Yeah, I put on a few pounds.
Which, as anyone who knows me can attest to, isn't a bad thing. After being slim/scrawny/skinny most of my life, at age 45 I have finally achieved "average" for my height. All thanks to the nearly 150 extreme beers consumed between December and April. I was likely drinking the equivalent calories-wise of an additional meal or two per night.
I could see (and feel) the pounds adding on as I went, but when I weighed myself after I turned in my manuscript, I was shocked at the number I read. I'm far from obese, but in four months I increased my weight by 10 percent. And it wasn't muscle, I can tell you that.
They say that the "beer belly" is more like a "lifestyle belly," because it's just as related to the amount of exercise you do, as the amount of beer you drink. Since I couldn't spare the time to go to the gym while I was writing my book and my caloric intake was, uh, plentiful and beery, I mostly put on weight on my gut.
Luckily my wife sees the positive benefits of me carrying a few extra pounds, most of which have to do with me becoming unexpectedly gravely ill and needing the fat reserves to keep me from wasting away. Way to look on the bright side, honey.
I'm back at the gym four or five days a week and also drinking about two-thirds less high-octane beer. I'm not actively trying to lose weight at this point, but it's bound to happen with my return to more normal beer consumption.
I love big, extreme beers, but there's a time and a place for them. And it's not every day.