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.

Porta-Potty Paratrooper.

This post has very little to do with my struggles with weight, but is a follow up to one of my posts from last week. I have been receiving an average of about 1000-1500 views per post,  and with that, comes correspondence from people. I appreciate every email, and comment, and twitter message, and Instagram message, and phone call. I may not respond to everyone because.. how do I put this… I just don’t want to. I will reply to whatever I god damn please. However, the most emailed about topic, by a wide margin, is an innocuous incident I mentioned in of my posts. I have received 31 separate communications inquiring about one specific incident I mentioned.

The incident I am referring to is when I said

-          “I have fallen’ through the roof of a porta potty onto a strange woman’s back. Minus a few stitches, I was completely fine (although I imagine I ruined porta pottys for her, forever)”

The overwhelming consensus from people is that I made this up for the post. Like I was trying to be outrageous. You all are some skeptical fuckers. I responded to a few of the texts and emails but I don’t have a tendency to play nice with others, and the novelty of responding to separate comments on the same topic wore off pretty quick.

Here is the official story:

Part 1: Uncontested Events

In the summer of 1999, 4 of my best friends and I attended an all-day outdoor rock festival together, along with a young woman that one of my friends had invited along. The list of bands was like; Silverchair, Megadeth, Rob Zombie, System of a Down, Primus… basically a long list of suburban white angsty guy music. Anyone who has been to a show like this knows how exhausting they can be. I basically spent 8 hours being tossed around the pit like the clown in a white trash rodeo.

The actual incident took place as we were preparing to leave. At the old Portland Meadows, the only exit required a ¾ mile walk up and around a 10 foot tall chain link fence, followed by a ¾ mile walk back in the same direction you just came from. That’s correct, what I am saying is that the parking lot was 20 feet away from where the concert is taking place, but it is on the other side of a 10 foot tall chain link fence.

By the end of the show, none of us in our group were in the mood to fight the crowd of stinky sweaty miscreants, and we opted to scale the fence instead. Where we were standing, a long row of porta-pottys were secured to the chain link fence. Part of me thinks that this was meant to act as a barrier of sorts, but you can only be so effective at stopping adrenaline ridden 20something jack offs from doing stupid shit. So we actually used the porta-pottys to help us scurry up the fence.

I don’t know how many of you have been on top of a porta-potty, but here is a word of advice for you if you do ever find yourself up there. Straddle the sides of the roof… do not stand in the exact center. The roof is a thin shit of hard plastic, and not meant to support the weight of a grown man. So straddling the edges of the roof gives you the added support of the walls beneath…….

WAIT… pause… Fuck, I forgot a very important detail. I was NOT a fat man when this happened. Leaving this detail out would be huge. I know that reading this, you were probably thinking “no shit you fell through the roof.. the designers of porta-pottys never imagined a damn water buffalo would find its way on top of one.” First of all, mean.. Second of all, this incident fell in the small window of time where I was in shape. I was probably a svelte 165-170lbs.

Anyway, where was I, oh yes.. I was straddling the roof and preparing to jump over the last 3 feet of fence and land on the other side. Just then I looked down and noticed that the young lady we had brought was still standing on the ground, and all of my friends were already standing safely on the other side of the fence. Being the gentlem… well… being the “not a total son of a bitch” that I am, I bent over and pulled her up to the top of the porta-potty. This is when shit hit the fan. The woman stumbled a small, meaningless, stumble. However, as she stumbled, she leaned against me for support. In doing so, I lost my balance, and had to step to the next porta-potty over, in order to avoid falling back down to the ground. The problem with this is that I couldn’t take the time to straddle the roof. Both of my feet landed dead center in the middle of the roof. I instantly felt the roof give….

PART 2: Differing views

Perception is key here. The next part of the story depends on the point of view you witnessed it from.

Jared and Jerred will tell you I shot through the roof in an instant (yes, two of my best friends are both named Jared/Jerred.. thank god Jerred spells Jared like a fucking martian so its easy to type stories about them). They make it sound like I was wished into my place inside the potty by a magician.. now you see me, now you don’t. Jerred paints a picture of hearing the roof give, and me just disappearing. Jared makes it sound more like he had no idea what happened. He doesn’t claim to have heard anything, and I disappeared so fast that he couldnt accurately assess where I had gone.

My perception was wildly different. I don’t know how long it took me to fall, but I distinctly remember 5 separate phases of fall.

1)      I felt the roof bubble downward. I knew that the structure was no match for my weight.

2)      I had time to decide “I need to make a blind jump over the fence now, and just deal with the landing when it happens”

3)      I felt the roof give as I tried to spring over the fence. My jumping motion made the roof crumble faster. 

4)      I hung in the air like a real life Wiley Coyote… all I needed was some acme brand rocket shoes, and a dumb fucking sign

5)      I felt the roof break in stages too…. My feet went through, then my hips caught the roof and broke through, and I distinctly remember grabbing the roof  in a last ditch effort to save myself. I remember this due to the searing pain that came from a piece of the roof going almost all the way through my hand.  

