Sore Once More!

I’ve started a new page on this blog, with all sorts of links to disco classics on YouTube.  Here’s one you’ll like, from an unexpected source: 

The sorest I’ve ever been was in the summer of 1984.  The freshman football team was doing two-a-days with the JV and varsity teams at Coconino High.  That week was utter hell, doing circuit training and constant sprints, me a lanky teenager working out alongside football gods like David Hathaway, Audie McKee, and the only guy I ever looked up to as a big brother, Phillip Miller.  I remember coming home after the morning practice, almost in tears, my Mom rubbing me down in Ben Gay, and getting me back to the field in two hours.  It was medieval torture at the time, but it paid off in the end, as I ended up the starting center on a team that went 13-2 over our freshman and JV seasons, winning primarily with defense and running the ball up the middle.  That’s the sorest I’ve ever been, and that includes going through basic training in the Navy and several thorough exercise programs during past attempts to lose weight. 

I confess that, the last few days, this is as sore as I’ve been in the 27 years since training with varsity as a freshman.  I also confess the lameness of knowing I got this sore from doing all of FIFTEEN PUSH-UPS!  I’ve wanted to be honest on this blog, but it’s embarrassing to tell you how weak I am, how truly little I’ve exercised over the last two decades, and how, even now, after losing over 125 pounds, I still have little strength to show for it. 

Because of a major shift in the family paradigm and an upcoming change in my work schedule, my usual routine at 24 Hour Fitness has become impossible to maintain.  Thus, I’m trying a new plan I can do at home, focusing more on strength conditioning than cardio, which is the opposite of what I was doing before.  In the seven months I was losing the bulk of my weight, I did the bike, my crunches (by the way, I can’t do a real sit-up to save my life, add that to my embarrassment), and my sauna time, and that was it.  It all worked, I did what I set out to do, and I do look and feel a whole lot better than I did when I weight more than most defensive tackles in the NFL; with a little luck and a lot more hard work, I hope to get the last thirty pounds off sometime around New Years Day and maybe keep going.  My hope was to break myself down as quickly as I could, and then spend the next few years building myself back up.  Unfortunately, life doesn’t allow you to keep neat and tidy plans, it throws you a curveball once in a while, and if I want to continue to improve my body and my health, I have to adapt and overcome. 

In this mindset, I went to the park behind North Canyon High School at sunrise Thursday morning to try some very basic exercises.  After a nice walk and some prayer, I tried the most simple thing, a basic push-up.  All I could muster was three sets of five, and none of them were picture perfect.  I was successful in the other things I tried to work my abdomen and gluteus, I even did a few windsprints (more like windjogs) at the end before I went home, and for my efforts, as lame as they may seem, I was pretty sore.  I’m proud of myself for the effort, but that pride doesn’t completely temper the real concern I have over my obvious lack of strength. 

It’s a good thing I came to this realization now.  I was strongly considering getting the Insanity or P90X workout DVD’s, I saw them on informercials and thought they’d be a good next step.  A copy of P90X was floating around my family, but I came to learn that they’re now in Indiana, and my son-in-law gave up on them after two workouts.  Those regimens are pretty hardcore, and maybe I’ll be ready for them in six months to a year, after I’ve lost the rest of my weight and added the rudiments of muscle to my skeleton. 

Right now, I look like a third-full sack of flour, but that’s a lot better than a sack so full it’s bursting at the seams. 

In keeping with the motif of losing weight on a budget, scrapping the gym membership saves me not only the thirty bucks a month for that, but a whole lot of bus fare to get there.  Monthly passes are $55 inPhoenix, and they’re a great value if you use the bus to work and back five times a week.  Since I walk to work and can walk back home, the absolute need for anything but a decent pair of shoes is none.  Aside from my weekly box of Fiber One cereal, I bought myself a Gold’s Gym Power Resistance Tube for thirteen dollars at WalMart; from my perch upon the cardio bike I would watch personal trainers show people like me how to use them, so I thought I would give it a try, something simple that could work many muscle groups.  I was surprised at just how effective this thing is, how I could indeed get a full body workout in about a half hour, at home, on the cheap.  Heck, even my two-year-old grandson Charlie can work out with this. 

 I know this new routine will not be as efficient for weight loss as was my previous shtick, and the weekly weigh-ins where I’ve lost six pounds are most likely gone forever.  But if I can continue to lose at a realistic rate (one to two pounds a week), I’m still going forward.  

If nothing else, the seismic shift in my family life has forced me out of my comfort zone, to face the reality that I have no real physical strength, and to determine for myself how important this new lifestyle is to me and how I must adapt to maintain it. 

I remember in high school, after football practice, one of my friends asking me, point blank, Where’s your chest, Russell?  It’s as pertinent a question now as it was in the mid-1980’s.  I honestly thought, after working all my adult life, most of it busting my butt in real labor, I would have developed some muscle somewhere along the way.  That was so very wrong.  In five years, I hope to look back on this, laugh, and say, Better late than never, eh?  It sucks right now, and the ridiculous level of soreness after doing fewer push-ups than fingers and toes certainly humbles me.  I think I deserve a lot of credit for losing the weight, but that’s looking to be the easy part.  The REAL hard work, the hard work I’ve been putting off for decades, is starting now. 

Tip #16:  Treat high fructose corn syrup like the poison it is.  Every time you read a label, it should be the first thing you look for, and as soon as you see it, put it down faster than you picked it up.  HFCS has replaced sugar in many food items, especially candy and soda.  After a while without junk food, whatever it was you were eating before with the HFCS tastes icky when you try it again; I used to love Snickers, but now all I taste is the damn syrup.  Worse, it stays on your lips, so you keep tasting it.  Even worse, when you drink it in soft drinks, it doesn’t quench your thirst, it actually sticks to the inside of your throat, making you feel like you have to drink more to get the stickiness out of your mouth.  There is nothing good about HFCS, and despite their ads telling you otherwise, there is a difference between HFCS and sugar, either from cane or fruit, and your body knows and appreciates the difference.  By all means, stay the hell away from both HFCS and any processed sugars, but treat HFCS as if it were the absolute worst thing you could consume, because it probably is.   

Alive Once Again!

Life in Transition and Limbo

Here’s a song that would have been a classic in any era, but since it was during Disco, it’s an all-time great: 

My wife, my grandson, and I have been in limbo for a few weeks now.  Not to tell the world the gory details about our family situation, but over the last month, our household has been turned upside down.  Never underestimate the power of drugs to destroy a family, that’s what’s going on these days, and for the time being, Debby and I have temporary custody over Charlie while his mother figures out what the hell she’s doing with herself.  We went to court today to shed some light on where we go from here; since mid-September, we’ve all been frozen, waiting.  We are a family in transition. 

I know this doesn’t have a whole lot to do with weight loss per se, but because our household has gone from four adults to two, I haven’t had the luxury of having extra babysitters, giving me the chance to spend literally all my down time at the gym.  It’s something I’m going to have to work out for myself if I want to continue my progress, but without a car, with losing two incomes, my wife and I can’t do much more than work our jobs, then come home and watch Charlie.  We’re doing this by ourselves, and while we’ll do whatever we can to ensure Charlie has a secure childhood, it means going without, including giving up workout time. 

I still diet, I still walk everywhere, I still drink my water and say my prayers.  But the hour-long sessions on the cardio bike and the 25 minutes in the sauna, five times a week, are gone for now. 

This is a real test of my commitment to my new active lifestyle.  I didn’t let the car breaking down in July stop me from going to the gym, I just took the bus every day after work.  This is a different issue, mostly being of time, not transportation.  For the last year or so, Debby watched Charlie three days a week, I watched him two, his aunt one, and his mother would take him on Saturdays or have someone outside the circle watch him.  It worked because we had four semi-stable grown-ups willing to work together and mesh our schedules in such a way as to get complete coverage.  Aunt and Mother are out of the picture and have been for a couple of weeks, and while we’ll see if they’re able to return to the situation, it means just Wifey and me watching Charlie 24/7. 

Unless I want to get up at three in the morning every day, walk two miles to the gym, have a decent workout, take the bus home and ensure I’m there by 8am so Debby can go to work, I’m shit out of luck. 

But that ought to give me an opportunity to see what I’m made of, to see if I can adapt and overcome.  If my desire to lose this weight is genuine, I have to convert this issue from a roadblock to a mere obstacle, something to solve as opposed to something to use as an excuse.  That’s long been a problem for me, allowing situations like this to win, giving up on something I’ve worked on because it suddenly became too difficult to continue. 

