I was now one measurement away from having perfect proportions…for a woman. Eventually I had a waist under 25 inches and a 38 or so inch chest.
The weight started imploding, and my face started morphing back into my mom’s.
My intake was beef jerky, gummy candy, beef (not whey) protein, protein chips, grilled chicken, and potato. I wasn’t interested in being healthy I was interested in getting a six-pack. It didn’t matter where they came from, so I picked a regimen (not a diet) that I knew I could eat every day and not get sick of. He gave me a list of macros to meet, a certain amount of protein, fat, and carbs to consume on a given day. He put me on what they call a bulk and I got heavier than at any point in my life. An author is every coach’s dream client, since we’re used to keeping a schedule and being extremely disciplined. A while later I became friends with a fitness coach, and I asked him to write me up a program to follow. I didn’t really care, as I hadn’t thought it possible anyway. Quickly I reached the point where more than one friend pulled me aside. Maybe I could get abs? So I went on a strict regimen (women have diets men have regimens, I told myself) of very low-carb food every day. I had thought gaining weight was impossible and proved that false. It was not a look I was interested in achieving, let alone sustaining. As I gained weight, my face turned into Dad’s big pumpkin head. My dad was the fat kid in school, while my mom still clocks in under 120 pounds. But after a certain point, gaining any more weight would do me more harm than good.
I managed to have a normal, healthy build, something I never had in my life, and that was plenty. I never got into great shape, but that wasn’t really the point. I had still done something, some work for the day. If there was a day where I had nothing to do (say, waiting to hear back from an agent), I wouldn’t be antsy. I went online and found a pretty straightforward routine and started going regularly. Rather than being intimidated, I quickly saw that everyone in the place was extremely polite and no one ever stared at the not-as-skinny guy trying to figure his way around. But the very first day, a big dude asked me if I was done with the machine I was on. It was weird going there, since it was most certainly not my natural environment. So despite being a writer from Brooklyn, I joined the gym. I hadn’t considered this to be possible, and now it was happening. Sure enough, I did start to eat more-a lot more-and I did gain weight. “It doesn’t matter how insane your metabolism is,” he insisted. Then one of my editors sat me down and knocked some sense into me. It’s apparently the only muscle group that matters (or at least the most important one).Īfter a lifetime of being the skinniest kid, I was also convinced that my body in general was not open to change. The problem was, every Men’s Health and Men’s Fitness cover-literally, every single one-screams in capital letters about getting a six-pack. I decided that this was simply something my body was incapable of and thought nothing of it. I never had abs, even when I was so disgustingly skinny in college that my grandmother would almost cry at the sight of me.
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