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The days following his encounter with Andreas were marked by a strange energy.
Romeo felt both ashamed and motivated. The mirror, which he had avoided for weeks, became his daily judge. He promised himself to “get back on track,” eat better, and return to the gym.
He started with small steps: lighter meals, a walk every morning, a few exercises at home. The first few days were almost encouraging. He noted his tiny progress in a notebook, like a diligent student.
But every movement required tremendous energy.
His body, now heavier and slower, seemed to rebel against the discipline he was trying to impose on it.
He struggled to climb the stairs, lost his breath at the slightest effort, and felt his muscles protest under the accumulated weight.
Despite everything, he refused to give up.
One morning, he decided to try a few pull-ups. He installed the bar in his doorframe, took a deep breath, and pulled with all his might.
The bar creaked, bent... then snapped with a loud crack.
Romeo fell heavily backward.
Lying on the floor, he stared at the ceiling for a long time.
“I think the worst part is that my butt cushioned the fall,” he said, annoyed by the situation.
Over the next few days, he tried to maintain some kind of routine, but discouragement gradually set in.
Every meal became a negotiation: “Just a little more.”
Every exercise session, a promise postponed.
He was slowly sinking into what he called, to reassure himself, “the comfort phase.”
A month passed.
And one morning, the scale showed 258 pounds.
He stood there, arms dangling, staring at the number.
He felt neither anger nor surprise—just a kind of gentle resignation.
He looked at himself in the mirror, rolled his belly a little between his hands, shrugged, and muttered:
“I trusted the process.”
But deep down, he didn't hate himself. He just felt like he had become someone else, without really choosing to.
He spent the day wandering around his apartment, then decided to put away his sports gear.
His dumbbells, his jump rope, his workout clothes—everything went into a box that he placed in the corner of the living room.
When evening came, he slumped onto the sofa with a sigh and a sad smile.
Maybe, he thought, it was time to go back to the gym and expose his physique to the eyes of everyone.
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Romeo felt both ashamed and motivated. The mirror, which he had avoided for weeks, became his daily judge. He promised himself to “get back on track,” eat better, and return to the gym.
He started with small steps: lighter meals, a walk every morning, a few exercises at home. The first few days were almost encouraging. He noted his tiny progress in a notebook, like a diligent student.
But every movement required tremendous energy.
His body, now heavier and slower, seemed to rebel against the discipline he was trying to impose on it.
He struggled to climb the stairs, lost his breath at the slightest effort, and felt his muscles protest under the accumulated weight.
Despite everything, he refused to give up.
One morning, he decided to try a few pull-ups. He installed the bar in his doorframe, took a deep breath, and pulled with all his might.
The bar creaked, bent... then snapped with a loud crack.
Romeo fell heavily backward.
Lying on the floor, he stared at the ceiling for a long time.
“I think the worst part is that my butt cushioned the fall,” he said, annoyed by the situation.
Over the next few days, he tried to maintain some kind of routine, but discouragement gradually set in.
Every meal became a negotiation: “Just a little more.”
Every exercise session, a promise postponed.
He was slowly sinking into what he called, to reassure himself, “the comfort phase.”
A month passed.
And one morning, the scale showed 258 pounds.
He stood there, arms dangling, staring at the number.
He felt neither anger nor surprise—just a kind of gentle resignation.
He looked at himself in the mirror, rolled his belly a little between his hands, shrugged, and muttered:
“I trusted the process.”
But deep down, he didn't hate himself. He just felt like he had become someone else, without really choosing to.
He spent the day wandering around his apartment, then decided to put away his sports gear.
His dumbbells, his jump rope, his workout clothes—everything went into a box that he placed in the corner of the living room.
When evening came, he slumped onto the sofa with a sigh and a sad smile.
Maybe, he thought, it was time to go back to the gym and expose his physique to the eyes of everyone.
<<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>>
Category Artwork (Traditional) / Fat Furs
Species Coyote
Size 2217 x 1662px
File Size 255.1 kB
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