|The Wold's Greatest Cat Is A Firm Believer In Moderation.|
Ever since I was a kid I've been nagged by people who tell me I can accomplish things if only I'd really WANT to. After all, wanting something, really wanting something, means you're willing to put yourself out of your comfort zone in order to get it.
Anyway, I read an article today at NJ.COM that showcased a man who really wanted to achieve something. And guess what? He did! The man is a Mixed Martial Artist who had to lose a bunch of weight for an upcoming match. He struggled, sure, but he got the job done.
Being inspired by this fighter's definition of what it is to really WANT something, I've decided, for the first time in my life, really, to put in the hard work everyone tells me is necessary in order to achieve a goal. That's right, I'm going to lose weight like someone who really WANTS to.
First, I'm going to crank up the heat in our place to ninety degrees. Then, I'm going to rub my wife's makeup remover all over my body in order to open up my pores (how the hell can I sweat off the pounds if my damned pores are closed???).
After I'm finished with the rub down, I'm going to don a rubber suit in order to start really getting my temperature up there. While doing that, I'm going to fill my bathtub with a combination of near scalding water, rubbing alcohol and Epsom salts.
Now, even though it will be hard for me to inhale and exhale at this point, I'm going to take the rubber suit off and sit my ass in that tub for a good half an hour.
But I'm not done. Not even close.
After I'm finally able to climb out of the tub I'm going to somehow manage to put my rubber suit back on. This may require the help of the guy downstairs, since, by this point, my wife may well have scooped up the World's Greatest Cat and fled to her sister's.
Undeterred, I'll crawl down to the garage in said rubber suit, somehow get inside my car and drive on over to the nearest gym, pulling over whenever I get lightheaded. Once at the gym, I'll hop right inside the sauna and spend the rest of the day in there. During moments of consciousness, I'll scrape the sweat off my body with a plastic bank card so more sweat will be able to flow at a faster pace.
Being discovered sometime after closing by the gym manager, I'll bum a ride home, then put the rubber suit back on and run another bath. Several days later, my wife will most likely find me in there when she comes to collect the rest of her things.
Being roused out of my near coma, I'll hop onto the scale and luxuriate in the fact that finally, at forty-two years of age, I've wanted something enough to do what's necessary to attain it. Then I'll pass back out again.
The next day I'll go to IHOP.