Flashback Friday (aka: Forehead foreskin due to a lack of forethought)

Flashback Friday will not be a weekly thing, but this story has been sitting in my brain for a good bit, and needed to come out. This is one of my favorite, and least favorite stories... 

My journey has not been a short one. It has not been a successful one. I guess the word “success” is somewhat nebulous. I have learned a lot about myself over the past 20 years. Maybe that’s a “success”. I have learned to come to terms with the role weight SHOULD play in my self-worth. I don’t feel that this is a win though. I have a goal, and I have not achieved that goal. That is a failure. The journey to reclaiming your physical identity is easy to misinterpret. The goals and measures of progress are mostly quantified by physical stats. Weight, body fat %, visibility of abs, clothing sizes. What tends to get lost is the mental growth… learning to reassess how you judge your value, the self confidence that comes with physical ability, learning to set healthy habits, and learning just how strong you can really be. During a 20 year series of failures, my mental fortitude is what has been tested the most.

This story I am about to tell you, is about my mental journey. This is probably the day I learned the most about myself. One event… no… wait… “incident” may be a better word.. One incident that taught me so much about myself. What I like, and what I don’t like. (I am going to change the names of those involved because I don’t have their permission to tell this story… I asked if I could, and they asked that I not use their name.

It was an unusually warm spring that year. I remember this because my gym at the time had a faulty central air system. I guess if we use the loosest definition of the term “worked”, the air system “worked”. However, considering the row of giant floor to ceiling windows that lined the west and south sides of the gym, and the excessive numbers of tank top clad bodybuilders that frequented this gym, the outdated air system bolted to the two story high ceiling didn’t even put a dent in the stagnant air. I attended this gym during one of my periods of personal training. I was a bit green about how to select a trainer, and I had chosen him based on physical appearance alone. Almost as if I said “I want to look like you look… where  do I sign  up”. I knew pretty early in the process that I had chosen poorly, but had developed a bit of a friendship with him, and my workouts became chat sessions most of the time.

It was one of those especially hot days that our incident occurred. The cause of this incident can be attributed to the fact that I am a walking calamity. I am not ungraceful or unathletic, I am unlucky. I have a tendency to leave a trail of unintended hilarity in my wake. Of course I play this up a bit, because I am always looking for a laugh. But I am not going to pretend that I am not riddled with unintendedly hilarious yet awkward experiences. My entire life can be summed up by my love of a good story to tell. In order to have good stories, you have to knowingly allow a certain level of idiocy to befall you, and you need to be willing to tell stories that paint you in a somewhat unflattering light. You have to be able to roll with things, and let go of control a bit.

I could feel my trainer knew he was losing hold on me as a client. With the warm weather came an increased level of commitment from him.. we will call him “Tommy” (this is not his name because he asked me not to use his name). Also, with the warm weather, I had increased my commitment to my health as well. Of course my increased commitment was born from the fact that beach season was coming… I had to have my bikini body in line. Tommy’s method of training himself, as well as his method of training me, lead to what would become a life and sexuality defining moment.

5-4-3-3-3-2-1… He had a habit of this. As he counted down my repetitions, he would watch me.. and if he felt I had some gas in the tank, he would repeat a number over and over. He really wanted to get every rep he could from me, because he knew that on days I worked out alone I would shave a rep or two off my goal. This system always ensured that I got every ounce of energy out. It also left me prone to needing help. My muscles would work to exhaustion, and I would need help finishing my last rep. I cant count the number of times I would be in the middle of a set, and I would need help reracking the weight. We had a few minor issues… I dropped a weight on top of his water bottle once, and it exploded water everywhere. I also had one incident where my last box jump ended with me not clearing the lip of the box and I tumbled over the box and landed on my head on the other side. This was made particularly humiliating because it was right in front of a group of women who had just exited an exercise class, and when I landed, my shirt got pulled up over my head. See, this is the type of stuff I love. Even as I laid upside down with my shirt over my head and half my ass probably showing (fat guys know that a sudden fall always ends with ass crack showing), right in front of a group of legging wearing foxes, I wasn’t embarrassed because I knew it was funny.

The following incident that I am about to describe was not met with the same sense of whimsy. I debated telling you this story because it left me changed in a very real and very permanent way. Self-actualization is not a journey that should be traveled unguided. Sometimes you get answers to questions you never felt a need to ask. Sometimes you don’t ask these questions because you don’t want to know the answer, or are scared what the answer will be. I can still feel the sweat pouring off me. My trainer and I were doing an endurance day. We were going for max reps on every workout, with very little rest in between. By the time we got to the final workout of the day, he had saved my favorite exercise for last. The bench press. Its such a meathead guy exercise. He saved it for last as a dangled carrot of sorts. If I just got through all of the work outs I didn’t enjoy, my reward was a session of my favorite exercise. But, by the time I began to pound out my reps on the bench, I was already pretty fatigued from a long day of hard working out. It had to be 90 degrees in the gym, and I had already worked most of my body to failure. Deadlifts, squats, upright rows, push ups, strict press… I was gassed.