Things are going to change rather soon, and this limbo will end.  Going to court and having a few of our many questions answered has alleviated some of our stress.  I’m also going to be working more nights in a few weeks, which means being able to work out in the mornings instead of evenings.  This big family I married into will eventually pick up some of the slack for watching Charlie.  This whole thing is going to work itself out rather soon. 

Until then, I’ve only worked out a handful of times over the last month.  I still lost ten pounds in September, pretty good by every standard out there, but I remember losing more than that this summer, up to eighteen pounds in July. 

I’ve been meaning to try a new set of exercises.  One of the mistakes my gym makes when they set television sets where we on the cardio bikes can watch is not monitoring the programming; hence, on Saturdays, they have infomercials on, and often times they’re about fitness.  As such, I’ve learned several new things to try, many I can do at home, which, if I’m smart, I ought to be doing in the early morning or at nap time.  Should I be able to come up with a solid hour-long routine, not only will it allow me to cut my gym membership, but it will also cut out all the time I spend on the bus.  A win-win all around. 

If something is important to you, you will find a way to get it done.  Keeping Charlie here is going to require a lot of time and hard work, but it’s not impossible to do this and keep losing weight, if I think this all through and reconfigure my resources.  People do it all the time, they juggle the many things in their lives, their careers and marriages and pursuits.  While this blog is largely about losing weight, it’s also about everything that surrounds it.  Talking about counting calories or exercise regimens are all well and good, but losing weight and changing your life is about human experience, doing something rather difficult as the world finds little ways to make you stumble. 

My wife is attempting to give up smoking, which is harder than losing massive amounts of weight.  She doesn’t want Charlie to see her smoking, which parallels my desire to not have him remember me obese and gross.  We’re both using this time as an opportunity to change our lives for the better.  Charlie is a handful, as any two-year-old growing up an only child would be, but he is not a burden so great that he should end the other important aspects of our lives.  If, in the process, we can make him a better person for it, if we can install healthy habits in him now, and if we can establish ourselves as models for his behavior, this will all be worth while. 

Tip #15:  Find something—ANYTHING—to motivate you off the couch.  I didn’t get off the couch until I was 42 and scared shitless of Charlie remembering me as a morbidly obese mediocrity.  Everyone has an experience that pulls them up, gets them to push the potato chips and soda away, and inspires them to start taking care of themselves.  I know a whole lot of people who want to lose weight, they see themselves in the mirror and detest what they see, but they don’t have thatEUREKA event, that bolt of lightning that lights the fire under them.  It’s tough, getting that spark.  The two words I always use alongside obesity are laziness and apathy.  Include lethargy in the package.  It’s a downward spiral, you think you have all the time in the world to get motivated to do it, you put it off and put it off because you don’t like to sweat, you feel self-conscious about working out in public, you don’t want to lose your favorite foods, you give yourself every reason in the world to not do it until you’re good and ready, and then you wake up, years down the line, horrified at what you see.  Unless you have that lightning strike, you’re not going to start.  Look for something—ANYTHING—to jolt you.  It could be the coming birth of your child and you want to ensure he never remembers you fat.  It could be the end of a long and dysfunctional relationship and a new life means new outlooks.  Whatever it is, find it, cling to it tightly, pin it to the wall where you can’t escape it, keep it in your face and on your mind, and you will indeed get off your butt. 

Alive once again!

My Biggest Fear: Dying a Mediocrity

Well, someone has to give you your weekly fix of forgotten disco classics, it might as well be me. 

Between this blog and Facebook, many old friends are coming out of the woodwork and finding me, curious about my weight loss.  They remember me when I was slovenly obese, perhaps a good soul, but packaged in a extra-large body, and they’re delighted to see I’m getting the fat off once and for all.  Invariably, the question is asked, what’s your secret, Russell?  I give them the standard bullet points—drink your water, say your prayers, read this blog—and then I tell them the real reason why I’ve lost this weight so fast, a reason I’ve posted here and I’ll do so again and again. 

The secret to me being motivated to lose this much weight this fast is fear. 

I woke up on February 17, 2011, my 42^nd birthday, in a cold sweat.  A lot of people have an OH MY GOD experience when they turn a nice round number like 30 or 40, but for me, it was when I turned 42, because it felt like I had gone to bed the night before a young man and had woken up old, obese, and mediocre.  I was working at Barrio, feeling fortunate to have a job at all in this rancid economy, barely making ends meet, letting my degree from ASU decay on the shelf.  I was fat and felt very ugly about it.  Knowing heart disease was prevalent on my mother’s side of the family, I was convinced I was damn lucky I hadn’t yet had an attack or a stroke, or for that matter, that I hadn’t eaten myself into a diabetic coma. 

Everybody’s afraid of death to one extent or another, I’m no different from anyone else in this.  Dying a relatively young man was worry enough, but dying a young man who maybe could have lived his life more fully, that morphed the worry into something more troubling.  Dying a young man who would have left a wife behind in dire financial straits, that intensified the trouble.  Dying a young man with a grandson who wouldn’t remember me as anything but that big, playful guy always sitting at the computer, that turned it into a fear nearing panic. 

That’s the fear that motivates me, dying a mediocrity and everyone I love knowing it.  

Don’t misunderstand me.  I’d surely like a better job and a larger income, who wouldn’t?  If I’m stuck being a cook / substitute teacher for the rest of my working life, if that were my destiny all along, I could handle that, in much the same way Martin Luther King spoke of the dignity in all work:

If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.

I know, though, that I have a good, traditional education, and while I still believe my calling is to teach, even in a state where education budgets are being slashed and teachers are suffering massive lay-offs, I’ve let these truths become excuses for inaction instead of obstacles for overcoming.  That’s the apathy that comes from being obese and lazy, the belief that it’s okay to fail in this time and place, times are hard, other people are having it just as hard as me, some harder, I’ll just bide my time and make due and something will eventually fall in my lap. 

Counting your blessings and being happy with what you have should not be synonymous with taking those blessings for granted and not cultivating them.  That was a near-fatal mistake I made, and that’s why I woke up that birthday morning, scared, knowing I was wasting the great gifts God had given me, my intellect, my spirit, my strong back, my family, and as tenuous as it was, my health. 

That’s not the sort of male role model my grandson Charlie deserves in his life.  

If twenty years were to pass, and Charlie looked back on me and saw I never progressed past my current economic and occupational position, it would be okay, provided that he saw me as someone who worked hard, provided for the family, helped him with his homework, and was a positive, calming, loving influence on him.  Were I to die while he was still a child, no more than a faint memory (much as my own grandfather is to me, the man I’m named after, who had a heart attack at the age of 70 when I was five years old, driving a Greyhound bus all his working life), it would be okay under the conditions I just mentioned.  But that wasn’t the truth, and had I not made such a drastic change in my life, if I were to die obese and mediocre, I fear his memory would have been of the obesity and mediocrity, the half-assed work ethic, the struggling to pay the bills, the lack of energy, perhaps the good soul inside would shine through a little, but unable to play, unable to walk without wheezing, unable to do much at all without doing it sitting down.  No man wants his kids to remember him like that.  No child can possibly be proud of such a person or call him a role model. 

I am not at all saying an obese man is a lesser man, but I am saying, knowing the person I was seven months ago, I could have done so much better, and I blame my obesity for not having done so, the laziness and apathy that comes from it.  If you’re overweight and living a full, productive life, God Bless You.  I wasn’t, and I was very afraid of dying that way. 

It’s okay to be afraid, so long as it’s a source of motivation and it doesn’t paralyze you.  To be afraid is to be human, and to deny it might make you appear superficially stoic, but it will also make you look insincere.  When the late great Walter Payton had his press conference and announced his terminal liver disease, he was asked if he was scared.  He could have acted tough, like every other jock would, he could have talked in tired clichés—take it one day at a time, cross that bridge when we come to it, yada yada yada—but in a moment of honesty that is rare in the American spheres of celebrity and sport, with his voice cracking a little, he said, “Hell yeah, I am scared.  Wouldn’t you be scared?  But what can you do?  Like I said, it’s not in my hands, it’s in God’s hands!”  Not many celebrity-athletes allow you to see them as human.  That’s why I’m still a Walter Payton fan, 25 years after he retired from football, and a decade since he left us. 

