Reality Checks
Every so often, I get somewhat delusional and think my life is pimp, my job is awesome or that I am in shape, etc. This "high" lasts a couple days, and then somehow I always get a reality check, in the most unexpected manner, whether getting staffed on a firedrill Friday afternoon for a book that is due on Monday or realizing most girls I know are already taken.
Lately, I have been really focused on losing weight. Ever since my surgery, I have been working out every day and occasionally, go twice a day (play ball in the morning and then lift at night.) Though it is hard to see any difference, I still feel that I was making progress. I even changed up my eating regiment to eat fresh oatmeal in the morning and have salads for lunch and dinner. On top of that, I have reduced my drinking and tried to keep the post drinking eating to a minimal (though this weekend’s beerfest was a one-time exception). Now, with all these changes, I think I gained somewhat of an ego/ proud of what I have done, which is a clear sign that a “reality check" is lurking around the corner. For me, it came in three stages.
Strike One
Last Monday after playing ball in the morning, a couple college buddies emailed to see if anyone was down to play at night. Inspired by the Warriors win in Game 1, I was like fuck it – I’ll play again. I got to the court early and started to warm up. Shots were falling and was even making lay-ups, which if you have played with me, is my Kryptonite - I was ready to play. As soon as the game started though, I was a mess. We had not run as a squad before (which is my only excuse) and I had 3 turnovers to start the game and one blown lay-up. On top of that, I was out of breath after 10 minutes, ending any thoughts of being in shape. To make matters worse, I rolled my ankle so I could not finish the game.
Strike Two
Throughout the week, I had convinced myself the game was a fluke, as I hit the gym hard. I even swam and worked the punching bag- I was ready for my next appointment with my trainer. I got up early and watched a couple scenes from “Gladiator” and got into the mood. I walked in early, and he took me outside. He has never made me workout outside, so I was a bit worried. We walked over to the steps that go up to Coit Tower. The word fuck repeated itself constantly in my head. He then told me to run up the stairs halfway to the top of mountain and then walk down. Quite honestly, I underestimated how steep these stairs were. After two sets, I was completely out of breath. On the fourth one up, my legs felt like rocks. From my trainer’s vantage point, it must have looked like I was crawling up the stairs. Meanwhile my trainer was yelling “Strength and Honor” and “Do it for Kobe! Do it for the Lakers,” to which I promptly responded “Fuck the Lakers.”
We then moved inside where I still had 40 minutes left of training. After some lunges and pushups, I knew I was done. He tried to convince me that the pain was mental, and I should work through it. I told him if I moved another muscle I would yak. This worked wonders, as he immediately laid off of me and said he would call me next to schedule again. As I walked home, all I could think about is what a waste of $$ that appt was and how much of a wimp I must have looked.
Strike Three
One would think this would be enough for a reality check. But like clockwork, whenever I gain even a little bit of “ego”, karma makes sure I learn my lesson. Though I was hurting from the morning workout, I was in a good mood because it was Friday and it was beginning to look like I had the weekend off. On top of that, my MD emailed the group and said he 40s waiting for us outside his office - it was only 2pm when he sent out the email. Life was good.
As I headed over to get the beers, I passed our main conference room where we were having an important meeting with a prospective client. I noticed that one of the clients was a classmate from high school. I was not sure if I should say hi, as I was wearing jeans and flip flops, and everyone in the room was in suits. On top of that we had a couple senior guys from our Asia team on through video conference. Of course, I said “Fuck it” and walked in.
I yelled out “Steve!!!!”, as I noticed the Senior Vice President look at me with grave concern. My classmate looked at me in complete confusion, which brought on some mental panic - this would end badly for me, especially if we lost this business. I told him, “It’s me, Gaurav.” Luckily, the look of confusion on my classmate’s face turned into shock. I could not believe what he said next.
“Gaurav………I have not seen you in 10 years……….dude, you gained so much weight.” In my defense, the last time I saw him was in high school when I weighed 160. A lot has happened since then. Furthermore, a small percentage of this weight is muscle. Of course, none of these comebacks came to my head. I just got clowned in front of my boss. I did not know really how to continue the conversation in a professional tone and without cursing, so I gave him my business card and wrapped up the small talk, so they could have the meeting.