The goal for my workout was 3 sets of 20 reps at 75% of max weight. We picked a weight that I can easily do. A weight I had done a million times. The goal was to completely fatigue the muscles. Set one was completed without a hitch. 20 perfect, slow, methodical reps. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. I sat up triumphant. Like a god damn king. Like a typical idiot guy, I sat at the end of the bench sort of dramatically stretching my arm across my chest as to announce to the gym “Look how amazing I am and how hard I am working… LADIES… LADIES.. IM OVER HERE”.

Set two wasn’t as easy. I really had to dig deep. My last few reps felt as though they required energy from every inch of my oversized body. God, its been so long since this happened, but I can still remember looking up at my trainer for approval as I reracked the weights, and seeing his dumb fucking smug potato faced grin looking back at me. He was not impressed. I could feel his mocking tones. Anyone who knows me, knows exactly how much I hate this. I shot up like lightening, and spun to look at him. That son of a bitch looked back at me and smirked a disapproving smirk that shot fire down my spine. The next words out of his mouth almost ended our relationship. He had the audacity to suggest we just call it a day and go schedule our next appointment. Now, here is a good life lesson… I am a firm believer that the first rule in public speaking is the same as the first rule in life… “Know your audience”. In other words, “KNOW WHO THE FUCK YOU ARE TALKING TO”. There was no way I was going to allow this fucking meat head to judge me. Me? I had done this weight a million times.

I took my 90 second rest, and I laid down for set number 3. I couldn’t allow this steroid using, shriveled testicle having, bag of shit to mock me. I had to win. I had to win this contest that only I knew we were having. 1-2-3-4.. I was counting out the reps quickly as I flew through my set. My muscles felt hollow. There was almost nothing left. I was pounding these reps out with sheer will. Tommy’s attention started to wane as he looked around the gym for a woman to assault with his glances. 5-6…..-7…… my body was fading and I was laboring through every re-….. .oh fuck… MY BODY IS COMPLETELY OUT OF GAS… ¾ of the way through a rep, it happened… my body gave up. I felt the bar start racing for my throat, and my arms had nothing left to try and stop the free fall. Tommy snapped to attention and dove out to rescue me. I had done this weight a million times.

It took a perfect storm. Had I not entered into an ill-advised and marginally provoked pissing match with my trainer, this wouldn’t have happened. Had Tommy not been scouring the room for beautiful women to make uncomfortable, this wouldn’t have happened. If Tommy wasn’t sore from his workout that morning, this wouldn’t have happened. Had we not been fatigued from the fact it was 90 degrees in the gym, it wouldn’t have happened. But all of these factors did happen, so the incident happened. As Tommy dove out and grabbed the bar to help me rerack the weight, his momentum carried him out over my body. He lost his footing a bit, and his forward momentum coupled with my inability to be of any help, caused the weight of the bar to pull Tommy down and out over the top of me. Tommy’s body landed smack dab on top of me…. And then… then we experienced “the incident”… the single act that forever defined our relationship. Tommy’s crotch landed, with a whip like thud, right on top of my forehead. The combination of the thin material that comprised his gym shorts, and my lack of hair, contributed to the thoroughness and detail I was able to use in studying the shape and size of his penis with my scalp. I felt dong. Lots of dong. Trainer dong. My trainers dong. I felt it with my forehead. And with great detail. If his penis committed a crime, I could use my forehead to spot his penis in a line up. Unbeknownst to me, this was the calm before the storm. Tommy had realized the issue as well, and instinctively tried to remedy the situation. The only problem is, having not spent much of his life straddling a dudes head while holding a barbell, his footing was not as sure as he hoped… and his exit strategy was untested and therefore unpredictable. As he tried to dismount, he actually ended up falling off to the side of me, but without being able to create clearance. Yes, his penis drew a detailed map from my right temple, to the left side of my chin. His testicles bouncing along behind, just happy to be along for the ride. While his penis took a tried and true path from point A to point B, his giddy shrunken testicles decided to study the contours of my face with bouncing giddy glee.

As Tommy tumbled to the ground, the reality of what just happened, simultaneously absorbed deep into both of our souls. He stood up and helped get the barbell off me, and then we just stared at each other. Neither of us spoke. I mean, what was left to say. What words could I hear over the chanting chorus of “you had his dong on your cheek” that was screaming in my head. We stared at each other for what felt like an hour, without seeing each other for a second. Neither of us could climb outside of our own minds. We never spoke about this again, until yesterday when I asked him if I could tell this story. I doubt either of us will ever speak about it again. This was the day in which I set out to test my body, but ended up confirming my sexuality. I have had enough dong on my head to confirm that this is not my preference. Everyone should seek to confirm their sexual identity… although there are probably better ways to do it.

OrangeTheory... are you any relation to Clockwork Orange, or Agent Orange?

I am not shy. If you gathered 100 people in a room who knew me, and had them list out 100 words to describe me… the word shy would never be mentioned.