Me, I’m just a cat lifting my dead ass off the couch and trying to live a life, a life I might have given up on several months ago.  I could have gone back to sleep on my birthday, having casually noted its significance, and just gone on, the mortality clock ticking loud, still worrying about my weight but not giving enough of a damn to do anything about it.  Had Charlie not been born, perhaps that might have been the ways of things.  What got me to lose the weight, what keeps me motivated, is the fear of him looking at me somewhere down the line, in his memory, possibly after I’m gone, and him thinking of me as that fat, lazy bastard who didn’t care enough about him or his family to get healthy and take care of business, if he’d think of me at all.  It’s a fear that brings me to tears at times, but this time, I’m not drowning it with a couple of Sourdough Jacks and some curly fries.  It’s a vain fear, vanity of vanities, said the Preacher, all is vanity, but it’s a fear that’s changed me, hopefully for the better, and hopefully for good. 

Tip #14:  Fiber, fiber, fiber.  I haven’t read anything to suggest there’s such a thing as too much fiber.  If for no other reason, you should increase your fiber intake in order to keep your bowels moving.  Lowering your cholesterol and cleaning the gunk out of your arteries isn’t a bad reason, either.  You can lessen your risk for various cancers, especially those concerning digestion.  I’ve been paying close attention to what I eat, I read every label, and along with calories, fat, carbs, and sodium, I also look for dietary fiber.  I have fiber powder in water when I wake up, a small bowl of Fiber One cereal in the morning, and right there I’m usually at around 85% of the recommended daily allowance.  Among other things I eat at work are broccoli and Craisins (dried cranberries, they look like burgundy-colored raisins), along with the usual salad fare.  Occasionally I’ll have a high-fiber bar after a workout.  If I do all that, I’m usually well over 100%, often around 150%.  One caveat:  increasing your fiber intake should be gradual; a sudden sharp increase can lead to abdominal discomfort and diarrhea, but even if you dive right in and eat your fill, side effects are mild and temporary (knock on wood). 

Alive once again!

Solving the National Debt Crisis the Same Way You Lose Weight

Here’s another long lost disco treasure, circa 1979.  Good year for Pittsburgh, the Steelers won the Super Bowl and the Pirates won the World Series; bad year for Jimmy Carter and John Wayne. 

 

I gave up on the Republican Party in the early 90’s and the Democrats about five years ago.  Last month’s game of chicken concerning the federal budget – you know the one, the one that led to the country losing its AAA credit rating – is a great example of why I have no faith in the two-party system.  Both parties are more concerned with posturing and ideology than solving some very serious problems, problems that haven’t been dealt with for years, problems that have plagued America for a long while, problems that can’t afford even more hubris and misrepresentations and fingerpointing. 

Balancing the budget requires doing just one thing:  bringing in more revenue than is spent. 

It’s the same as losing weight, which requires you doing just one thing:  burning more calories than is consumed. 

Yes, I know these things are more complex than a single declarative statement, I don’t dare make such things sound simple, but the premise is the same for both, that if you want to accomplish something important, find the core of the issue, the singular thread, and deal with it.  Put all possible solutions on the table, and solve it. 

Of course, in Washington, TweedleRepublican and TweedleDemocrat think you can solve a complex problem through ideology and blaming instead of actually working to correct it.  Republicans scream bloody murder when new taxes are mentioned, preferring to cut spending on entitlements, especially and potentially going after sacred cows like Social Security and Medicare.  Democrats seek to protect most current spending, finding excuses for most every program out there, and would rather raise taxes.  While each side has an argument with merit, they also have huge holes.  They only partially fix the problem, while most likely creating a whole nother set of dilemmas. 

Can you imagine this kind of thinking when it comes to weight loss?  Can you imagine one set of doctors and experts telling you all you need to do is adjust your diet slightly, and you never need to exercise?  How about the other end, telling you to try a new workout regimen, but you can continue to eat the same crap you’ve always eaten?  Such advice would get you laughed out of the room, wouldn’t it? 

Yet we accept the same half-assed arguments from our leaders in Washington. 

Because of reckless spending over the last thirty-odd years, irresponsible tax policies, and borrowing trillions of dollars from the Japanese, Saudis, and Chinese, we are in a MAJOR crisis, a crisis taken with such a lack of seriousness in Washington that it’s borderline criminal.  It’s only a matter of time before the countries we borrow from have had enough of our drunken spending, our hubris, and our complete disregard for sound economic policy, and rip the whole thing out from under us.  At some point, investing in America will no longer be wise policy, and China and Japan are not going to let themselves go under in order to save our economy.  With a weak dollar, the international community will eventually stop letting the US dollar be THE currency for the global petroleum market, and when the Euro or the Chinese Yuan or the Japanese Yen replaces us, that’s when you’ll see gasoline sell at eight dollars a gallon, like it is in Europe today.  That’s when American leverage in world finance officially flatlines.  That’s when we’ll see the sort of hyperinflation this country has never seen; to give you an idea of what to expect, look up the Weimar Republic, the Germany between the Treaty of Versailles and the rise of the Nazi Party, where people literally had to fill wheelbarrows with Deutschmarks to buy a loaf of bread. 

That is what’s facing us if we don’t get our economic shit together, and fast.  A possibly fatal financial heart attack. 

Which is where I was on my 42^nd birthday, knowing the clock was ticking, knowing I was morbidly obese and in the midst of the laziness and apathy that comes with it, knowing I was damn lucky I hadn’t yet had a heart attack, and knowing, if I didn’t do something soon, my luck would run out.  At such a realization, I didn’t think to myself, I need to just cut eating junk food as the answer to the problem, or, all I need to do is walk around the block a few nights a week.  While those things might have helped some, they wouldn’t have made a serious and radical dent in the core problem:  I WAS OBESE BECAUSE I WAS UNDISCIPLINED AND LAZY, AND I DON’T HAVE ANY MORE TIME TO QUIBBLE ABOUT HOW I LOSE THE FAT.  Within two weeks after turning 42, I had given up soft drinks and junk food, I was working out four times a week, I was drinking my water, I was eating more sensibly, and very quickly, I was seeing results.  I lost 26 pounds that first month. 

When faced with a literal do-or-die situation, people will find ways of solving their problems, usually by putting all possible solutions on the table and trying them all.  The American economy is in such a position, it’s time for our so-called leaders to do the same thing. 

I’ve officially lost 122 pounds, and I have no intention on ever returning to the behaviors that made me so fat.  I’m still very enthusiastic about losing weight, and once I get down to 185, the focus will shift away from weight loss and toward strength and conditioning.  In other words, watching what I eat will never end, and neither will exercising regularly.  This is the new Russell, and I want to take this new body for a spin to see what it can do. 

Unfortunately, Washington can’t see beyond the current fiscal year.  Because its two parties are ideologically driven, they can’t see beyond next April 15^th, or the next Social Security pay period.  Because of this, they’re willing to play games, posture, blame the opposition, and try to rack up political points to keep themselves in office, all the while letting the economy worsen.  At some point, the $14 trillion this country owes will have to be paid off, and it may not be by our democratic choosing.  My generation is already suffering for the shortsightedness of the Baby Boomers, and now that they’re retiring en masse and all wanting their Social Security and Medicare, we’re shouldering the tax burden.  Our own prosperity has been cut for the sake of taking care of the most spoiled generation in American history.  That’s bad enough, but when you have one set of nutjobs trying to tell you we don’t have to raise taxes on anyone, that means we who are already bearing the burden will get no help in the matter; when you have the other set of nutjobs saying these programs will go in perpetuity with no change, it means our burden will go in perpetuity with no change.  As such, Generation X has become tax slaves to the Baby Boomers, and we simply will not be able to keep it up.  We are the first generation in American history that did not have it better than our parents did, yet we are expected to now pay for their excesses.  Odds are the next generation will have to carry the burden as well. 

That is, if the American economy can remain viable at all.  As I said, should the nations we’re in debt to our eyeballs to decide to cover their own asses and rip the rug out from under us, the dollar will be worthless, literally overnight, and the Great Depression will be peanuts in comparison. 

