My job, that is.
As silly as it may sound, I picked up a labor-intensive job to boost my fitness progress. It made a lot of sense at the time. Ahem. Knowing that I didn’t want to get a gym membership because I really couldn’t be bothered, plus I’d feel guilty about wasting money, what better way to get fit than to get someone else to PAY you to do it? Brilliant, right?
At first, it worked beautifully. I was breaking a sweat a few nights a week and being on my feet for 8+ hours a day. My eating got regulated (I only ate during breaks) and my mood was better. In retrospect, these endorphins primarily resulted from not sitting on my ass at an office job all day. These results were short lived, though.
The [exercise + eating right = WIN] equation was supposed to work. It failed me miserably, because there was another variable looming in the midst. Motherfucking SLEEP. Damn, right. Sleep regulates your mood, your appetite, and more importantly, your hormones. Becoming nocturnal and sleeping every 36 hours severely fucked up my hormones and hunger signals. Think you can keep a vampire schedule? There’s nothing sexy about sun-starved skin and dead eyes.
That’s the story of how I added 32+ hours of physical activity to my schedule, maintained my diet, and gained 5 fucking pounds. It’s not muscle weight, don’t worry. I’ve gained a dress size in the past 3 months.
Regular sleep is the best thing you can do for your sanity, and your waist line.