That first sentence needed to be specifically mentioned before I start this post. In order to accurately craft a mental image of an oversized man breathing heavily, gasping for breath, resting his hands on his knees, and sweating profusely, and that was before I ever stepped foot in the lobby, this post has to be juxtaposed against who I usually am.

All people have comfort zones. And get the fuck out of here with your “all growth happens when you step out of your comfort zone” type canned lingo. Do you know how tired I am of canned lingo. Ugh… Besides, comfort zone is another term for safe space. And comfort zones exist because as we get older, we craft what makes us happy, and create comfort zones as a reflection of what we want and need. We can progress without going outside of our comfort zones. < -- This is the lie that I used in order to keep myself down for 20 years. I allowed myself to stay in my security zone and ignored the fact that nothing in my life was changing for the better. I lied to myself in order to avoid activities I perceived as uncomfortable or upsetting and the information I used to analyze the situation, was born from insecurity and bias.

Over the past month I have befriended one of those cloyingly excellent fitness coaches. She is an over achiever for sure. Young, sculpted, super hero physical abilities, even her boyfriend is a dreamboat fire fighter… fucking of course he is. I found her on Instagram while doing searches for fitness pages that may have tips and recipes, and her videos were amazing. Her athletic ability instantly grabbed my attention. The first video I saw was her doing strict pull-ups, on gymnastics rings, while bent in half at the waist so she could hold a medicine ball at a 90 degree angle out in front of her between her feet. I wont lie, and Brooke I am sorry in advance, but my first thought was “go fuck yourself”. It was absolutely unfair, and born in my self-consciousness, but that was the first thought that went through my mind. But something ate at me. I went back and watched that video 4-5 more times. As the bias and self-defensive walls fell, I realized I was in awe of what she was doing. It was motivating. I watched several of her videos that day, and each one started with “go fuck yourself” and then my disgust with her over-achievement evolved into awe of her achievement. I quickly realized what is so transparent to everyone else, I was being petty and hating someone for being successful at what I always fail at.

I decided to message her that night and just say “Your videos are great, and I find them inspiring”… this comment evolved into a conversation that lasted for a few hours. It was interesting to hear her thoughts on the topic of fitness. She confessed that she felt very similar thoughts to the ones I was expressing. She always felt tiny and weak, and as she went deeper and deeper into the details of her journey, I realized her journey and hang ups were almost the exact same as mine. The difference is, she overcame her perceived faults, and crafted herself into the person she wants to be. The mental hang ups, and self created barriers, are the same regardless of your struggle. It’s a perceived inferiority, that manifests itself into comfort zones of our own design. Walls that are built in order to keep us feeling secure in our own insecurities. Its funny, but the “comfort zones” we build to protect ourselves, are what are causing us to fail to progress in the ways we want. Self fulfilling prophecies. We create comfort zones in order to protect ourselves, and in turn, we create a place for our insecurities to thrive and grow. 

Because the world is so small, it turns out that Brooke just so happens to live in the same city I do. She is actually an OrangeTheory “Head Coach” at the OrangeTheory gym only 5 miles from my house. Not only is she an OrangeTheory head coach, but she was selected by OrangeTheory to be one of only 4 trainers to lead their workouts at the OrangeTheory convention. Of course she was, Jesus. During our discussion, she invited me out to try a class. What a sweet gesture. She was someone who had battled through a journey of her own, to rise to the top of her profession, and she was giving me the gift of showing me how she found her path to fitness. Go fuck yourself, Brooke. You want me to go to do a workout, which is most likely comprised of all of the workouts I am worst at, with someone at the top of the fitness food chain. Thanks, but no. I have already had my RDA of humiliation today. 

I had no intention of taking her up on this invitation. I know I suck at these type of workouts, and I have no interest in being the lovable loser who struggles through your class. I will not be your baby Huey. However, being the colossal coward that I am, I said “absolutely, send me some potential dates and I will make it happen”. This response covered all of my real goals with this invitation. 

-          I acted interested but made no commitment

-          No one ever follows up with “potential dates” in a scenario like this

-          She is probably going to have buyer’s remorse about inviting me out… it’s her time at stake.. she will change her mind

-          On the off chance that she follows through with times, I can ignore her message and then respond that I was busy and didn’t see her message.

I am safe!!!! I don’t have to go look like a fucking idiot, and I save face by pretending I was going to. I win!

Not so fast. Within 20 minutes, she had sent me her schedule, and it wasn’t a list of specific dates and times.. it was a list of the hours she works every week, and an open ended invitation to select any time I could. Fuck. Thwarted. What an amazing gift she was giving me. The gift of commitment to myself. And I have never hated anyone more than I hated her in that moment. She gave me no outs… and this was a scenario where only I had anything to gain. This was something kind she was doing for me, with nothing to gain herself. And she gave me no way out without looking like a coward and a hypocrite. Fuck. 

I finally decided to take her up on her offer and give OrangeTheory a try. OrangeTheory is a group exercise environment designed around controlling your physical output in order to allow for optimal positive impact on our bodies. They fit you with a heart monitor and your name is on a screen in the front of the room. As you push yourself, and pull back in your effort, your screen lights up in different colors to reflect where you are in relation to your optimal output. Your coach will have the class push themselves and cool down at a predetermined rate in order to maximize your calorie output for “up to 36 hours after the workout”.