Liken the American economy to Russell about seven months ago.  Fat, lazy, apathetic, just waiting to die on the couch.  Had I planned my weight loss the same way politicians plan our federal budgets, I possibly would have had that heart attack by now.  I didn’t believe I had anymore time to procrastinate on this, I threw all my ideas out there, everything I knew on the subject of losing weight, put my time and money and heart into them, and hoped they’d stick.  That’s the way our elected leaders must handle our fiscal situation, with urgency instead of blaming, with a desire to solve the problem instead of a desire to score political points, with a spirit of compromise that involves a mix of all potential solutions instead of a spirit of arrogance that poisons professional discord. 

It can be done.  If one man can get off his dead ass and lose a hundred pounds in six months, the whole of Washington, with all their Ivy League degrees and MBA’s and resumes and laurels, can figure this one out.  Raise taxes, cut spending, reconsider the defense budget, reinstitute import tariffs, slash foreign aid, eliminate corporate welfare, and mostly, CREATE JOBS!  Do it all.  Treat this as the emergency it is. 

And if they can’t, vote the bastards out and put someone in who can.  Maybe Richard Simmons. 

Tip #13:  Avoid corn.  Corn is what they feed to chickens and pigs to fatten them up.  Don’t consider corn a vegetable when you’re working out your diet plans, consider it a grain, and like other grains, when ground into flour and made into bread, its high starch content means high carbohydrates.  The nastiest thing you can put in your body these days is the ever-prevalent HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP, which ought to tell you how bad its source—corn—is for you.  If you wish to support American corn farmers, do so by pushing for higher ethanol content in your gasoline, or get your drunk on with Jack Daniels and his special corn mash whiskey recipe.  It should not be considered a staple in any serious diet. 

Alive Once Again!

Losing Weight “Legitimately”

Here’s a classic from Disco’s finest hour, Saturday Night Fever: 

I’ve been reading up on Forest Whitaker’s fantastic weight loss from last year.  From everything I’ve read, he’s lost over eighty pounds since his Oscar-winning performance in The Last King of Scotland, and he’s done it the hard way, with a lot of hiking and sporting a vegan diet.  From everything I’ve read, his weight loss stole the show at the 2010 Oscars. 

There’s always someone out there, though, who takes something completely positive and tries to turn it into a negative.  On the message board at ObesityHelp.com, there is a thread, “Did Forest Whitaker Have WLS?”, wondering if Whitaker really did bust his butt to lose his weight, or did he actually opt for surgery? (http://www.obesityhelp.com/forums/amos/4137696/Did-Forest-Whitaker-Have-WLS/) 

The politically correct response to such an inquiry is, it shouldn’t matter if a person does the hard work of changing his life, becoming more active, employing an exercise regimen, taking the time to develop dietary discipline, or if he chooses lap-band surgery, stomach stapling, or whatever the procedure-du-jour might be.  Solving your weight problem is a personal matter, and unless you decide to share your progress with others, it’s no one’s damn business. 

Ultimately, I don’t care how you go about your weight loss program, so long as you own it proudly. 

What does that mean?  It means, if you opt for surgery, own it.  When people ask you how you lost the weight, tell them you got the lap band.  Don’t try to tell people you are some paragon of personal discipline, don’t postulate on the virtues of a given diet, and don’t brag about how much effort you believe you put in, when the reality is, the surgeon did all the meaningful work.  

Instead, if you want to sound human, talk about how you’ve struggled with your weight for years, having tried a plethora of diets and gimmicks, and you’re simply at your wit’s end.  Talk about how your doctor says you’re a candidate for high blood pressure, diabetes, cancer, and a whole lot of other maladies that will cut decades off your life, and you did it to save yourself a lot of pain and misery. 

By all means, don’t lump yourself in with the many people who were able to lose massive amounts of weight without surgical assistance.  Your travails are not the same.  You took a short cut.  Yes, you should be congratulated for doing something very positive to change the course of your life, and you should feel proud of what you’ve done when you look in the mirror and see a sleeker, sexier you.  Just understand the context of your success. 

I’ve only known a couple of people who have tried such surgeries, and they were not successful, I believe for one very important reason:  Having such a procedure does not instill you with the intelligence, awareness, and discipline to maintain a healthy lifestyle once the band or the staple comes off your stomach.  Once the operation is undone, unless you’ve taught yourself the very hard lessons of eating healthy and exercising frequently, the weight is going to come right back on, and it will have all been a heartbreaking waste. 

I realize I’m coming from the other end of the spectrum.  My weight loss is gimmick-free.  No surgery.  No fad diets.  No pills.  No prepackaged food.  Just using common sense in what I eat and working my ass off at the gym, and that’s it.  It’s considered “natural”, and by doing it this way, I’m educating myself on how my body works and what makes it work better, I’m instill in myself a discipline that keeps me going on a daily basis, and, when I get to my goal weight (knock on wood), I’m setting myself up to keep these good habits that I’ve developed going, hopefully for the rest of my life.  As such, I am rather biased, hopefully not too preachy about it, but still opinionated.  That’s okay, it’s my blog, I’ll say what I feel. 

Losing a massive amount of weight isn’t just about a magic number you see on the scale.  It’s about drastically changing your life.  It’s about accomplishing something big, something many people probably think to be improbable or impossible.  It’s about looking in the mirror, seeing a thinner and better you, and knowing YOU did this, not any doctor, not any friend or family member (no matter how much they love and support you, YOU are the one who has to do it), not any chemical, just you and your wits and a whole freaking lot of hard work.   

I do think there’s something more, dare I say it, virtuous in losing weight the “natural” way than in opting for surgery. 

I also think it’s the same vain argument when you look at a buxom girl, wondering if she is “natural” or she opted for enhancement surgery.  At the end of the day, being a guy, it really doesn’t matter, my eyes are going to be fixed on her chest; it’s the same with weight loss, because when it’s over and you’re looking a whole lot better, provided you haven’t done something so extreme that will compromise your health, the ends usually justify the means. 

I’m not sure how I would react to be accused of having had lap-band surgery.  Perhaps I’d find it funny the first couple of times, but it would get old fast.  At some point, I’d take it personally, because I know how hard I’ve worked on this.  That’s probably when I’d raise my shirt and show them no abdominal scar… just a whole lot of stretched-out skin that’ll make them go EWWWWW, but at least they’d be put in their place. 

There is no substitute for hard work.  We live in an America where everyone looks for the quick fix.  Because of our prosperity, we’ve all become lazy.  We expect instant gratification, and if it doesn’t come immediately, it’s not worth doing.  It’s a fast food culture, a fast food mentality.  Anything worth accomplishing, however, is going to take time, dedication, smarts, and a whole lot of hard work.  It’s the same for your education, your marriage, your children, and your career; and yet, for some reason, if we can’t quickly lose the weight we’ve taken years to put on, we tend to discard the concept and look for something with faster rewards.  Weight loss surgery is an industry that preys on two basic American weaknesses:  We are impatient, and we want results with as little sweat as possible.  Losing large amounts of weight isn’t at all easy, there would be no obesity problem in the US if it were, yet we’re all looking for that magic pill, that perfect diet, that wonder drug, just take a shot of this and run a few laps around the gym and POOF, you’re thin. 

If you’re exasperated and have nearly given up, if you’re over-the-top obese, if you fear death in the near future, and if you have the means to afford it, by all means, ignore my biased rant and have the damn surgery.  Don’t let my opinions stop you from saving your life.  Get thin and leave your fat past behind.  Just do us all a favor, and don’t set yourself up as a champion of anything.  When people ask you how you did it, make sure you give your surgeon’s name and number, he’s the one who deserves a bulk of the credit.  He forced your body into a position where you simply couldn’t continue your previous eating habits.  Unless you completely disregard both your surgeon’s recommendations and your stomach’s new status, you can’t help but lose weight in the short term.  What will impress me and others is, once the band or the staple is removed from your stomach, you keep the weight off for a year or two, because that will demonstrate you learning the hard lessons of a healthy lifestyle and can apply them permanently. 

Otherwise, accept the fact that there’s no easy way to lose weight.  It took you years to put the weight on, it’s going to take time to get it off.  Don’t let my raving stop you from trying whatever method you see fit, it’s your time and money, and it’s your business, not mine.  Everybody’s journey is a little different, and in the end, if you arrive at a healthier you, if you can look yourself in the mirror with pride, no one can lay a finger on you. 

Just make sure, however you get there, you own it for what it is. 

