Tag Archives: health

Slimmer Fit

Dedication. Commitment. Focus. Effort. These are all things I need to focus on, and not just to reach the finish line at a Tough Mudder event. I’m getting married next year, and the qualities listed above are four out of hundreds of things I need to work on in order to be a better partner for my wife-to-be.

Getting in shape and becoming healthy are also on my list, and not just because I want to look good in wedding pictures (I’ll admit, it’s a nice bonus). By taking steps toward a healthier me now, I could be adding years onto my life. My dad died at 51, his dad at 59. I’m 27, and I don’t feel like my life’s halfway over. I want to give as many years as I can to my future wife and, hopefully, my future kids; the best way to do that is to start now.

Full Measure

In efforts to change things up a bit, I’m going to be part of a training group from October 1st until December 21st. The idea is to increase accountability in order to accomplish short-term goals. Pretty nifty. I won’t write about anyone else’s progress–it’s a secret group of sorts, and I don’t want to put anyone else’s personal information out in public–but I’ll update you on what progress I make.

Part of the group ‘requires’ that we take our measurements. Because I’m a guy, two thoughts instantly came to mind:

1.) I’ll just measure my waist.
2.) Wait, I shouldn’t have to measure my waist–my pant size will tell me everything I need to know!

I still stand by the first bit (because fuck it, that’s why) but the second bit didn’t hold up for very long. The reason I thought it should be simple is because men’s pants are supposedly sized very simply (waist circumference x inseam). I noticed, however, that although all of my pants are listed the same size, each pair fits differently. So I broke down, got a measuring tape, and took my waist measurement. The result was more than a bit shocking.

My waist measured 52 inches. Fifty fucking two. I checked, and double-checked, and read to make sure I measured using the correct method. Yep, I did. That’s no good, but it wasn’t the worst part. My pants? Totally a size 42. That’s a difference of ten inches, for the mathematically impaired. Goddammit.

Lots of shit needs to change, and there’s plenty to rant about. For now, though, I’m just focusing on the work. Mud on, Mudder Lovers.

They Look Like Comfortable Shoes

Today was a victory. I feel this way, even though I had to work on my off day.

Last night, I had trouble sleeping. So I wrote a letter to my love while Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead was playing in the background. I’ve seen it before, and wanted to watch something to give me a kick in the ass. Mission accomplished.

I woke up this morning and had a green juice–meant to have some coffee too, but was running late so I just had a few sips. On my lunch break at work, I went to try on some cross trainers. I ended up having a carrot/orange juice blend and another sip or few of coffee due to time constraints. After leaving work, I went to buy the shoes and grabbed a five fruit frenzy from Jamba Juice. Tasty stuff.

I drank my smoothie on the patio at Pazzo’s (a pizza pub) without sipping a beer or taking a bite of anyone’s food. After sitting with my friends for a few minutes, I had the strangest itch–

I wanted to run.

I rushed home, changed into my workout gear and new shoes, and took off. Sure, I wasn’t the fastest, but I worked my ass off. Hills, grass, gravel, concrete, I tried it all. Nobody pushing me, nobody coaching me,just me. Little Voice wanted to go home. And he got his wish…after an hour of the hardest work I’ve done so far.

Surprisingly, I felt great when I got home, despite running without having really eaten all day. I did put some food in my belly, as well as some green goodness and a few sips of chia gel. I feel great at the moment, and I’m sure that I’ll sleep like a baby tonight.

This healthy shit isn’t so bad.

Training Like a ’70s Champ

The structure is dead. Long live the structure.

For anyone who hopes to do a Tough Mudder, this video is required watching.

That’s pretty goddamned impressive. It has everything you’d want (or at least, that I’d want) in a training video: badass music, mustache, green smoothie, ridiculous feats of strength and stability, perseverance, and more mustache. It’s the video that made me decide to work toward completing a Tough Mudder challenge. Maybe it will do the same for you. Or maybe you’ll just keep watching it over and over, wondering how the hell he does some of the things he does. Either way, I hope you find some use for it.

Workout Buddies, or Assisted Suicide for Dummies

I nearly committed assisted suicide today, and by that I mean I went to the gym with my personal Kevorkian friend Travis.

