Weed & Podcasts: The Key To Weight Loss
May 20th, 2017 was one of the best days of my life. I woke up that morning and suggested to my then-girlfriend, Ashley, that we grab some coffee and mosey around Berkeley for a little bit.
It was a typical way we’d spend our weekend mornings from time to time, so she agreed. Thinking it was just a usual jaunt down Telegraph.
She had no clue I was about to propose to her in roughly an hour and a half.
No, we don’t live that far from Berkeley. It’s just, well, let’s just say Ashley isn’t one to be “rushed” when getting ready in the mornings. Especially if it’s the freakin’ weekend, baby! And, honestly, who can blame her?
But the nerves in my rumbly tumbly on this fateful day were making every second seem like a Ken Burns documentary. Long, boring and created by a weird white guy with a shitty beard.
Anywho, sparing you all the super-sappy details, we made our way to Berkeley and walked up to the place where we had our first kiss. I said a little somethin’-somethin’, she smiled. Then, I slowly dropped to my knee, and above the sound of my ankle cracking like an empty water bottle, I pulled out the ring and the rest is history.
We then shared our first kiss as fiancés in that very same spot. Pretty goddamn cute, right? It was sweet as hell, man. Nicholas Sparks couldn’t have written a better scene.
But as we were walking back to my car, and she was joyously choking back tears as she told her friends and family on the phone, I realized something…
I’m a fat bitch.
Like, damn, I-can’t-believe-I-let-it-get-this-bad kinda fat.
My waistline looked like the bottom of a flat tire. Kinda like when Charlie Brown would grimace. I was de-fucking-scusting.
Yet, this beautiful, slim, slender woman was actually excited to shack up with a dude that looks like Chris Pratt…if Chris Pratt starred in Guardians of the Calories!
Bottom line: I’m well aware of how lucky I am to have her. So it was time to kick my bitch-tits into gear and lose some of these LBs before the nuptials.
I’m not a “weights guy” and I hate my reflection, so going to a gym to shed this blubber away was NEVER going to happen. I needed to do this the old fashion way – running alone and quit eating like a fucking asshole. Pretty simple really…
Over the course of my life, I’ve grown to really enjoy a good long run.
Running had always been the way I’d keep my weight in-check. I liked to keep my gut at a solid “doughy” state. Never taut and toned or anything. The only six packs my abs have seen have been filled with IPA.
But even though I didn’t mind running, it was always a bit of a struggle to convince myself to do it. I think that’s a common thing with running. I truly feel like the hardest part about the whole process is starting. But, once you get one foot in front of the other, and some strangers around - subconsciously motivating you to keep going – you’ll be off to the races.
Starting out, I just jogged for a mile or so – with no musical accompaniment. Not for lacking of wanting it, however. I just didn’t have one of those phone-holder-strappy-thingies that those joggers always toss on their sinuous little arms.
So it was just the sound of my increasingly gross panting and awkward phlegm-filled-coughs to guide me through my runs. It was like a mucus musical was lumbering down those city streets.
Then, finally, I got my hands on one of those fancy phone-holder-thing-things and music was now in play. My musical choices varied but I normally stuck to the standard upbeat, rap songs to keep me motivated. But that quickly threw off my concentration. Mainly because my dumb brain couldn’t stop reminding me of the fact that the average song is roughly 3-3:30 minutes.
Which made me focus on the MASSIVE amount of time I still had left to run – essentially getting me out of the zone, so to speak.
And at this stage in my running, I abandoned paying attention to distance. I focused on how long I could run – without stopping. My average was about 40 or so minutes at this point, so anything that reminded me of how much time actually passed/how much time I have left – drove me nuts.
I’d be gassed, exhausted, but proud of myself, thinking I’m nearing my goal time, only to hear the song change, thus reminding me that this shit ain’t even close to over. It would knock me back to reality, and I’d soon realize I haven’t even made it down the block yet.
It was a “Vibe Killer,” to say the least.
So, that’s when I switched over to more instrumental playlists on Spotify. Which was cool. It was a nice way to lose myself in between songs, but I was still picking up on the amount of time (or lack thereof) and it never failed to throw off my energy.