 

Tip #12:  Explore alternatives for healthier living.  Massive weight loss is largely about educating yourself, and you can’t do that if you’re not willing to listen to different ideas and try a few of them on occasion.  By all means, if you find something that works for you, stick with it, but don’t do so with blinders on.  The world is full of foods for you to enjoy, many of them very beneficial.  Even if you have a workout program that works for you, there are many forms of exercise out there for you to try.  Finding the right dietary balance often means trial and error, and you can’t do it if you’re in a rut and refuse to get out of it.  If there’s a fruit you hear has great antioxidant potential, give it a try.  If a trainer is trying something new, it wouldn’t kill you to watch and learn.  Odds are, if your goal is to lose a hundred pounds or so, as you near it, you’ll become a relative expert in the craft of weight loss, a real authority on the subject, because you’ve thought outside the box, you’re taken a couple of chances on different techniques, and you’ll know what works and what doesn’t.  

Alive Once Again!

Chin Up!

I realize this blog’s music has morphed into a stroll down Disco Memory Lane. I consider that a good thing, more people should do it. Tonight’s lost disco classic comes from the Electric Light Orchestra:

Chin up. That’s what I tell my grandson Charlie when we go to the swimming pool, and he tries walking down the steps himself into the water. He can get to the third step all by himself (with my constant and attentive supervision, of course), provided he keeps his chin up to keep his neck and head up and out of the water. Every time I say it, he smiles and tilts his head way back, and by doing so, he’s starting to figure out he can get a little deeper into the water than he thought.

It’s a mantra I’m starting to say to myself more and more these days. Chin up. I’m finding very pertinent applications for it in my own life, in both the physical and the mental sense.

Part of the reason why I looked so horrible when I was morbidly obese (my highest official weight was 337 pounds, I may have weighed more at some point, but I certainly looked even heavier than that), was because I had horrible posture. I hung my head and stuck my belly out. As such, it turned my jawline/chin/neck/collar into one large, amorphous lump of skin, one part melting seamlessly into the other. It made me look ten months pregnant. I’m learning, without the girth, I now have to reposition my spine out of necessity, because my upper back aches constantly if I don’t hold my shoulder blades back, stick out my chest, and crane my neck up. My lower back is apparently just fine, it’s strong from holding my torso erect with so much blubber sticking out my front. As for my neck, I have a neck! It’s long, and you can see the things under the skin, like my throat, my muscles, and my Adam’s Apple when I swallow… freaking A, I have an Adam’s Apple!

More important, holding your chin up changes your attitude. It makes you look a little tougher, a little less meek, as if you have pride in yourself. Walking with your head down hides your eyes, it forces you to look at the floor instead of what’s ahead of you, it keeps your neck weak and fat. Having your head back stretches your neck, makes you look taller, helps you grow your chin. Even if no one says anything to you, you feel stronger, not cocky or conceited, but opened up, vital, potent. It allows you to look people in the eye, which is always a show of strength and confidence. A strong chin and jaw has always been an attractive trait, it adds the perception of internal fortitude, even if it’s something you feel you lack, others might still see it in you.

Last week I was walking home during a thunderstorm (yes, it does rain in Phoenix, albeit only five times a year, but it does), and normally I’d bow my head and try to bundle up when the wind blows and the rain comes down, as anybody would. My thought process, however, has changed, and I saw the storm as something to take on instead of something to struggle through. Chin up. I held my head high as I walked, allowing the elements to beat on me, stepping with dignity, as if the desert monsoon were out to defeat me and couldn’t. It felt good, feeling the wind gusting and trying to knock me off stride, the warm rain beating on my forehead and face, my shirt getting soaked around my shoulders and chest. I felt somewhat proud, as if looking the clouds in the eye, taking the storm’s best shot, and knowing I could walk without falter, without bowing to the rain, without cowering at all.

Martin Luther King said in his final speech that a man can’t ride your back unless it’s bent. You can’t bend your back when you have your chin up, you force yourself to be upright. Life demands that you lead with your chin.

If nothing else, what I tell Charlie in the literal sense in the swimming pool, it’s sound advice in the philosophical sense for the real world. Chin up. When the world feels overwhelming, chin up. When bills pile up, when the family gets frayed, when your troubles mount and feel like you’re up to your neck in issues, chin up. That little bit, having your head raised, is enough to pull your mouth out of the water, to keep you breathing, and it may be just enough to get you through the tough times, and to do so with dignity. It’s not a trite thing to say, I’m not a pie-in-the-sky, the-sun’ll-come-out-tomorrow kind of guy, but I have come to realize you have to deal with what ails you head on, looking it in the eye, and even if it’s too much to overcome, chin up, and fail with strength, fail with dignity.

The late great Walter Payton often talked about being such a punishing runningback for someone relatively small, how he could deliver as strong a blow as, say, Earl Campbell, I recall Campbell literally exploding over linebackers. Payton did the same thing and was smaller in stature. He would tell anyone who would listen that, in football, knowing, as the ball carrier, you’re going to get hit, you should deliver the blow before your opponent does. Don’t run away from the contact all the time. Deal the punishment before you get punished. Many more times than not, even if you’re going down, you end up gaining yardage. You always fall forward. For my money, Payton was the greatest player in the history of the NFL and will always be my favorite, in large part because of his philosophy, something that can be taken from the gridiron and applied to real life.

It’s no different than the mantra Chin Up.

I don’t know if these are things that will sink into Charlie’s subconscious, he’s only two. Right now, swimming is about him having a fun but safe time with his Grandpa, not about life lessons. I tell him Chin Up, and he smiles as he throws his head back, he does it every time. It’s a game for him, not advice. It’s all good, at least he’s learning he can get a little deeper in the water if he keeps his mouth above the waterline. That is, after all, the point, isn’t it?

Tip #11: Sports drinks ARE soft drinks. Act accordingly. One of the first things I did when I started this diet was to give up soft drinks. No more root beer and Diet Coke. I also gave up on the lemonade I was drinking, it was sweetened with high fructose corn syrup. I’ve recommended drinking Diet Rite when you’re jonesing for something other than water, but even that I drink but maybe once a month. Recently, I’ve abstained from sports drinks, notably Gatorade and Powerade. Powerade has a couple of no-calorie flavors out there, and they’re not half bad in terms of taste, but in their want to deliver electrolytes, they add quite a bit of sodium, something you’re trying to get out of your body, something that retains the water in you, something that contributes to high blood pressure. It’s one of those things I’ve tweeked as my diet has progressed; I don’t consider them plateaus per se, but every so often, when I’m struggling to take the weight off, I’ll alter my routine, take away an element, and usually it leads to a quick drop and resumption of my weight loss. I was drinking maybe two bottles of Powerade after a workout, having not looked hard at the label nor done the math; every serving of Powerade has 6% of the recommended daily allowance of sodium, which is six times the amount in Diet Coke. Every bottle has 2.5 servings, so now I’m drinking 15%. Two bottles, I’m quickly up to 30%. That might not seem like much, it’s only a third of the RDA, but when you think about how much you eat over the course of the day, how much salt and sodium is in everything you put in your mouth, it adds up quickly, and that 30% can easily put you over the daily maximum. Anyone who is trying to cut their sodium should stay away from sports drinks and find alternative sources for electrolytes.

Alive Once Again!

Fifty Things I Don’t Miss About Morbid Obesity

If you’ve been jonesing for a disco classic you don’t hear every day, here’s some Village People, pre-Macho Man: 

 

I can now say this.  I AM NOT OBESE!!! 

One of the magic numbers I’ve been striving for in my pursuit of a smaller me is 221; at that weight, my Body Mass Index (BMI) will have dropped below 30.  Anything above 30 is considered obese (I started this with a BMI of over 45, which is morbidly obese), anything between 25 and 30 is considered overweight, and you can call yourself normal once you get below 25.  I weighed in Monday at 219, giving me a BMI of 29.69. 

Hence, though I am still overweight, I AM NOT OBESE!!! 

There are a few things I will definitely not miss about being morbidly obese.  While I plan to make this current health plan a permanent part of my life, the future is not written in stone, and the best laid plans of mice and men often go astray, right?  I hope to never see myself wearing shirts with multiple X’s before the L, and I hope to continue to bust my ass to insure this end.  Should I be fortunate enough to never go back to the old fat Russell waiting to die on the couch, here are fifty items about being morbidly obese that I will gladly do without. 

