Tomorrow is October 1. EPIC, RIGHT? More like TRAGIC. Why? Because tomorrow marks the commencement of the October Challenge. This is where I go an entire month without junk food. OBVIOUSLY, I didn’t come up with this on my own. If left to my own devices, the October Challenge would be more akin to “attempting to eat so much junk food that you break records with your gains in weight, blood pressure levels, and flatulence.” No. The Challenge is the fault of a duo of bodacious: a Ms. Jones and a Ms. Von Bergen, two friends who are united by their love of all things rad and their knowledge that sometimes they truly ARE the coolest kids in the room. I don’t know how long they’ve been doing the Challenge, but it was a thing of legends (aka closed-door McMuffin mornings) by the time I got involved. There’s a matching challenge in April which is usually just a great excuse to not eat Peeps. I HATE PEEPS.
But junk food doesn’t just mean ‘sugar’ or ‘deep fried.’ When I explain this to inquisitive folks, their face gets all twisty and they screach “SO WHAT DOES JUNK FOOD EVEN MEAN???” And sirs, I think that is an excellent question.
For me, ‘no junkfood’ means simply this: if the thing in front of you were consumed in the amount which you would normally consume, and then eaten in that portion every day for an entire year, would a doctor still give you a clean bill of health? For example: for me, cheese is consumed “by brick,” not “by ounce.” So. Cheese is out. ISN’T THAT AWFUL!?!?!? A whole month without cheese!!! Oh, and for the record, I don’t care if you think my parameters are dumb. I probably think the same thing about your face from time to time.
Having done the Challenge(s) four times before (well, five… kinda… last year’s April Challenge brought MAY Challenge because I failed SO HARD in April that I proclaimed an immediate do-over), I sometimes try to add in new ways of thinking about junk food. One time, I tried to say “no enriched flour.” It was tough, but I did it as best I could. Well, without being a dick about it. For the record, during the month of October, I do not become “that asshole” who makes the restaurant manager call the flour distributor to verify that the flour has indeed NOT been enriched and furthermore not been in a factory where other spores of ENRICHED flour could have traveled into the restaurant’s 20 lb. sack of flour and contaminated it, rendering it unfit for my kosher catholic mind/body. So a Rabbi and a Priest walk into a flour factory… ANYWAY.
Last time I did the Challenge I lost a few pounds, saved a few bucks (cheese is SPENSIVE), and cooked a ton of bomb-ass food. For some reason, I had to go to the doctor. The betch weighed me (I DO NOT LIKE MY DOCTOR AND AM TRYING TO FIND ONE THAT DOESN’T SUCK. IF YOU LIKE YOURS AND CAN VERIFY THAT SHE IS NOT A CUNT, PLEASE LET ME KNOW) and expressed “deep concern” about my 5 lb loss. “Anna… this is troubling. What is going on?” “Well, doc, see, I’ve stopped eating chimichangas and mac n’ cheese with a side of sour patch kids for every meal. Now I eat actual food.” Why wasn’t she “concerned” when I was pushing 11 stones? Whatever. Fackin betch.
This time, enriched flour stays, but I’m adding “get yer damn ass back in the gym” to the challenge. Dear gym – remember when we used to hang out? Remember when I used to feel bad about going more than a day without seeing you? Remember when you used to be THE priority of my day aside from getting to work? Well… I don’t think I can handle that level of intensity in a relationship from you or anything else in my life right now, but I just want to let you know that I’m ready to try again, at least on a moderate level. Really ready. I hope you haven’t lost faith in me, and I reallyhope you haven’t stopped being a refuge for the orangest, douchiest, and most ‘roided out people in town, because honestly, gym, you and I had a lot of laughs together and I just hope that we haven’t lost that connection. I’ve missed you. – Love, fofa roja
Prepare for Auntie ‘Hobbles A Lot’ to start making more appearances in town. I have a feeling it’s going to take more than four weeks to get my muscles back into non-lazy mode. This is going to fucking HURT.