This takes us back to that beginning paragraph. When I walked through the doors, I instantly started to sweat. I was so nervous that I actually had a physical response. I clammed up, was breathing heavy, and took a knee to compose myself. I also put on my "don't fuck with me face". I was basically unpleasant. I stood in the lobby with Brooke and another trainer from OrangeTheory, and as the other clients started filing in, I got that “first day of school” type insecurity which flowed through my whole body. It felt like I was in a typical "first day of school" nightmare, the only reason I knew I wasnt actually in a nightmare was that I had all my clothes on still. As Brooke started to explain the days workout, I knew I had made a huge mistake in coming. The first words out of her mouth were “today is endurance day”.. Do you have any idea how lucky she is (actually, how lucky I am) that I didn’t just walk out at that point. The class was made up of 12 women, 1 bad ass fitness model type coach, and myself. Fuck this, 1000 times fuck this. Here is the exact workout

§  20 minutes of intervals on the treadmill

·       Powerwalk, run, powerwalk, jog, powerwalk, sprint

§  500 meter row for time (it took me 2:30)

§  3 sets of 12 reps of 3 resistance workouts.

·       Squats with resistance straps with a weight in one hand

·       Bent over dumbbell row

·       Side steps

§  500 meter row for time (it took me 2:30)

§  3 sets of 12 reps of 3 resistance workouts.

·       Elbow to hand alternating planks

·       Squat to step ups

·       Back flies

By the end of this, I was gassed. I will be completely honest, this was everything I dislike about working out. Super endurance laden. Building my cardio vascular endurance is absolutely my least favorite thing. I was out of breath within minutes. I was able to complete the workout as designed, but I was completely out of my element. I know it was ugly. At one point I snorted while breathing heavy as I was flailing and trying to do my step up onto the step bench, and I realized I looked and sounded exactly like a walrus trying to get on to a dock. I felt so out of place, that I withdrew a bit. I was shy, and awkward and nervous… which is in no way in line with my natural demeanor. Holy shit, I must have looked like one of the dudes in Olivia Newton John's  "Physical" video. It created a scenario where I was so out of my comfort zone, that I acted out of character. I want to be clear… this was all on me. 100% a monster of my own design. I noticed how out of character I was acting, and it caused me to survey my surroundings… I think this is a natural response to feeling awkward. We become hyper aware of our surroundings. I quickly realized, I was the only person in the room, who wasn’t smiling. All of the women in class felt as though they genuinely gave a shit about everyone else. The coach never berated anyone who fell off pace, but instead spoke in generalities in order to motivate, without singling anyone out. The stronger athletes absolutely pushed those of us who weren’t as strong. The overall vibe in the room was of comradery. It was us against ourselves, BUT we had the backing and support of everyone else who was there. I think a big barrier for my own progress, is that I get inside my head. I use negative verbiage and create instant feelings of failure before I even begin new programs. I allow past failures, in other regimens, to pollute the well. Having a room full of people who are all working to accomplish the same goal was nice. I shit you not, at one point I heard Brooke loudly exclaim “Get out of your heads, your bodies can do this, do not believe otherwise”, or something along those lines. I think that each of us like to believe our failures and experiences are unique and SOOO much more daunting than everyone else’s. However, I find that there should be solidarity in numbers, because all of our insecurities and barriers are the same. Brooke spoke to each and every person in the rooms insecurities, with one general sweeping statement. This is a sign that all of us are facing a similar struggle. The super hot fit woman on the treadmill next to me is just as much of a barrier to her success as I am to mine. We are all fighting the same mental struggle, just to different degrees. 

I had no idea what OrangeTheory was when I arrived. I thought it might be a frozen yogurt place at first.  I didnt know what a "splat point" was, and just assumed it had something to do with frozen yogurt toppings. But after trying it, I am sold on the benefits of this style of workout. I feel that I was able to get out of my own way, and push myself harder than I can on my own. I was expecting to hate the targeted coaching, but I didn't feel attacked, or singled out at any point. This wasn't 8th grade PE. But best of all, my body was completely fatigued at the end of my workout. 

I went in believing that I was set up for failure. I am bad at these types of workouts. I was the only man in the room. I was in the worst shape of anyone there.

But when I reread these statements, they don’t stand up to an ounce of scrutiny:

I am bad at these types of workouts (according to what metric?). I was the only man in the room (which means I was in a room with no danger of a macho pissing match). I was in the worst shape of anyone there (but isn’t a workout exactly the right place to remedy that).

I also feel that the more I do workouts and activities that fall outside my comfort zone, the more I expand my zone of safety. I will never have that feeling of awkwardness and apprehension of first walking into this new workout program, because I never have to make that FIRST walk ever again. Each trip to OrangeTheory, will be done with a touch more confidence. I am a little more familiar with a new and obviously effective workout program. This goes to all aspects of working out. The apprehension of trying new things, has a little bit less of a hold on me. This doesn’t mean that I will embrace group classes, or make this my primary form of working out, but it means I have another option.

