I sneer with characteristic arrogance and self-righteousness when I hear people speak of going on a diet. That’s crap, my friends, it’s a fundamental mistake. You want to get in shape? I can’t hear you. I said, do you want to get in shape and stay that way? OK good. Now understand this first: you don’t “go on a diet,” because go on implies go off. You adopt sane eating habits. (Note the period at the end of the preceding sentence.) That’s step one.
Next, work out. If you claim you don’t have time, then sorry, you’re out of luck. Don’t complain to me when your clothes strain to contain your fat. If your problem is that you don’t like perspiration and exertion and raising your heart rate — that is, if you try to excuse yourself on the grounds that you’re too lazy — then you need a thorough brainwashing. You need to learn to love it, as Winston what’s-its learns to love Big Brother at the end of 1984. I guarantee you that once you win this Orwellian victory over yourself, it will literally be harder not to work out than to work out. Your brain starts to demand it and next thing you know you are strapping up and hitting the street to go running — or walking, that’ll work too.
Oh by the way. My program — which, modesty aside, is marvelously effective — costs me the price of a pair of shoes every nine months or so. I don’t pay for gyms, personal trainers, or any of that shit. For cardiovascular I put on my shoes, go out my front door and run. For strength training I do body-weight stuff on my lunch break with the playground equipment in a park near where I work, and I do it close to five times per week, even through the winter (those mild global warming New York City winters are a boon).
This is what we call a lifestyle, to use a term that makes me want to puke, but it has its uses. It’s a question of permanent, consistent behavior, not something you do for a while until you reach a goal and then stop.