Can I Please Get Back in Shape Now?

Is that fucking corner finally turned? Can I look like this again? More important, can I feel like this again? I’d just run a 10K race on a course that was not designed for speed with a time of 41:51, coming in third overall. The only two who beat me were a pair of brothers half my age. I felt pretty badass. 

One of the reasons I left the fitness industry was the overwhelming toxicity within it. Not just the fat shaming, but the rampant misogyny, the racism, the Trump support, the pseudoscientific bullshit, the idea that if you’re not in great shape that you’re somehow less than . . . and on and on. 

There are amazing people in the fitness industry, and also a lot of shitty ones. There are far fewer shitty people in the history industry. Or, well, I guess there are some. I know of one historian who wrote a book in 2019 titled The Case for Trump, but I doubt our paths will ever cross. See, we don’t have much in the way of annual conventions. At least not any that I’ve been invited to. Famous historians aren’t much of a thing, but famous fitness trainers are. The “trainers” from that fat-shaming train wreck of a game show The Biggest Loser all became famous, but I couldn’t tell you who the Jillian Michaels of the history world is.

Please don’t say it’s me. I know Jillian swears a lot, but really. Please don’t. 

Anyway, toxicity. I’m not going to talk about my belly. I mentioned in an earlier piece titled “The Problem With Before and After Photos” that I’m not going to do any kind of current “before” photo because it’s a reality that I’m still fitter than many people who would be happy to be in my shape, so it’s not a cool thing to show where I’m at now and say, “I’m not happy.” And I’m not unhappy, but for a long time being super fit was a part of my identity, and I liked it. 

I liked it because I didn’t just feel good, I felt great. Yeah, I’m kind of vain and definitely part of that feeling came from the way I looked, but most of it was just . . . the energy. The mental and physical focus. The ability to come up to a hill on a run and not think Fuck it. Gonna walk. But rather to see it as something to be conquered. The desire to eat healthy and not really want much treat food because I was getting my neurochemical fix via exertion (I wrote an entire chapter of a book about how that works). The falling into bed and slipping into a seven-hour coma and having my eyes spring open in the morning, ready to leap out and face the day. Right after I pee. 

And I’m almost 53, so there is that whole fighting a valiant delaying action against age thing to consider. Things slipped a lot in the last year. I gained about 20 pounds and it’s still sitting there. I can’t run as fast or as far. I’m not as strong. I’m not as energized. Things hurt more. My diet is . . . not the best. I drink more than I should. 

Can I get back to the old James now?

I think, perhaps, finally, I can. 

I’ve explained how this detour happened in earlier posts, but I missed something. What I explained was that it was a triple-threat effect of a pandemic, a possible Trump re-election, and the stress of career change. Now I’ve finally got my first vaccination, Trump is not just no longer president, but we hardly ever hear about the brainless fucknuckle any longer, and my career is going swimmingly. Thanks in large part to you fine folks for that last one. 

But there is something I left out of that analysis. 

Being in the kind of shape I like to be in is like a part-time job. It’s not just the hours of exercise, but the psyching up, the planning, the endless fucking laundry, the fueling, the pre-run pooping, making sure the bike is tuned, more fucking laundry, more attention to healthy eating which means more cooking and more meal planning and more grocery store trips . . . being super fit is anything but fast and easy. It is something that requires immense dedication and discipline, and it is absolutely not for everyone. 

But it’s for me. Again: I like it. I love being that guy. I feel like I’m firing on all cylinders and it keeps the anxiety at bay because I just burn through the negative shit in my brain rather than psychologically having to deal with it, which is my way of dealing with it: making myself too tired to worry. Save your analysis. I’m not going to say “I know what I’m doing” because I’m not sure I do. I will say “This is my approach that has worked for me so mind your own business.” 

Heh. A guy who spills his guts on a blog telling readers to mind their own business. Nice. 

Where was I? Oh, yeah. The part-time job. 

For the longest time being fit was a natural part of the job of writing about fitness—they just went together. But beginning on April 18 of last year, when the first “Shit Went Down” piece was published, I was suddenly thrust into a very full-time job. I’ve mentioned before that in 2020 I did more writing than the three previous years combined. Part of my loss of fitness was thanks to all the psychological shit. But another part was wanting to sit in that desk chair and keep hammering away, not just at history stories, but other stuff including getting the book ready for the April 17 launch, and keeping my social media page interaction high, while promoting the shit out of the column and the book and the move to Substack and pitching another book with my agent and and and. 

My friend Rob Sawyer, a science fiction author, talked to me about this effect. He let his health go because he was overwhelmingly focused on one thing: Winning the Hugo award for best science fiction novel. And after many years of being an author, he did win. And almost immediately afterward he decided to get in shape, because the big goal was accomplished, and it was time for a new goal. I wrote about Rob’s story in Chapter 2 of my previous book, The Holy Sh!t Moment.

Have I turned this corner? Have I accomplished a big enough goal with this new writing career to slow it down just a little and focus on some other things? I think perhaps yes. 

On This Day in History Sh!t Went Downis not only finally out, but selling like a motherfucker. When the initial sales figures came in yesterday my jaw dropped. That book just went on sale last Saturday, so up until yesterday I was hyper focused on the launch and making sure it caught. Yeah, I’m gonna keep pushing the thing, but holy shit. And during all that was the switch from my old platform that now shall not be named, over to this Substack. That was a lot of work as well. 

So, now. Now the book is selling. The Substack is set up. I have a few weeks of history stories for Year 2 of the Shit Went Down column in the queue, and after having written about 390 of them I’m getting pretty damn efficient. 

Now, there is time. Time to not just step away from the computer, but to feel okay about it. 

This is why attaining fitness is often so hard. Society programs us to do anything and everything except look after ourselves. Be a better parent. Be a better spouse. Make more money. Give your soul to your employer. Sacrifice everything for everyone else until your fucking heart explodes and you soul implodes.

The biggest barrier to being back to where I want to be, fitness wise, is telling myself it’s okay to make that a focus again. 

Hey, James. The work stuff is going well. You don’t need to keep killing yourself. It’s okay to make fitness a priority again. 

Okay, James. Thanks. I’m gonna try.