It has been 24 hours since my workout, and my legs are shaky, my knees are a bit week… this should be the goal. I felt truly mentally and physically worn out after my workout. I feel I pushed myself as much as I could. Thank you so much to Brooke Rooney (insta @brookerooney) for pushing me to step out of my comfort zone. Actually, she didnt help me step out it... Brooke helped me expand the circumference of my comfort zone to include new things. 

Here are my stats from my workout

1511 CALORIES BURNED 167 avg hr

45 SPLAT POINTS 90% AVG MAX HR

Finding perspective through my teenage girl habits

I found an old bag of skinny clothes. I think this is more something women do, but I have always done this. I keep clothes that I have outgrown, and I buy things that are one size too small in order to use this as motivation to get in shape. Although, because my weight shot up so much over the first 3-4 years of weight gain, my fluctuations aren’t wide enough to allow me to fit back into my skinny clothes. Although my weight goes up and down, the ups are more dramatic than the downs and I'm left with clothes I never was able to fit in again. In this bag I found…

-          Two pairs of baggy fit corduroy pants

-          1 pair of boot cut jeans (I’ve never owned a fucking pair of boots in my life)

-          2 pair of cargo shorts.

-          4 polos. Polos? 4? Fucking polos? Was I planning a date rape? WTF! I don’t remember ever being “polo guy”

-          A Blazers Isaiah Rider tshirt (Isaiah Rider retired in 2001)

-          A pack of Fred Durst inspired white t shirts

It was like finding a timeline of my fatness. I could follow every douche bag guy trend over the last 20 years. 20 fucking years. 20. Its obvious when I quantify this process using that time frame, that I have not been successful at achieving this goal. Hell, one of the pairs of cords had the tag on them, and they were bought at Meier and Frank. Not familiar with Meier and Frank? They are a Northwest department store chain. Well, “were”. They went out of business 12 years ago…. Hahhahaa.. fuck. My fatness outlasted a department store chain. My fatness is like Prometheus… I fight and fight and punish myself, only to wake up the next day and find my fatness has returned.

I had a huge “ah ha” moment 3 months ago that has helped me immensely change how unsuccessful my previous attempts have been. I have always viewed this process in end goals. I have a “finish line” in sight. I should be focused on the day to day steps of the process. I had to make 2 big changes in order to create the good habits that will lead to my weight loss.

1)      Forget about the number.

a.       The number I am speaking about is my exact weight. The number is so daunting. It becomes a living breathing entity. Like a “dark passenger” from that show ‘Dexter’. Although instead of the “dark passenger” being an overwhelming urge to murder people. My “dark passenger” is this stupid fucking  number… this constant reminder of my most unsettling flaw. I had to get this number out of my head.

2)      Forget about the end goal, and concentrate on the day to day procedure.

a.       Instead of dwelling on the final result I want, I need to dwell on the behaviors I need to be doing today. Regardless of anything I do now, I will not be at my goal health when I wake up tomorrow. I cant have a measurable success today as long as my goal is so long term. However, if I concentrate on not eating garbage, and making sure I am physically active, I can achieve that goal every day. Jesus, I feel like a moron typing that. It feels so obvious. But I believe a lot of us have that issue. We create daunting long term goals, which make it easy to lose momentum. Small, quantifiable goals make things easier for me.

I have a tendency to speak in negative terms… and a trainer friend of mine has encouraged me to speak more positive. He said “a decent to good typist can type 100 words per minute. But an active mind can process 1000 unique words per minute. So if you dwell in the negative, that is 1000 negative items that flow through your brain every minute, which can’t help but have an impact on you”. I decided to give this method of thinking a try.

So here are my positive thoughts for yesterday

-          I had 60 minutes of heart healthy physical activity

-          I didn’t get stuck in any doorways

-          I ate my target amount of green vegetables yesterday

-          I actually refrained from eating chili cheese fritos until I shit my pants, this time

-          I had a strawberry and found that refraining from sugar for so long has made healthy food taste better, and more impactful

-          I found huffing paint has the same effect as drinking beer, without all the wasted calories.

-          I wrestled with kids until they were too tired to continue. They tapped out before I did. That never happens

-          I didn’t find any camo clothing, tank tops, Ed Hardy, or hookah shell necklaces in my bag of clothes… so at worst, I am only kind of a piece of shit.. you cant be a complete piece of shit without at least one of these articles of clothing.

Its true. Instead of focusing on the end goal, and concentrating on the daily process, makes the whole ordeal more palatable. Also, thinking in positive terms will help keep your mind focused and motivated.

Unrelentingly Impotent? Unrightfully Malevolent? Indiscriminately Inseminating? Wtf?