I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before. I’m avid podcast fan and have been since the beginning. I used to listen to Ricky Gervais and Comedy Death Ray on drives to and from San Diego in college, and my list of “never-miss” shows has only grown since then. So this was a long overdue match made in heaven.
And it worked out great. For months, I was hitting my goal times with more and more consistency. I wasn’t getting thrown off by any sort of time trigger. It was awesome.
But I wanted to do more. I always wanted to run for an hour straight. No stopping.
But I never really got there. The furthest I had run, continuously, up till then, was about 50 minutes. And I was beyond out-of-gas at that point. So the sheer thought of tacking on an additional ten minutes seemed more than impossible. It was fucking ridiculous to even think about.
Then, one morning, everything changed…
I smoked a bowl.
Sure. I mean, I do that often, but this time was different. I smoked it right before I went on a run.
And it was the healthiest thing I’ve ever done.
As I started my stretching for that fateful high-guy run, I saw that I had packed a bowl for a wake-and-bake that I had forgotten about the night before. (Look at drunk me, always planning ahead for sober me…what a sweetheart.)
And I as I leaned over to start my first (failed) attempt to grab my sneakered toe, the siren call of sativa was too alluring to ignore. I quickly swiped the tiny red lighter from beside the packed pipe, and took a long, satisfying pull of some sweet, sweet herb. And that little back-and-forth continued on throughout the course of my pre-run stretching routine.
I finished up. Set the bowl down. Adjusted my ear buds snuggly under my beanie, found a podcast, and opened the door.
One hour later, I was sweatily jogging up the steps to my apartment with a massive smile on my face.
I did it.
I fucking ran for a goddamn hour – without goddamn stopping – for the first goddamn time in my life.
Goddamn it. It felt great!
And I wasn’t even thinking about it while I was doing it. The whole time I was running, I felt like I was in a dream.
The high I was experiencing was incredibly relaxing. It somehow made my legs develop their own sycophantic rhythm. They didn’t need me or my dumb brain getting in their way. They were in the un-fuck-withable zone!
God bless those gams of mine.
And my lungs were working better than ever, too! Which was what I’m sure the majority of you wondered about when you read the title.
But it’s true.
I could try to explain why this happened, but I’d probably sound like a pretentious doctor asshole.
But, if I had to guess, my hypothesis is that the THC aided in the medicinal expansion of my inner air scrotums. Thus, allowing me to breath freer and easier than ever before.
See, sounded pretty douche-y, right?
Either way, there were no loogies. No boogies. Just physical health and personal satisfaction as a result of smoking weed before this run.
My brain never wandered either. It focused on the hilarious goings-on of the podcast I was listening to, and before I knew it, the one hour mark was reached!
Smoking weed and listening to an entertaining podcast helped me achieve a fitness goal I deemed unreachable just a week before. It was an incredible turn around that I never saw coming.
And it’s no fluke, either.
I’ve been using this same method for over a year now, and it’s worked every single time. No, I haven’t gone crazy and reached two hours without stopping or anything (yet) but I have steadily been able to up my running stamina more and more with each attempt.
Also, c’mon, guy. What’s with the 2 hour question? Why not just be happy for me? I’m doing my best, goddamn it.
Anyway, I feel like more people (especially the typical 30-something stoner porkster, like myself) would be more apt, and even excited, about running, if it meant they could get high first. Honestly, it increases the overall experience exponentially, in every sense of the word.
All said and done, I’ve lost about 40 pounds, and I’ve got my eyes on losing 20 more.
That outlandish goal probably won’t happen by the wedding, but I DO know our honeymoon pics in Hawaii aren’t going to feature a chubby, neck-bearded loser anymore.
Okay, sure, there will still be a neck-bearded loser, but he won’t look like he’s a chicken nugget away from obese. And he’ll be married.
So kiss my slightly-less-fatter ass, jerks!
And to think, I did it all with weed and podcasts…*
*I also ate healthier and gave up beer for a whole year, so…that probably helped.