Thighs rubbing together when I walk

Chronic choking

Wearing out my pants in the seat and crotch

Inability to touch toes

Feet too swollen to be able to stand for long

Belly folds chafing one another

Sweating when everyone else is not

Breathing heavy walking to the mailbox

Easily falling into a nap at the drop of a hat

Being the designated leftover eater

Absolutely having to snack while watching TV

Racing to Burger King on pay day

Being patted on my stomach

Being asked, “When is your baby due?”

Debby not able to wrap her arms around me when she hugs me

Being called BIG GUY

Constantly tasting grease on my lips

Ankles of glass

Massive inferiority complex

Impotence [1]

Throwing away money on junk food

Manboobs

Lack of energy, which breeds laziness and apathy

High fructose corn syrup

Being the heaviest cat in the room

Torso jiggling while running

Feeling satisfied only when I eat the WHOLE pizza

The obligatory Snickers and Pepsi at the bus stop

Placing bets on what will happen first, a heart attack or a diabetic seizure

Being the fattest person my wife ever met

Perspiring gravy

Calling raw bacon “chewing gum for fatties”

The consistent craving for something sticky

Not being able to see my joey and going on faith that it’s still there [2]

Tight shoes, resulting from bloated feet

Being asked, “Where are the fries?” when it’s my turn to make a McDonald’s run

Toes numb

Shirts with as many X’s before the L as fingers on my hand

Looking forward to the end of the work day, just to spend the evening at the computer

My chin, jawline, neck, and collar all being one gelatinous mass

Family fearing I will pig out on the day the famine starts

Being able to completely fill my desk chair

Knowing when a girl gives me a second look, it’s out of disgust

Butt cramps from sitting all day

That I-love-you-Grandpa-but-for-God’s-sake-lose-some-weight-or-you’ll-die look I would occasionally see in my granddaughters’ eyes

Arjay Phoenician, my Internet gaming alter-ego.  Looks like Fabio, confident, heroic, and not dependent on fast food for contentment.  The opposite of Russell, circa 2009

Wearing the 52” pants I tacked on my wall as a trophy

Doing shots of salad dressing on a dare, and enjoying it [3]

Eating cookie dough as an early morning pick-me-up, much as others might drink coffee or Red Bull

Gyro meat, especially after seeing how much freaking grease comes out of it

NOTES 

[1] With better circulation, more blood is delivered to THAT part of the body.  Forgive me for not explaining further, minors may be reading, perhaps related to me. 

[2] “Joey” is a euphemism for “THAT part of the body” described in [1]. 

[3] The kitchen staff at the old Barrio Cantina & Grill will tell you of a time I drank a quart of tamarind vinaigrette for three dollars. 

Tip #10:  Find time in the day for just yourself.  That doesn’t mean spending a few hours in front of the TV set or surfing the Web.  Me-time has to do with internal reflection.  Such time might be taking an early morning walk and enjoying the quiet of sunrise, or it might mean meditation in the quiet room of the house.  It should have a calming, cathartic effect on you, allowing you to sweep the clutter from your mind.  Between work, family, transit, and sleep, most busy people don’t have much time for anything else, and if you include things like going back to school and exercising, your day is pretty much shot to hell.  Find at least thirty minutes a day where you can turn all the electronic crap off, shut off the cellphone, find a secluded space, and simply be.  Your loved ones have to understand that you’re not just dieting, you’re changing your mindset as well as your body, and it means mental discipline and focus.  A designated time for a personal reset really helps you keep your mind on what’s important, why you’re doing this, and what it will look like when you succeed. 

Alive once again!

Late Bloomers and the Color Purple

Another long lost gem from the disco era, submitted for your listening pleasure: 

The great Satchel Paige didn’t make it to the major leagues until the age of 42; of course, he was hampered by American-style racism and the color barrier that kept many truly great baseball players on the outside looking in.  According to Islamic tradition, the prophet Muhammad didn’t have his first revelation from God until he was 40.  Charles Bukowski had his first novel published at the age of 49, and Laura Ingalls Wilder didn’t put out her Little House books until she was in her sixties.  Colonel Sanders didn’t open his first Kentucky Fried Chicken until he was 62, and Grandma Moses didn’t start painting until into her seventies. 

It’s this knowledge that reminds me, at age 42, I’m not yet washed up, that I’m still young enough to fulfill my potential, and while my dream is not to pitch in the big leagues or start a worldwide religion, I can still be a positive force and be a success. 

It can be disheartening at times, having a liberal arts degree from ASU, graduated magna cum laude, and doing restaurant work to keep the bills paid.  Excuses are easy, I could blame a faltering economy for not finding more worthy employment, or Washington politics with Republicans and Democrats pointing fingers instead of creating jobs.  I always wanted to be a teacher, I was one for a time, and I still believe in the American public school system, even as budgets are being slashed and infrastructure is being dismantled.  I could blame others for my professional lot in life, as most Americans do.  Blame the liberals.  Blame the government.  Blame capitalism.  Blame your wife, your boss, your kids, your circumstances, but make sure you never blame yourself.  That’s the new American Way. 

Of course, it’s never just one thing that lands you in difficult straits, but there’s often a central cause.  For me, it’s been my obesity, which has generated the very hazardous traits of laziness and apathy, that has kept me from succeeding in the pursuit of my dreams.  I did it to myself.  I admit it. 

The fortunate thing about it is, it’s not yet too late to change these traits, to reinvent myself, or to make one more bold effort to be somebody. 

I’m not stupid.  I’ll be competing in the professional job market with kids almost half my age.  That’s the first thing a potential employer is going to notice, and he’s going to wonder what I’ve been doing with myself over the previous two decades to warrant a job with his company.  What’s wrong with this Russell character that he’s not at the apex of his career?  Most 42-year-old professionals are at the height of their craft, at the maximum of their earning potential, why does it seem like this cat is just getting started?  Why should I pick the old guy, the damaged goods, the skeletons in the closet, the lingering questions, when I can take one of a dozen kids right off the rack and not have to deal with his issues?  This is not a society that prizes age and life experience.  It’s all about youth, personal aggressiveness, being as successful as quickly as you can, and forgoing your private life for the sake of the company.  The earlier you’re willing to sell out, the better.  I’m not stupid, I know how America works. 

Life, however, dictates that I not just roll over, not if I eventually want something better for myself.  For a couple of reasons, I’m surprised I’m still alive, mostly because I believe I was well overdue for a heart attack.  I was working a crappy job, bloated, and literally waiting to die, flat on my back on the couch, and I knew in my heart I could do better, despite all the mistakes I’ve made, despite how much time had passed and how many opportunities I had squandered, despite knowing a guy like me is not rewarded for being a guy like me.  My lovely bride will be on Social Security in just a few more years, am I really going to be able to afford her retiring on $11 an hour, remaining on this level of employment?  That’s a dangerous aspect of apathy, the complete lack of foresight.  Time is no longer on my side, which was the thought in my head on my last birthday, the thought that, holy shit, I’m 42, is THIS all there is to my life, being fat and tired and underemployed and a victim of circumstances, present and future? 

Losing weight is only the first step, and a very necessary step.  Knowing I can’t do anything about my age and my long list of mistakes, I can’t let my appearance be a deciding factor for an employer to consider.  It’s bad enough to be seen as the old fart sitting amid a sea of fresh-faced applicants, but to be seen as old AND obese is a double whammy I don’t think I can overcome.  I still brim with the confidence that I’m often the smartest cat in the room in terms of general book smarts, but how much does it matter when those smarts are buried under 150 pounds of blubber and hidden under wrinkles and sagging jowls? 

I know it’s only going to take one employer who’s willing to take a chance on me, one daring soul unafraid to step out of the tightwad corporate box and see me as seasoned instead of old, to change my fortunes.  It may take the posting of a thousand resumes, it may mean spending every day off in interviews.  The thinking is, with the fat off my body, I’m giving that rogue employer one less reason to say no, and just maybe, with a worthwhile story to tell, he just might see my weight loss as a sign of accomplishment, being able to stick with a difficult task, hence a personal strength the snot-nosed kids competing for the same job most likely don’t have, or at least haven’t gained in the same way.  Struggling with weight is a very common dilemma, it makes for an instant connection when you’re introducing yourself to someone.  It just takes one bold employer who sees it this way, who sees my weight loss as something to be praised and not just me finally getting off my ass and joining the real world, who sees my age as a fountain of experience and wisdom and “old school” ethics and not a hindrance or red flag, for me to pick myself out of this occupational funk once and for all. 