My theories on my issues with weight have been pretty clear so far. I am fat… it is my fault. So many people are uncomfortable when they read this. But why? Anyone who knows me knows that I have repetitive stress issues in my shoulder from patting myself on the back so much. I love me more than a healthy amount. I love myself enough to hold myself to a high standard. It does not mean that I dislike myself when I point out my flaws, it means that I am upset I haven’t overcome them. I am upset that I am not meeting my own standards. I love myself enough to believe I am better than this. The “why” in “why are you so hard on yourself”, can best be summed up with how I had been viewing myself in relation to the following breakdown on the four stages of competence..

The four stages of competence can be defined as

Unconscious incompetence

This means that you do not know how to do something, and are unaware of the deficiency

Conscious incompetence

This means that you do not know how to do something, but ARE aware of the deficiency

Conscious competence

This means that you DO know how to do something, but doing the deed takes concentration.. you have to work at something to make it happen.

Unconscious competence

This means that you do not know how to do something, and doing the deed is “second nature”.. you don’t need to think about a task or habit to execute it.

The above classifications have been weighing on me. I feel like diagnoses is the first step to cure, so I have been feeling a need to diagnose myself. I have spent the past 24 hours deciding which category I fall into.

I think the reason I am so hard on myself, is that I have spent the past 20 years thinking I fall into the “Conscious competence”. I know my current lifestyle is unhealthy. I know how to exercise and eat right. I know the process it takes to fix the issue, but the problem is, I am failing at the execution. I RECOGNIZE the issue… I KNOW the steps.. the PROCESS is clear.. I am fully capable of achieving these goals, but I have failed myself by not doing so. I have been knowingly standing in the way of my own success. I can’t blame other people, or misinformation…. I can only blame me for not being willing to take the steps. Letting yourself down should feel bad.

This is how I felt until about an hour ago. After truly looking at my life with a touch of intellectual honestly, I now believe I fall into the “Unconsciously Incompetent” category. FUCK, that’s pretty hard to type. At first, realizing this fact stung… I felt it was basically like saying I am “Stupid with a splash of dumb”. But truthfully, once I started to look into this new classification, I started to have a series of “ah ha moments”. Why did I change my own view of myself? I changed it because there was so much about MYSELF I didn’t know how to fix… or even know was broken. I know the physical steps needed to get in shape… I know how to eat right, and how to exercise, and how to create a lifestyle conducive to weight loss. What I didn’t know was how to apply this information to my real life.

-          I didn’t know that I had less than ¼ the usual testosterone

-          I didn’t know how to motivate myself for long periods of time

-          I didn’t know how to make healthy behaviors become habits

-          I had a stigma I placed on things I arbitrarily labeled as cheating the process (for example: I resisted the keto diet because I felt altering my diet to a temporary and specialized diet was unsustainable. But maybe I should have been worrying about keeping the weight off, after I get the fucking weight off)

-     I didn't know how to overcome my own arbitrary biases 

A big part of any life change is the mental agility it takes to accomplish the goal. It isn’t enough to know how to do the job, it also matters that you know how to make yourself do the job.

So turns out, the  “conscious” part includes the ability to act in your own best interest. It isn’t just knowing how to eat right and workout. So many of us know the correct behaviors, but what we don’t understand is how to motivate ourselves to follow through on the habits and actions needed to regain our health. The hard parts are;

-          Knowing how to avoid pitfalls

-          Knowing how to stay focused in spite of obstacles

-          Knowing how to make actions into habits

This entire process is a mental exercise. It’s about creating a life where our health is sustained in an “unconscious competent” manner. Create default settings where we inherently know the healthy habits, and can follow through instinctively. But this needs to be a process. I needed to get out of the mindset where I was focused on the end result.. I need to learn to dwell on the current step of the process. This is the first step in fixing the "unconscious part". The “unconscious” for me, is about how to get myself to motivate myself to create the habits, not about what the correct habits are. About viewing each step as equally important and not focusing on the fact that I am not at the finish line. The best part of this realization is that now I am aware of the real issue that has  been in my way, I can now label myself as “Consciously ______”… I get to decide the second part of this equation now.

I also decided being “Unconsciously Incompetent” was better than how I spent my alcohol filled early 20’s, “Semiconsciously Flatulent”.  

Like a Swiss Army knife for emotions. Mourning. Love. Appreciation. Celebration. Consummation...

April 19, 2018. Mark this date on your calendar. When I saw that this day was coming, it changed my whole outlook toward the world. The sky was a little bit bluer, and the water tasted a little bit cleaner. Sometimes holidays have special meaning. Sometimes holidays touch me so much, that even the preparation for them becomes more festive and cathartic. With all of the bullshit we deal with on a day to day basis, we need reminders to stop and appreciate how amazing life can truly be. This is the most spiritual of national holidays. 

April 19, 2018, is National High Five day. Anyone who knows me, knows the place that the High Five holds in my heart. It is the ultimate expression. The High Five use to be such a “bro dude” gesture.. but now that status is reserved for the fist bump. Fist bump?! What, are we Neanderthals?! Slamming fists is for the corvette/tank top/backward cap crew. So archaic. But the High Five is the epitome of class and fanciness. 