With my 10 year coming up and seeing a preview of what people’s reaction will be during the reunion, I did what any self-respecting man would do. I went to my desk and started drinking the 40. Fuck me.
As always, sometimes only Peter Griffin can relate
Lately, I have been really focused on losing weight. Ever since my surgery, I have been working out every day and occasionally, go twice a day (play ball in the morning and then lift at night.) Though it is hard to see any difference, I still feel that I was making progress. I even changed up my eating regiment to eat fresh oatmeal in the morning and have salads for lunch and dinner. On top of that, I have reduced my drinking and tried to keep the post drinking eating to a minimal (though this weekend’s beerfest was a one-time exception). Now, with all these changes, I think I gained somewhat of an ego/ proud of what I have done, which is a clear sign that a “reality check" is lurking around the corner. For me, it came in three stages.
Strike One
Last Monday after playing ball in the morning, a couple college buddies emailed to see if anyone was down to play at night. Inspired by the Warriors win in Game 1, I was like fuck it – I’ll play again. I got to the court early and started to warm up. Shots were falling and was even making lay-ups, which if you have played with me, is my Kryptonite - I was ready to play. As soon as the game started though, I was a mess. We had not run as a squad before (which is my only excuse) and I had 3 turnovers to start the game and one blown lay-up. On top of that, I was out of breath after 10 minutes, ending any thoughts of being in shape. To make matters worse, I rolled my ankle so I could not finish the game.
Strike Two
Throughout the week, I had convinced myself the game was a fluke, as I hit the gym hard. I even swam and worked the punching bag- I was ready for my next appointment with my trainer. I got up early and watched a couple scenes from “Gladiator” and got into the mood. I walked in early, and he took me outside. He has never made me workout outside, so I was a bit worried. We walked over to the steps that go up to Coit Tower. The word fuck repeated itself constantly in my head. He then told me to run up the stairs halfway to the top of mountain and then walk down. Quite honestly, I underestimated how steep these stairs were. After two sets, I was completely out of breath. On the fourth one up, my legs felt like rocks. From my trainer’s vantage point, it must have looked like I was crawling up the stairs. Meanwhile my trainer was yelling “Strength and Honor” and “Do it for Kobe! Do it for the Lakers,” to which I promptly responded “Fuck the Lakers.”
We then moved inside where I still had 40 minutes left of training. After some lunges and pushups, I knew I was done. He tried to convince me that the pain was mental, and I should work through it. I told him if I moved another muscle I would yak. This worked wonders, as he immediately laid off of me and said he would call me next to schedule again. As I walked home, all I could think about is what a waste of $$ that appt was and how much of a wimp I must have looked.
Strike Three
One would think this would be enough for a reality check. But like clockwork, whenever I gain even a little bit of “ego”, karma makes sure I learn my lesson. Though I was hurting from the morning workout, I was in a good mood because it was Friday and it was beginning to look like I had the weekend off. On top of that, my MD emailed the group and said he 40s waiting for us outside his office - it was only 2pm when he sent out the email. Life was good.
As I headed over to get the beers, I passed our main conference room where we were having an important meeting with a prospective client. I noticed that one of the clients was a classmate from high school. I was not sure if I should say hi, as I was wearing jeans and flip flops, and everyone in the room was in suits. On top of that we had a couple senior guys from our Asia team on through video conference. Of course, I said “Fuck it” and walked in.
I yelled out “Steve!!!!”, as I noticed the Senior Vice President look at me with grave concern. My classmate looked at me in complete confusion, which brought on some mental panic - this would end badly for me, especially if we lost this business. I told him, “It’s me, Gaurav.” Luckily, the look of confusion on my classmate’s face turned into shock. I could not believe what he said next.
“Gaurav………I have not seen you in 10 years……….dude, you gained so much weight.” In my defense, the last time I saw him was in high school when I weighed 160. A lot has happened since then. Furthermore, a small percentage of this weight is muscle. Of course, none of these comebacks came to my head. I just got clowned in front of my boss. I did not know really how to continue the conversation in a professional tone and without cursing, so I gave him my business card and wrapped up the small talk, so they could have the meeting.
With my 10 year coming up and seeing a preview of what people’s reaction will be during the reunion, I did what any self-respecting man would do. I went to my desk and started drinking the 40. Fuck me.
As always, sometimes only Peter Griffin can relate
posted by G at
2:47 PM
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