A two-pound drop should never be a cause for celebration. A fact that should serve as a reminder for someone to be more realistic with his work-out goal. My biggest fault was not backing the campaign with a plan. On top of the shoddy execution, I was undisciplined, complacent, even less motivated as the final week approaches.
I did not create a meal plan, like I used to a few years ago. Part of my diet consists of high-calorie, salty meals eaten in fast food restaurants. I am still fond of letting my bowl of rice and breaded chicken sink in thick layers of gravy. I still can't resist the smell of French Fries. It's crispy, starchy goodness leaves me spellbound and salivating.
My gym routine was erratic. I would arrive in the morning one day, the next I'd be working out at past midnight. There was an unplanned, five day rest. A hiatus, which could have been prevented had I never felt lazy (and sleepy) at the sight of an angry sun.
I didn't follow my program the way it was written, and didn't add exercises that could have aided in muscle growth. I quit easy when the weight of iron plates strained my muscles, and whined when doing the leg-torturing foam rollers as warm-ups.
The result was plateau.
Summer's over and nothing was gained.
Or didn't you?
As far as I recall, a feared wardrobe overhaul never happened. As all your clothes, even the medium-sized ones could still dress your bulky frame.
People stopped telling you that you got fat, perhaps because they have gotten used to your girth and expects that you would really grow - big, because of your slowing metabolism.
And even though you didn't lean, deep down, you are still satisfied with the results: Broader chest, bigger arms, smaller tummy. Not bad, even when the physique remains "beach unready."
But since you didn't hit the goal; an accomplishment, that will never be yours. Consider this photo a consolation, Mugen.
