Like many folks of my generation and profession (#DayJob in tech sector of financial services), I suffer from a fairly sedentary lifestyle. And have for quite some time — my gig for the past 17 years has been 99.99% telecommuting; 10-12 hours a day parked in a chair in front of a bank of monitors. On those days when I care to make the time, add another hour or two parked in a different chair writing.
The effect on my body was entirely predictable.
I’m not quite as bad as I was eight years ago when I had to buy my first 42-waist jeans (same year that I had to be removed from a Harry Potter ride at Universal Studios because they couldn’t get the restraints to latch), but I haven’t been making the progress that I should. Attempts at eating higher quality food at reasonable hours. Sporadic forays back into the pool. Half-assed attempts at getting my step count up to that magical 10,000 everybody says is what I should be doing.
I’ve been a comfortable 38 for the past few years and I don’t feel a pressing need to get back into a 36.
I want my Robert Grahams.
For those who don’t know, Robert Graham is a clothing design house known for gorgeous dress shirts, the ones made famous by Eric Stonestreet on Modern Family. Over the years, my wonderful wife has bought me a veritable wardrobeful of amazing Robert Grahams.
But they never fit.
In the best cases, there was obvious button-bulge and there weren’t many best cases. It was heartbreaking, humiliating and oftentimes I neglected to tell her that they didn’t fit.
But I kept them. All of them. Because some day I was going to get serious and lose the weight.
Well, I’ve only started to get semi-serious in the past week (I have a post coming about that), but it turns out I am in a better position than I thought. As a motivational exercise, I pulled out a few shirts to see how far I had to go before I could wear them. Out. Where people could see.
It turns out that most of them fit, or are close enough that I can see myself wearing them in the next few months.
Sometimes a start, even the smallest, is enough to make a difference.