A bit of background on Travis: I’ve known him since we became friends in college. We introduced ourselves after a hilarious misunderstanding–somehow, an inquiry as to whether I’d purchased a pet was misheard as an inquiry as to whether I’d had sex on a couch in the lobby of our dorm.

Travis isn’t and has never really been a big guy, but over the past two years or so he’s reduced his body fat and increased his muscle. He’s also studying to be an oral surgeon, which requires a hell of a lot of studying of anatomy, which in turn means that he knows the 768 jillion or so micro-parts of your body that move when you’re doing the barbell bench press. Valuable knowledge when you’re aiming to alter your body composition.

We had a chance meetup (at a liquor store) today, and decided that we’d go to the gym together. I usually go to the gym alone or with other friends, and I had never worked out with Travis before, so I was excited. This will be cool, I thought, we’ll go in, do some cardio, and be done after a little sweat.

Dead. Fucking. Wrong.

After thirty minutes of somewhat brisk cardio, we made our way over to the track. I thought that we were going to do some laps walking to cool down, then peace out. Fuck no. Instead, we did some interval training. Walk, jog, walk, jog and try not to die, walk, jog and then jog this lap harder so I don’t have to jog another lap oh my god how am I breathing.

If I were a stupid fuck, I’d say Travis was trying to kill me. But I’m smarter than that, and I know that Travis was pushing me to become better (a side effect being that he nearly killed me). I did laps today that, had Travis not been there to say “no, you can do this, I would never have thought about walking them, let alone jogging them (sometimes at a slightly quicker pace). And I’m thankful for it, because as a beginner I don’t always have that confidence inside me when I go to the gym alone. As a result, I sometimes do a little more than the bare minimum and get out. There might be more of those days ahead, but they won’t come soon, thanks to the motivational kick in the ass I got today.

Thank you, Travis–you physically fit, semi-slave driving, Belgian White Woodchuck-buying trainer-and-prick-in-residence.

Thick Skin for Scales

Because the workplace challenge I’m competing in requires that I weigh in every week, and because shit has come up in the last month (flu, injury, etc) that keeps from getting to weigh in at the same time on the same day of the week, I broke down and bought a scale. Goddammit.

I bought the cheapest one I could find, which turned to be a bad decision. It’s not digital (those were kind of expensive). It has the old school rotating dial. There wouldn’t be a problem, except this scale I bought is weighing me in at FIFTEEN POUNDS HEAVIER than the scale at the gym. What the hell? Every other scale has been within five pounds, give or take, of what the gym reads. Yeah, that’s a decent bit of variation, but five pounds I can live with. But yet, this scale–which I know is set to zero when I get on–has me in at heavier than when I started. Not good for the ego, let me tell you.

I’m trying not to let it bother me, but I feel that I’m going to have to re-calibrate my home scale in order to keep better track of my weight. I think I’ll go to the gym, make sure the scale there is zeroed out, then weigh myself. I’ll take that number, then come back home and weigh myself on the stupid shitty “Mike is a cheap bastard” scale I bought, calculate the difference, then just re-calibrate my scale based on the math.

This kind of shit is why I hate weighing myself, and why I sought to accomplish a goal–i.e., run a Tough Mudder–rather than hit a magic number. Fuck a scale. Fuck a number. Fuck your number if you have one. It’s not about the digits. How do you feel? If your number was 180, would you really let 181 mess with your mind? I wouldn’t. I’d take a massive piss later and call it even.

/rant

Your goal will seem distorted until you get closer to it. Bust ass, work hard, and keep at it.

Flu Daze

Last week, I had a bit of a sore throat. Yesterday, I came down with the flu. I sit at a desk all day, and work was a chore. I kept waiting for 11pm to come so I could go home and kill someone get some rest.

Obviously, this will affect training. I don’t feel well enough to move around the house, much less go run a mile or more. On the positive side, my caloric intake for the last couple of days has been a net loss, and with all the putrid barfing unfortunate sickness, that trend will probably continue throughout today.

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The vitamins that will help get me through this crisis.

I am trying my best to stay hydrated, if for no other reason than make sure I have something on my stomach. Dry heaving is the suck. I may venture into the world of actually eating something shortly. At some point today, I would like to make a training program for myself so I’ll be busting ass every day. The April 2013 Tough Mudder is closer than it seems on the calendar, and I have a lot of work to do to get ready for it.

Feel good, Mudder Lovers.