Vintonville - The life and times of a guy, his Lady-Friend, a Little Dude and a Little Sis.

I have a very, very refined guilt complex. Those who know this use it against me all the time– and that’s cool, I would too. But this Tony Horton character and his P90X plan– it’s making mincemeat out of it.

See, the trick to losing weight isn’t necessarily exercise. Sure, working out helps make you look all bumpy, racks up bills for little boy sized t-shirts and seduces you into wanting to pull your pants dangerously low to show off your fun new Abercrombie V. But the real secret is eating “clean”. Stop pounding calorie-soaked fast food, stop swilling your weight in 82 oz. jugs of daily-caloric-busting soda and burn more calories than you take in. You can do all that without exercise. It’s like magic, really. But throw in some push-ups and cardio? Stuff starts getting miraculous.

And that’s where guilt comes off the bench and starts warming up. Thing is, after faithfully riding the nutritional bandwagon for 160+ days, the minute I ogle a cookie, entertain a slice of pizza or contemplate a trip to Cafe Rio/Bajio, guilt busts down the door to reckless abandon with arms flailing and I run into the other door marked “second-guessed paranoia” all curled up and whimpering.

Some people call that discipline. I call it sad time.

Thanks, Tony.

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