You Are What You Eat
Growing up, I don’t know how many times I heard this… ‘You are what you eat.’ Fuck that shit. If that were true, I’d be a cow. Yeah, a big fucking cow with an oatmeal tail, yams for horns, and eggs for hooves. What a fucking sight that would be. Eating the same shit every day is hard enough. Not a meal goes by where I don’t want to call it quits and just hang it up. But I can’t. I won’t.
Still, there are other issues that come with dieting… Like the patience you need to explain why you eat the same meals, the same foods for weeks on end. See, when it comes to this sport, food is the bedrock, the foundation. You can pay your dues and put the time in the weight room, but if you don’t have your diet in order, you’re just spinning your wheels. At this level, everything’s gotta be just right.
Another issue—dealing with not being able to go out on the weekends to kick back and relax. Dieting can really make this sport a lonely one. Here’s what I’m talking about… This girl I’ve been seeing, she’s been on my case about taking her out to eat. Dinner and dancing. I haven’t been with her long, but her birthday is coming up and she wants it to be special. I told her I’m dieting, but she won’t back off—she’s tough and I like that. ‘Just sit there and watch me eat then,’ she says. Now tell me, what the fuck is wrong with that? Am I supposed to just sit there with a grin on my face and my thumb in my ass? Anyway, I try to explain to her what dieting means, put it in terms she’d understand. I ask her why she always goes out with her bag. ‘It’s got all my valuables in there.’ Well, when I go out, I carry something too—a cooler and what goes in it is valuable to me. That cooler is my lifeline. When I’m out longer than two hours, I take a cooler with me. OK. Now depending on what’s she’s wearing, she’ll take one bag or another. Me? Depending on how long I’m out, I’ll take my small or large cooler. So far, so good. Now I ask her about work. She’s got a job with pretty regular hours. She looks at the clock to watch the day pass. Me, I can pretty much tell what time of day it is by what meal I’m eating. Now what about eating? She’s a skinny girl and a real looker, but she tells me she’s gotta watch what she eats. I watch what I eat too. But she’s not eating four foods and only four foods. So she’s starting to get the picture… I tell her to imagine a slice of pizza. ‘What’s the first thing that comes to mind?’ I ask her. She starts talking about the taste. Yeah, that’s how most people are.
People go through life taking a lot of things for granted. How easily they could eat whatever they want, when they wanted. They live life on the surface—they don’t try to see below it. When others see a slice of pizza or a burger, they’re thinking about how good it tastes. They’re looking for satisfaction, gratification. For me, when I see food, I see two things and two things only. I see bricks and I see shit. Each good food I eat, well, it’s another brick in this motherfucking house I’m building. I knew going in that it would take a lot of bricks and a lot of time. But if I eat that burger or drink that beer, well then I’m eating shit. It’s simple: You can’t build a house made of shit and expect it to stand up to the rain. With that first drop of water, you’re fucked. So for me, every time I see a piece of food, I’m asking myself, am I building up or am I tearing down? Will my house withstand any storm or will it easily crumble? Anyway, I think I’m beginning to get to her. I think she’s beginning to understand. I think. Now about that birthday.
