
The boy plays football for Ohio State, or so he claims. A quick search of the Internet not only proved he wasn’t from Atlanta, he also didn’t play football for Ohio State and he was listed as “In a relationship” on the Facebook.
So I called him on it. And I also revealed to him a shocking secret.
|I felt like Maury Frickin Povich.
I then sent him a follow up picture for proof.
|In the interest of you maintaining your current stomach contents, I’ve done a bit of editing.
Donell never replied, which was fine, because I had “activities” to attend to. By then, The Missus and I were laughing so hard it was almost impossible, but it wasn’t. I will illustrate the union of our love with a tasteful picture.
|I can literally use Kevin Hart to illustrate anything.
Upon completion of said activities, The Missus was fiddling around with her nightstand drawer.
I heard a loud crash, a half-curse, and then…
Something, I won’t say what, started going off.
It was seriously the best night I’d had in a long time.