It all goes down at 4 p.m. today. My “well-rounded” friend and I will meet at the gym to have our official weigh-in.
I have gotten too heavy. Last year, I was on a mission to drop weight, so I did so as quickly as possible while paying no attention to my health. I found myself a tired, weak, bag of skin who weighed around 200lbs and was equally as shitty of a runner at 200lbs as I was at 260lbs. I have since decided to go the strength route and find myself energetic, strong…and fat. (Fat can look very similar to strong at the bottom of a jar of peanut butter.)
November is the Tunnel Hill 50-miler and while I have very little desire to put in the actual mileage to properly train for it, I would like to shed about 20lbs to make it a bit more comfortable. A 50-mile distance is tough regardless of how fit you are but most anyone can waddle it out if they have nothing better to do with their time and don’t mind feeling like every tendon is going to snap while every ligament catches on fire for a significant period of time. (If you think that traveling 50miles on foot is stupid, you are correct.)
I am about 255lbs today and would like to hit about 235lbs by November. My fellow voluptuous Clydesdale and I decided that if we were going to motivate ourselves to drop any weight then the only thing that we knew to wager that was of any significant value would obviously be a bucket of fried chicken.
A wager is not a wager unless it hurts as much to lose it as it feels good to win it….and I never want to lose a bucket of chicken. I come from a long line of fried chicken eaters. There are few things that a Horrell stands behind more firmly than Memphis wrestling and Kentucky Fried Chicken. As my compadre stated, “I waste money all the time but never chicken.”
So, at 4pm today, the gauntlet will be thrown down and the “Battle for the Bucket” will take commence. I know that my grandfather is looking down from heaven with a mustard stain on his shirt and piece of biscuit in the corner of his mouth, smiling; proud of the people I associate with and proud of the principles he instilled in me.
A bucket of chicken is with fighting for.
Peace, Love, and all things Beef related,