Why I started Mounjaro (Expat Gym Junkies husband)
Why I Started Mounjaro – Real Talk
There comes a point in every man’s life where he looks in the mirror and thinks:
“Is that... me? Or did someone Photoshop a dad bod onto my face?”
For me, that moment came when the scales tipped over 102kg. Now, I’m not saying I expected to be shredded at this age — but let’s just say I wasn’t expecting my bones to ache while tying my shoelaces either.
The Wake-Up Call
I found out I was pre-diabetic, blood pressure & insulin levels were through the roof. Basically, my body decided every piece of toast I looked at should be stored as belly fat for winter. Except it was summer. And there was no hibernation in sight.
Every small meal, every snack, even that “just one” bite of dessert — it all seemed to stick to me like emotional baggage after a bad breakup.
The Body Was Talking — And It Wasn’t Whispering
Between the creeping weight, constant fatigue, and creaky joints that made me feel more like a rocking chair than a person, something had to change.
I wanted to feel strong again. Young-ish. Functional.
I wanted to run after things — like dreams, or my dogs, or a taxi — without needing a sit-down afterward.
Enter: Mounjaro
With a supportive nudge from my ever-encouraging wife — aka The Expat Gym Junkie (she does squats for fun, I know, it’s wild) — I decided it was time to take control.
I didn’t want to try something. I wanted to commit to something that could finally tip the scales in my favor — literally. Mounjaro wasn’t a magic pill, but it felt like the right tool to support the work I was already mentally preparing to do.
Let’s Be Real
I’m still a very tall for my height 5’7” (don’t argue), and 102kg was just too much for my frame. I knew I didn’t want to chase some unrealistic body ideal — I just wanted to be the version of me who wakes up feeling good, moves without pain, and doesn’t groan every time he bends over.
So this is me, sharing the beginning of a journey that’s about feeling better, not perfect. Progress, not pressure. And most importantly — being here for the long haul.
Thanks to The Expat Gym Junkie for keeping me accountable (and for not making me do burpees… yet).

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