Hello. I’m Jessica’s husband, Don. More than anyone else, I see and experience her lifestyle. As such, I thought it might be helpful for me to post here from time to time to discuss the other things that are going on that aren’t so explicit. No one trains in a bubble, and most of us have lives outside of the gym and the kitchen. Jessica’s transformation is fun and exciting to watch, but there’s more going on than diet and exercise.
Jessica wrote a post a couple of weeks ago called ‘Winning the Weekend.’ Since writing that post, she’s taken that mantra much more seriously and the results are stacking up quickly. I’ve noticed it more than she has (we live in a small dorm room, and don’t have a full-length mirror). Training hard and eating right during the week isn’t too much of a challenge for us anymore. Our days are structured. Wake up, gym, shower, breakfast, work, lunch, more work, dinner, sleep. The weekends, though, are unstructured. Also, like many people, we work for the weekend. It’s our time to go out and have fun. And in that time it is easy to slip and binge eat, or just eat more and crappier food than during the week. Some street food, a night at a restaurant, and jaunt at the pub, and just like that, a week’s effort is wiped away.
I am Jessica’s worst enemy.
I am the Crap-Pusher. And I’m damn good.
Definition: Crap-Pusher. (noun) someone who insists, urges, or tempts others into indulging in crap – greasy food, cakes, beer, ice cream, deep-fried Mars bars, etc.
It’s not because I’m trying to sabotage her fitness goals. I want her to achieve her fitness goals. It’s just, my fitness goals are different, and my diet isn’t quite as strict. So when we’re out, I’m much more likely to order a glass of wine, a beer, or a fudge brownie. Once I give in and indulge, I’m already starting to chip away at Jessica’s willpower (which is like the Hoover Dam). She’ll give me a look, and then I’ll start my speech. She know’s the speech. It goes something like this:
Me: “Look, it’s just one glass of wine. It’s Saturday night, you’ve worked all week. You owe it to yourself. One glass isn’t that bad!”
If that, or something like that doesn’t work, I’ll usually switch into ‘excpetionalism.’ This is when I’m serious. I’ll say something like:
Me: “C’mon! How often are you going to get the opportunity to do X while in Y?”
Since we’re in the UK right now, that one usually works.
“How often are you going to get the chance to eat a deep-fried Mars bar in London!?”
But like I said, since writing the Winning the Weekend post, my charms have fallen on deaf ears. She’s kind of like little Joey.
When I push crap, I am usually doing it because I think it will make her happy. And in the short term (the fleeting minutes of indulgence), it does. But like the sweet sugar turns to heavy fat, that happiness turns to guilt, and that guilt turns to pure, crystallized hate.
Directed squarely at me.
Not worth it.
So I’ve been getting better at slowing down the crap-pushing. I still do it. I did it today, actually (but she resisted, see pic below). It makes us both happier, actually. I’m starting to just feel lame when I try to convince her to have a donut and she resists, and then I stuff my face with a donut like a five year old. Next day at the gym, I can see her through the mirror slightly shaking her head in disgust as she critiques my form in the squat rack. It’s a vicious circle of hate that is best to avoid altogether.
The moral of the story is to support your partner’s goals. Don’t be a Crap-Pusher.