Stupid Beer Made Me Fat

Turns out, I really like my beers.

Now to be fair, I've always really liked my beers. You could say it's like a favorite pastime of mine. So of course, after making the decision to leave my corporate job, I was going to enjoy myself and do a little celebrating. It's not every day you get to make a life-altering decision, right?

I left work in October by design. My wife, Melissa, and I decided if we were going to take the plunge, let's do it so we can enjoy the holidays without the stresses of work. I was pumped. Christmas is my favorite time of year — I'm definitely a big kid in that regard — and having young children of my own only makes it that much more fun and exciting.

But early FI celebrations turned into Halloween parties, which turned into family get-togethers for Thanksgiving, and after that, forget it. Full Christmas spirit baby!

Without the cadence of the 8-5 workweek, I was free to indulge whenever I wanted. And indulge I did. Instead of the occasional beer at night, or saving it for the weekend, it became a daily habit. I mean seriously, you couldn't wipe the smile off my face. No boss, no job stress, and full on holiday-mode-Steve. The best Steve. I was Rose on the Titanic. "I'm flying, Jack!"... or whatever she said.

My wife and I do pride ourselves on our health and fitness. We make it a priority to get some type of workout in every day. But booze is undefeated in this regard. It's hard to outwork shitty habits. And after all the holiday indulgences, beers after skiing, and then being punished by a brutal winter of historic cold and snow totals, the beers got the best of me.

(Also — having 3 young kids makes it near impossible to get into any kind of sleep routine. And every damn longevity expert talks about the importance of sleep like it's the secret to immortality. Well, if procreating is the entire reason civilization is still here, and sleep is the key to living forever, it's no wonder we haven't cracked the code. We're literally working against ourselves.)

Anyway. I started putting on weight like I never have before. I've always been a lean guy, 5'9", usually hovering around 165-170lbs. But I started pushing 180. My stomach started to look bloated and for the first time ever I could feel it coming over my belt. What the hell?

If you asked me what shape I'd be in five months after retiring, I would have bet the house I'd be in the best shape of my life. I love working out. Running, lifting, the whole nine. I even do yoga.

I would have lost the house.

I was still working out during this time, but inconsistently. And here's the thing I didn't see coming: the structure that work forced on my schedule was actually the thing that made fitness possible. There used to be a clean delineation — I was at work, Melissa was with the kids. As long as I carved out time to exercise, everything at home stayed uninterrupted. But now that I'd joined the home team full time, and the schedule varied daily, we were completely out of sorts.

Inconsistent schedule + daily beers = Fat Steve. The worst Steve.

We've chosen to homeschool, and we love it, but it's a lot. Completely untethered from any outside routine, we had to figure out what our new one would be. Nobody was going to hand it to us. That's the double-edged sword of financial freedom.

So we built one on purpose.

We committed to a two-week break from drinking ahead of a family road trip. But quitting beer wasn't actually the fix. Replacing the missing structure was.

I learned something annoying about myself: if I don't work out early, it doesn't happen. The day fills up, the kids need something, and suddenly it's 4:30 and I'm "too busy."

I'm not too busy. I'm just unplanned.

So we scheduled workouts a week ahead. Melissa needs to leave the house for her classes. I need to disappear downstairs with a cup of coffee before the house wakes up. Once it was on the calendar, the rest got easy. I worked out, then I ate like someone who worked out. Not because I'm virtuous, but because my food had a job.

I was showered and dressed before the kids were done negotiating breakfast like tiny lawyers. I'd already taken care of myself, which meant I could actually show up for them. Oxygen mask rules: put yours on first.

And the funny thing is, once we had a schedule, dropping the daily drinking habit was easy. I thought it was a willpower problem. It wasn't. It was a structure problem.

Sleep improved. Mornings got easier. The bloat disappeared. We felt like ourselves again.

But honestly? I had a blast. Even while I was slowly turning into a human loaf of bread. No regrets, just a lesson I needed. Freedom doesn't automatically make you better. It makes you more you. And if you don't like what "more you" looks like — congratulations. You just found your next project.

If you ever want to reply, shoot me a note at whatsthewhyfi@gmail.com — I read everything.