About a month ago my husband announced that he needed to lose a few pounds. Great, I thought, he will actually see how fucking hard eating right and working out can be sometimes. See in our ten (almost 11 years) together he has never watched what he ate, never really exercised, never really had too. Up until the last year or so, he was able to maintain his 190-200lbs status on his 6"1 frame with no work. Granted his job is physically demanding, so that does help, but the guy has been getting by on a diet from his twenties. You know the one, where you eat Egg Mcmuffins for breakfast, and whatever the fuck you want for dinner.
Its been the opposite for me. From the time I turned 20, I have had to watch what I eat and work out. Well I do actually enjoy the benefits of it, some days I would rather just stuff my face with nachos while sitting on the couch catching up with Modern Family then hit the gym
The last year since Marshall's birth has been a bit of an up and down roller coaster in the weight department. For both the husband and I. When you have a little one, its not as easy to get to the gym. When you've been up all night, and busy all day, it is much more effortless to order food then to make dinner. While I have had success with losing 30 of the 50 pounds I gained during my pregnancy, the last twenty pounds have been hanging around like a unpleasant house guest you just want to tell to fuck off.
When January rolled around the husband and I decided to start the year off right. I was going to get back to eating healthy, and getting my ass to the gym. My husband agreed to join me. This is going to be fun to watch, I thought to myself. Wait until he sees how hard it is to get his ass to the gym everyday.
Fast forward to today. A month and a half later. My smugness has been replaced with awe. The husband, the guy I thought was going to struggle with this whole adventure, has lost 20 pounds. Ive lost 6. Am I happy for him? Of course. I'm happy that he is bettering himself. I'm happy that he is making healthier choices to extend his life. I'm super happy that he has more energy to play with Marshall and do stuff around the house. Am I a little pissed? Annoyed? Oh hell yes. The guy just decides to lose weight and its practically falling off him? Seriously peeps, he has dropped 2 pant sizes. He also likes to give me fitness tips now. I don't want your stupid fucking fitness tips. Here I am, working out just as hard, eating just as healthy, and a measly 6 pounds have fallen off my frame? Now I know women and men are not the same biologically speaking, and our bodies work differently, blah, blah, fucking blah. It's still a little discouraging. I, however, am choosing to turn this discouragement into motivation. I'm determined as fuck to get the remaining 14 pounds off. He's not going to be the only fit one, not when Ive been doing it all these years. I let him know I'm coming for him. (cue Katy Perry's "Roar"). My husband is unaware of the competition between us two that I have set up in my head. But he also knows me too well, and can guess what I'm up to. "Come get it" he says with a smirk.
I will let you know how it ends.
The husband with that smirk, and our pride and joy