High Fives can be used to celebrate a victory, or express gratitude, or show love for a human, or mourn the loss of a loved one. It is the Swiss Army Knife of emotional outlets. 

-          You got married! High Five!

-          You love me too! High Five

-          I do… you may now High Five the bride

-          Your cousin died… drag… She was an amazing woman… High Five.

-      You had a great workout! High Five!

In fact, just last week I had a cathartic and bonding High Five moment. That son of a bitch Chris tried to fist bump me after my workout. I know he was reaching out to bridge the divide. But I do not fist bump. Being the enlightened and magnanimous soul that I am, I olive branched the shit out of him, and screamed “WE HIGH FIVE IN THIS FAMILY” and we slapped hands in a thunderous crash that sent rippling waves of orgasmic lightening across the entire gym. He is a little less shitty today because of that High Five.

You want to build my spirits, High Five. You want to console my failures, High Five. You want to show me you love me, High Five.

Listen, I am a natural born hugger, but I find that people see my sweaty embrace as off putting. I would love to wrestle peoples stress or angst away with my polar bear-esq embrace, but this is apparently frowned upon. And my attempts to consummate everything has been WILDLY unpopular too. So for now, while it is the most intimate people will accept me being... HIGH FIVES ALL AROUND!!!!

Get out of the rain, John Cusack

Yesterday was as perfect of an example as to how this road to health should be done, as well as why, as I could possibly imagine. Yesterday was Comicon Wizard World, or something… I can never remember the exact title (and is it Comicon, or ComicCon). The fact that I am writing a post about my experience at this event, yet I have a complete unwillingness to stop and google the exact name, shows you how little I care about comics, or sci-fi, or any of related topics. In fact, while I am at it, here is a list of stuff I have never seen… I think you will be shocked

-          Any of the Alien Movies

-          Predator

-          Any of the Iron Man movies

-          Terminator

-          And I have never read a single comic book from front to back

I am stopping there because you get the point. I have little to no interest in science fiction or comic book related materials. So why did I spend 3-4 hours and close to $200 touring a giant exhibit hall dedicated to science fiction and comic book nostalgia and education? Because I have 3 little boys, ages 4-8-11, who have made comic books and science fiction the center of their known universes. I have 3 sons… 3.. and I have a HEALTHY love of all things sports. You would think even ONE of my kids would give one ounce of attention to baseball or football or basketball or wrestling, but nope, fucking zilch.. not a single ounce of fuck is given to anything athletic or competition based. Oh well, it’s not their job to like what I am interested in, it’s my job to find enjoyment in what they enjoy.

How does Comicon impact health? Well, I spent 3-4 hours chasing 3 of the skinniest, most energetic kids in the universe, around a 200,000 square foot convention center. 17,000 steps later, I was exhausted (I wore a fitbit and actually monitored my step count). This is what all the work and lifestyle change is for. This is functional health at its best. I am not working out and fighting to change my dietary habits so that I can spend the summer in a tiny speedo, rubbing tanning oil on my body in an inappropriate but irresistibly sensual manner. I mean, I will be doing that, but the bigger goal is to be able to spend my life enjoying shit I don’t enjoy. I have an inherent ability to enjoy anything. I make life fun, regardless of the tools I am given… It is what I like most about me. I was once told by a good friend "fun sort of follows you". Thats total bullshit. I just can McGyver the fun out of anything. Yesterday I got dressed in costume right alongside my kids. I wasn’t there to secretly judge the nerds who were gathered in the nerdery. I was there to have fun with my kids. My costume was from a non sci-fi movie, but my kids didn’t care. They were just happy dad was playing along. But as I get older, and if I don’t get my health in line, the ability to run and chase the boys around will deteriorate. Dad won’t be able to play along if he doesn’t get his shit together now (I just third personed the shit out of that sentence… my smugness is off the charts today).

Side note: I am writing this while watching “High Fidelity” and it hit me…. My views toward weight loss and health, and the very point I am trying to make out of this post, perfectly parallel John Cusack’s cinematic dating experiences. John Cusack has spent more time heartbroken in the rain than anyone else in movie history. I understand the heartbreak is set to a backdrop of rain storms to deepen the visual of misery. The director is showing the audience how John’s heartbreak is feeling on the inside by using external visuals. For me, I have a tendency to pout and feel that getting fit is hopeless. I wish I had a dime for every time I ate a slice of pizza during my internal rain storms. My mood and mental fortitude have such a strong impact on my success. I also tend to compound misery with more misery… if I hate myself today, I am going to eat and drink and pout in the rain. And yesterday at comicon, I was happy. I was happy the boys were having so much fun. I was happy that I found a Big Lebowski candle to buy for myself. I was happy that my health was being created by the very reasons I care to get healthy. Compounding happiness, is every bit as possible and effective as compounding sadness. I need to spend more time McGyver'ing the fun out of healthy habits. 