To consider myself a “late bloomer” would not be such a bad thing at all, so long as I bloom.  What good, though, is it to bloom, and never get the chance to be seen?  Isn’t that the whole point in blooming in the first place?  I don’t consider that narcissism at all, to be respected for your talents and given the opportunity to put them to use; I see such a desire as, as Martin Luther King put it, the “drum major instinct”, an inherent desire in all of us to be recognized for our singular greatness.  Perhaps it is indeed narcissism to want to be recognized for material things like beauty and wealth, but to live your life quietly, as most of us will, not making a huge dent in history, but living justly, loving your family, being generous in spirit, that little something in you that cries out for an occasional pat on the back for simply doing the right thing, that’s not narcissism.  That’s humanity seeking out humanity.   

Or, to abridge Alice Walker’s The Color Purple, Shug tells Celie, “I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.  People think pleasing God is all God care about. But any fool living in the world can see [God] always trying to please us back.  [God] always making little surprises and springing them on us when us least expect.  Everything want to be loved.” 

That’s pretty much what it feels like to be aging, obese, destitute, and scared of the future.  I don’t want to die without giving life one more good hard push.  While I can’t take years off my body, I can take off the pounds.  I can shed the apathy.  I can transform.  I have to, or else I will die in the field, unnoticed. 

 

Tip #9:  Surround yourself with supportive people.  The first thing they tell you when you go to Alcoholics Anonymous is to separate yourself from your previous life, discard the things that led you to your addictions, and though it may be painful, push yourself away from the people that brought you down, that encouraged your bad behavior, that killed your self-esteem, that will only bring you back down to rock bottom.  In my humble opinion, obesity is just as horrid an affliction as alcoholism and drug addiction, and the same methodology should be used to cure it.  People don’t sit down with their buddies and consciously decide to eat themselves to death.  There’s a certain psychology that develops in a person, and obesity is a symptom of that psychology.  Getting rid of so-called friends who are miserable themselves and can only feel good when they hold you down at their level is essential in overcoming something as tough as obesity.  The people around you must understand that you loathe who you were, you’re changing, and if they’re your true friends, they’ll appreciate what you’re trying to do and give you a hand, even if that help comes in stepping back and giving you room.  I’m not saying to wall yourself off from the negativity of the world, there’s no way to live a full life and not have to deal with the occasional asshole; but when you come home, when you meet your buddies for a beer after work, when you take your girlfriend out, you shouldn’t have people you love and trust put things in your head that bring your spirits down, that erode your self-worth, that start making you doubt yourself and want to quit.  Those are the people to kick to the curb, at least emotionally if not physically.    

Alive once again!

Size Matters

Yes, you can work out to country.  This song always pumps me up:

The primary sign of weight loss is number of pounds, that’s the first thing you think of, the first thing always asked, how many pounds have you lost?  This was a tough week in terms of the scale, actually gaining a pound, despite pursuing the same regimen I have for months, maybe working just a little harder at the gym.  Not every weekly weigh-in is golden, and thankfully I haven’t had many weeks like this last one.  The disappointment on the scale, however, subsides when I remember that number fluctuates on a daily basis, even an hourly basis, and that there are other barometers for success, perhaps even better barometers than body weight. 

This time around, when I think about my weigh-in on Monday, the disappointment I felt is quickly dissipated as I remember Saturday.  I wear dress pants when we cater a party at the Rustic Café, the old 44-inch pants I saved for years in case I ever lost the weight and could wear them again.  Even they are now too big for me, so I have to wear a belt.  Fastening it, I was surprised it was at the tightest hole, and while it was snug around my midsection, it wasn’t so tight as to be uncomfortable.  I functioned well, and except for my clothes being baggy on me (I refuse to buy nice clothes until all the weight is off, no point in buying clothes that will be too big (knock on wood) in just a couple months’ time), they looked pretty good.  Curious, when I came home, I measured the belt; I was wearing it at forty inches.  

That’s TWELVE INCHES DOWN from the 52-inch pants I wore back in the day, the ones tacked on my wall as a souvenir and a reminder.  

And there’s more to come.  With just a little over forty pounds left till I hit my target of 185, I believe I can lose up to four more inches, and I can do it by Christmas time; hence, if I’m on your shopping list, wouldn’t it be cool to buy old Russell some nice 36-inch slacks?  None of that, of course, includes introducing a more intense exercise element into the picture, that’s just the cardio bike and a ton of crunches.  My inseam is 34 inches and has been since high school, my waist has been larger for almost all of that time, I’d love to be wearing 34 x 34 Levis in the not-too-distant future, nice and tight around my tush, not the chronically baggy stuff I used to wear to disguise my obesity or I wear now to accentuate my more slender self (and as I said, because I’m not buying clothes now that will just be too big (knock on wood) all too soon), but something that will actually form to my body, not just hide it. 

Your waist is not the only part of your body professional weight loss centers measure.  When I went to Form-You-3 in the early 90’s, they measured my neck, shoulders, chest, wrists, thighs, ankles, and more that I can’t remember.  I lost fifty pounds in just a few months in 1993, and they’d tell me I had lost at least that many inches, which didn’t make a lot of sense.  To me, the only measurement that mattered was my waist, and I believe I might have lost five or six inches back then; mind you, I was going from about 240 pounds down to 185, so I didn’t have the humungous belly to lose that I had this time around, starting off almost a hundred pounds heavier.  Were we to have tried the same these days, I have no doubt I would have lost major inches around my chest and thighs and quite a few everywhere else. 

I don’t regret not having a lot of documentation from when I started this, there are a few pictures of me when I was rotund, floating in the ether, but no photos of me on Day One, and certainly no elaborate measurements.  While I had it in my head THIS was going to be my last best chance to lose the weight, and while I hoped to still be at it five months on, I didn’t think too far into the future, being more focused on getting into a routine and making it stick for a few weeks.  It’s not the biggest deal, I don’t lose any sleep for not having a ton of “before” pictures or preliminary measurements, but it’s sure nice to see a photo from when I was fat and gross, and to know, at least for a day, I’m not that person anymore. 

There are people in this world who have come to terms with their weight problem, they’ve accepted it as part of who they are, and they live active, productive, and even happy lives.  Good for them.  I was never one of those people.  Obesity brought with it laziness, apathy, and a death to self-esteem, attributes no employer looks for, no lover wants to touch, and no friend wants to deal with.  In dealing with the fat itself, I hope I’m changing the rest about me, and in time, whatever memories people have of me lazing on the couch, dying a very slow suicide, willing to let everything slide, will fade. 

Size does matter.  

As a dear friend I’ll be writing about in due time said not too long ago, concerning the music industry, image matters.  It’s a crying shame, it means talent often must take a back seat to sexuality, and hard work isn’t as rewarded as is a hot smile and an even hotter ass.  The likes of Aretha Franklin, Cass Elliott, and Janis Joplin wouldn’t get past the mass auditions of American Idol.  This is an incredibly materialistic country, steeped in vanity.  As Andre Agassi used to say when he was pimping cameras fifteen years ago, image is everything, and there are incredibly few people who can package themselves as potentially successful while actually obese.  I already have one strike against me, being in my forties, but all other things being equal, if I’m competing for a decent job with some kid straight out of college, the job will be given to the one that simply looks more professional, more healthy, more sellable.  That’s a hard fact to face, knowing I have a good degree from a decent school, graduated magna cum laude, and I’m flipping burgers to keep the bills paid.  Yes, this is a bad economy that’s getting worse, but there’s only so much I can blame on politicians and capitalism.  I’m simply not going to get where I want to be if I’m 150 pounds overweight, not in anAmerica where a glimmering smile can get your further than can a pure heart. 

And a slender waist is more desirable than a tender soul.  That’s theAmericawe live in, and it’s taken me 42 years to wrap my head around it and start doing something about it.  