The point being… Finding purpose is the key.  I am my only barrier. So finding a bigger reason for why I am getting my health back has been all the difference in this process. Nothing snaps me out of my thunderstorm of self-pity faster than having a bigger purpose for my goals. I want to chase my boys around. I want to have years and years and decades of watching how happy they get at the mundane activities that most adults are too cynical to enjoy. It’s a double sided sword too. These activities add to my health as well. 17,000 steps is 6.5 miles. While walking 6.5 miles one morning wont get me in amazing shape, it is the positive daily activity that will help keep me motivated as well as aid in my journey to good health. 3-4 hours of walking 6.5 miles is a hell of a lot healthier than laying on the couch watching Iron Man 23 or some other mindless activity.

 I spent the day in physical activity with my kids. The why was the how. The why I want to get in shape, was the method of how I improved my health yesterday. Ain’t that some shit.

Tummy Drums

A fat man walked into the gym... He had a planned workout to do, and he did it… the end.

Fuck, I wish that was the real story. But not today. The real story TODAY is a bit different than ideal. The first workout on my list was the dead lift. I had a very specific plan to start by concentrating on the center of my body and work outward from there.. the idea being to work major muscle groups in a series of fast paced exercises meant to get my heart rate up. Build lean muscle mass and burn fat stores. However, as I walked over to my first station, I instantly realized today would not be my normal, insecurity free day. My gym has 3 squat racks next to each other near the front right of the gym.. just behind those are a row of assault stationary bikes. As I walked over to claim my spot, I noticed that the far right rack was being used by a world class marathoner, and the far left rack was being used by a retired NBA lottery pick… if being sandwiched between world class athletes wasn’t awkward enough, there were two beautiful women using the assault bikes behind the squat racks.

I am working on overcoming my demons. In a perfect world I would have tuned out the highly conditioned athletes to either side, and had no problem with the fact that my workout basically consisted of me mooning whoever has the misfortune of standing behind me. I usually don’t care that, as fat people know, our bodies are not made in a manner where clothing can always remain in the proper place during some workouts. There was a perfect set of conditions brewing for a fat man butt crack exhibit. Again, In a perfect world, this would be a nonissue.. but that’s not the world we live in, is it. I stood in contemplation for a good 5-10 minutes as to what I was going to do. Do I say “fuck it” and carry out my workout as planned? Do I tune out everyone like I usually would and hope that eventually I get into my groove and begin to truly ignore everyone? The only way to make this decision was by doing a quick but thorough assessment of my physical presence…

-          Shorts feeling too tight and riding up my ass… check

-          T shirt clinging to my body and attempting to convert itself into a crop top… check

-          Do I look as though my gym attire was picked out by Scotty from Boogie Nights… check

I quickly realized that I wasn’t mentally equipped to do this. Instead, of my planned workout, I changed my focus on the fly. So today, I re-racked some of the weights in the area by the free weights. I then sat and watched an exercise class in the studio B area.. at which time I also learned I can play the opening to “Hot for Teacher” on my tummy-drum. I did mix in a few reps of sporadic and non-sequential exercises. I had lost my focus pretty easily. But this was a good lesson for me. I need to start preparing plan B’s. Most days I would have blasted my music in my headphones and strutted up the squat rack just oozing bravado… tuned everyone else out, and lifted away. I rarely care about other people’s opinions. But today was one of those days where I did care. And because these days exist, plan B’s need to exist too. Hell, I think a lot of people work out on the fly… I rarely see people work out with the appearance of a well thought out plan. But that’s just me being judgmental and making assumptions.

As for having a plan B. I often tell people “when ideal has left town, what’s the next best option”. Nothing in life ever seems to go as planned… so having a plan B is important. I have decided to create an alternate workout for every workout I intend to do.

Today’s planned workout was a total body series of 10 by 10’s (a 10 by 10 is when you do 10 sets of 10 reps in 10 minutes… each set starts on the minute… the point is to get each set down as fast, and true to form, as possible so you can have a few remaining seconds to give your muscles a tiny bit of rest)

-          10 sets of 10 reps of deadlifts down

-          10 sets of 10 reps of hammer press bench press

-          10 sets of 10 reps of lat pull downs

-          10 sets of 10 reps of sumo squats

-          10 sets of 10 reps shoulder press

This is a well thought out and effective workout… 50 minutes of resistance training done in a way that doubles as cardio. But the world is an imperfect place. Sometimes equipment is being used by someone else, or out of order. Sometimes you don’t want to spend 10-12 minutes showing your ass to beautiful young women. Sometimes, you need an alternative plan due to unforeseen circumstances.

So instead of setting myself up for failure, and creating a situation where minor hurdles derail me, I have created plan B’s to all of my workouts. The “plan B” for this workout is

-          10 sets of 10 reps of roman deadlifts with dumbbells

-          10 sets of 10 reps of cable flys

-          10 sets of 10 reps of rows

-          10 sets of 10 lunges

-          10 sets of 10 reps of shoulder flys

This works well for eating too. So often I go out to eat without a plan. This leads to trouble. I have to have my options laid out… I need to prepare better. There is very little I do without thinking it out. Why do I leave my health up to fate? How many times am I going to be out and about longer than intended but not have healthy options for snacks? All of my issues with my body are user error.