Size does matter, and I don’t ever want my grandson Charlie to remember me at 340 pounds.  It matters a great deal to me that he doesn’t know the Grandpa from before, the one who couldn’t keep himself awake, the one who always settled, the one who couldn’t play too much with him for fear of getting worn out or crushing him.  I want him to know me as an energetic playmate, a sharp-witted sage, and a loving role model, and whether or not I’m ever successful in my career, whether or not we ever pull ourselves out of this poverty-driven morass we’re in, I want him to know me as someone who didn’t give up, who at least tried to better himself, who saw the writing on the wall and made the desperate change before it was too late.  He just turned two, he’s not going to remember the Grandpa in the pictures with the huge stomach and the grotesquely chubby face, so long as I keep doing this, make my current and more healthy lifestyle a permanent fix, and act like “Russell pre-2011” is a stranger and no longer relevant.  I look at pictures of me and him from last year, and it now embarrasses me to have been so large.  No doubt he loved me then, no doubt he loves me now, but I’m pretty sure he enjoys me much more now, now that I can walk down the street with him without getting winded, now that I can take him swimming without feeling ghastly ashamed of being seen in a bathing suit, now that I can play with him and not be the first to crash for a nap.  

I’ll get to 185, maybe by Thanksgiving, maybe later, but if I stall from time to time, the fact that I’ve lost a foot off my waist keeps me encouraged, even if what it says on the scale is negative.  As long as I keep doing what I’m doing, I’ll get there.  I wish the size of one’s heart were what ultimately matters in this corrupt world, but it isn’t, and I hope to eventually have a body worthy of the housing of such a heart. 

Tip #8:  Don’t have a full meal after sundown.  Your body simply will not be able to digest a big meal in the time between eating it and going to bed if you wait too long; much of it will go undigested, and some will quickly be stored as fat.  In this hectic world, it’s sometimes tough to have meals timed perfectly, and if you have a family moving in several directions at once, it’s often impossible at times to get everyone at the dinner table at a reasonable hour.  If you must eat late, eat small and light, or better, drink a large glass of water to fill your stomach and kill your appetite.  

Alive Once Again!

Working for the Weak-end

Offering an underrated disco classic for tonight’s musical number: 

Jackie’s a great girl, I enjoy working and chatting with her at the old Rustic Café, she’s pretty and petite and hard-working and motivated, it’s just great hanging out with her.  Monday morning, however, she brought me to my knees, not once, but twice.  See, I’m getting just a little cocky about having lost 110 pounds.  There’s Jackie over there, playing on her iPhone, so I asked her to jump on my back; seeing as how I’ve lost almost exactly as much as she weighs, I thought it would be fun to feel what it was like to have that weight on me again, you know, sort of remind me what it was like to weigh 337 again (my 227 plus her 110).  Anyway, I braced myself for her to jump on me, or so I thought I was braced, because the second she got on, I instantly got pulled down and fell on my butt.  Thinking it was an aberration, we tried it again, me getting much lower so she could climb on more easily, but for the life of me, I just could not lift her even a little.  I felt the strain in my back and hips and thighs, and I realized it wasn’t because she was heavy or because I didn’t have the leverage to lift her. 

I’ve gone weak, and I’m trying to wrap my head around it.  I’ve come up with two reasons why this has happened: 

1. I’ve drastically cut my eating in all facets, including carbs (for energy) and protein (for muscle development).
2. I’ve foregone classic weight training for the sake of faster weight loss, focusing almost exclusively on cardio and sit-ups and little else. 

For the first point, it’s to be expected.  I’m a lot more active, and I eat a whole lot less.  Debby tells me this is normal for someone who is cutting out processed carbohydrates (one of the side effects of the Atkins Diet), to have a drop in energy.  The flipside of that is, compared to six months ago, I’m a lot more active, I walk to work every day, I work out five times a week, I play with my grandson (including walks and swimming a couple of times a week), so what carbs I do consume (at this point, it’s almost all fruit), I burn them off much more thoroughly than before, not leaving much in the way for surplus, hence not leaving much to turn into fat. 

As for the second point, this was a decision I made when I started at 24 Hour Fitness, to get the fat off of me as fast as possible, setting the weight training aside at first.  Since muscle weighs more than fat, and since my primary goal for now is to get rid of the sheer tonnage I’ve been carrying, it just seemed to make sense to do a lot of cardio, work on shedding my bloated gut, and that’s about it.  As long as you can keep your heart rate up and can work up a good sweat, the pounds will melt off.  So far, that much has worked much better than I had anticipated.  However, in devoting virtually all my workout time on fat burning and none on body building, I’ve gained little lean muscle mass (maybe in my thighs from all the bike work, but that may be it), not wanting it to count against me when I step on the scale. 

As a result, the petite Jackie is now too heavy for me to lift.  On one hand, it’s funny as anything, me being too weak to lift someone so small, someone I could have easily picked up and tossed around in the past; but it’s also a red flag, a sign that what I’m doing to lose weight isn’t flawless. 

Of course, at some point, I’ll resume a semi-normal diet, and I’ll hit the weights.  The thinking all along has been the boot camp mentality, to break myself down and then build myself back up.  Keeping that in mind, I’ve done a spectacular job.  I’m broken down.  I have just enough energy these days for walking and work and exercise and occasionally playing with my grandson, but that’s about it.  That’s not enough if I follow through with getting a second job part-time, or take a class or two to push me along for teacher certification, or start playing basketball a couple of nights a week.  This isn’t about losing weight just for its own sake, and it’s only in part about looking and feeling healthier.  It’s about living a full life, the sort of life many other people live and take for granted, one where I can juggle a job and a family and exercise and all the other things I want to do.  I certainly could not do it weighing almost 340 pounds, I definitely could not do it dead from a heart attack, but I’m finding it’s not a whole lot easier weighing 227 and having no energy or strength to spare. 

I’ve long put off the weights, having originally planned to start them a while back.  I’d say, I’ll start at the start of the month, or I’ll start when I weigh in at this given amount.  I’ve put it off, largely because the weight is indeed still coming off, and there’s no reason to fix something that isn’t broken, partly assuming that, when I do plateau, if I’m still doing just a simple diet and exercise regimen, I’ll have plenty more elements to add as needed.  Were I busting my ass as hard as humanly possible right now, were I pulling out every trick in the book, I’d be out of ideas when I finally plateau, and I’d be dead in the water.  I know I can diet more efficiently, I know I can work out more thoroughly, and there’s plenty of ideas in the bag I haven’t yet put to use.  If I can save them until they’re truly needed, or better, until I’ve hit my goal weight and start stabilizing, so much the better. 

While I have a plethora of good reasons for losing weight, one of the minor reasons is ego, and yes, it feels great to tell people I’ve lost so much weight, it wows them.  My ego had been inflated a bit over my recent successes, but it lost some air the other day.  It’s okay, it’s just a wake-up call for me to shift gears and do what I probably should have been doing all along, eating a little more efficiently and hitting the weights.  I probably should be doing it soon, I plan on doing the same thing when I’ve lost over 150 pounds.  It’s pretty wimpy for me to crumple to the floor when someone as small as Jackie jumps on my back, can you imagine what will happen when I try it, I’m smaller than I am now, and someone forty pounds heavier than her jumps on me?  Absolutely no offense to anyone who dares to jump on me on that day, but you’re going to squash me like a bug if I don’t take strength conditioning as serious as I’ve taken weight loss. 

Tip #7:  Know the heart rate needed for fat burning, and keep it there.  There’s usually a small chart on every cardio bike or treadmill of StairMaster that tells you what your heart rate should be when you work out.  By knowing what that rate is, and by keeping your heart beating that many times a minute for an extended period of time, you can burn your fat efficiently and consistently.  In my case, being 42, the chart says to maintain a rate of 115 beats per minute.  By all means, don’t work out so long or so hard that you drop from exhaustion, a workout is no good if it kills you, but if you start with, say, twenty minutes every time, keeping your heart rate up for almost the entire time, you’ll get that good hard sweat, and you’ll burn a bit of fat.  Once you get comfortable with twenty minutes, move up to thirty, then forty.  Once you can get yourself up to forty-five minutes to an hour, with your heart rate staying up the whole time, the pounds will REALLY start melting off.  What’s better, because you’re doing cardio instead of weights, you’ll be losing the fat from all over your body, as opposed to burning it just in a concentrated area.  On top of everything else, you’ll be strengthening your heart, pushing your blood through you faster, pumping the cholesterol out of your arteries, making your breathing more efficient, and cutting your risk for heart disease and stroke.  These days, I try to do an hour of cardio, keeping my heart rate around 125 beats per minute, and while I’ll cut back to a more humane level soon enough, I have to admit, it’s working pretty well as it is. 

Alive once again!