Part 3: The landing, and landing in ER

As I was falling, I became terrified of the damage and pain that would come from crashing to the ground. Luckily, a woman was leaving the porta-potty just as I was entering from above. I landed half on her back, like a deranged spider monkey. I had my hands and arms hugging her shoulders, and my right leg was wrapped half around her waist. My left leg was not so lucky. How do I say this tactfully? My left leg went half way up the shin into the shitter, and was covered with an entire days worth of drunkin idiot piss and shit. Oops, I guess that’s not how I say that tactfully.

As I draped over the woman, the door swung open and we poured out of the outhouse. Her giant biker boyfriend in a slayer shirt was standing there looking confused. He screamed “You better fucking get out of here before I kick your ass”. With a click of my heals, and a song in my heart, I turned and jumped the fence in one bound. No joke, I grabbed the fence at head level, and jumped and pulled and flung over the fence before my friends even fully comprehended what happened. I landed on the other side… oh god.. I can see it clear as day. Jerred was walking back and forth across the fence, trying to peak through (it was 10 at night and hard to see) as he called out my name. Jared however, that’s a different story. He was literally laying on the ground laughing. HE HAD FUCKING TEARS POURING FROM HIS EYES. I walked up to them and they got wide eyed as they surveyed the damage. I was standing infront of them with, blood running down my hand and dripping on to the dry dusty ground, a frazzled look on my face, and a leg half soaking with excrement.

Once they realized what happened, they decided to take me to the hospital. I doth protest. I wanted to go home and have my 68 year old sadistic father sew me up. He was a retired dr with a serious case of the fuck arounds. He would have gotten a kick out of all of this. But I was out voted and they took me to a hospital. Jared, tore my pant leg off and helped me remove my shoe. He left them in the parking lot and a stranger picked them up and tried to return them, but we politely declined the shit soaked gift. We decided that porta-potty findings probably aren’t the best things to have get in to a giant wound, so bless his heart, Jared helped me remove these things. So we ended up in the ER at 11:30 at night. I had to walk in with one pant leg, and my shirt off and wrapped around my hand. Nurse after nurse came in to interview me about the incident, and at one point I said “why do so many of you need this story when only one of you is cleaning my wound and stitching me up". Turns out, they got a kick out of it, and kept sending nurses in to hear it.

So there it is… my experience of falling through a porta-potty, on to a womans back. It is a real thing, that really happened.

Side note:

I worked for my dads recycling company at this point in my life. Because of the wound, I had to wear rubber gloves for a month. During this short window, we had someone attempt to recycle 50-60 rubber phalluses. Discarded dildo’s and rubber penises aren’t something you want to grab free hand, but a millimeter thick latex glove, um… ok. I instantly called it a day. I took the penises home and dumped them in the bathtub along with all the cleaners I could find. I happened to share an apartment with Jared. He came home from work, walked into the house, and peaked his head into the bathroom out of curiosity due to the over whelming smell of chemicals coming from it. His eyes were perfection. He was looking down on his best friend and roommate, as I was soaking 50+ penises in a ¼ full bathtub that was bubbling from the ill-advised mixture of chemicals. I’ve never seen a person who was sooooo proud, and sooo disappointed all at once. The crown jewel was a 2 foot long, 10 lb one that I still own to this day. We took that thing to parties, and camping trips, and road trips… it was our mascot.

I never would have had that glorious 2 foot penis, had I not fallen through that porta-potty roof. I want this on my tombstone. 

Hey pizza, no means no

I write about exercise more than I write about food. However, I am inundated with articles/expert opinions/my Dr’s advice/anecdotal support, all telling me that eating habits are more important in regaining my health. I know I should be concentrating more on this part of the process. So why do I write about the gym so much more than I write about my struggles with food? 4 reasons…

1)      I feel a stigma about my own struggles with food… its 100% projected on myself

2)      I am "winning" the battle in the gym… and food is a much harder battle for me

3)      There is catharsis in blasting unsuspecting, undeserving, people on the internet, and I have been treating these posts as my own "to kill"  list 

4)      When I talk about the gym, I get to talk about nude locker room antics and unsupervised penises.. you know, the things I find fun. 

I do need to spend some time addressing my dietary changes though. People say that we learn more about ourselves during times in which we struggle, than during our successes, and it’s totally true. I have discovered some interesting things about myself. For one, I am callow and weak willed. I also lack any shred of intellectual honesty. These have presented themselves as barriers to my success. 

I have spent my entire life trusting myself to eat sensibly and use all of the knowledge I have gained from years of research and trial and error to make sure that I utilize food as clean and efficient fuel for my body, only to go to sleep every night with my stomach uncomfortably stuffed with so many little Debbie snack cakes that I had frosting oozing from my nose, mouth, and ears. I cant be trusted. Regardless of how good my intentions, if I don’t have detailed restrictions as to what I can eat, I will make a mockery of myself at each and every meal.

I have become a firm believer that it doesn’t matter so much which plan you choose, but that you fucking choose something. Consistency. Consistency really is everything for me. I literally spent 10-15 years eating well one week at a time, only to spend every Friday and Saturday celebrating by downing a pint of gin and eating my weight in pizza. I bet you can actually see spikes in Bombay Sapphire and Pinky’s Pizza profit margins every Friday and Saturday.

I finally have gotten to a place where I understand that I need rules. And by the way, this goes for “work arounds” or "substitutes for cravings". I am not honest enough with myself to do this. If you can drink “a little bit of alcohol is fine”, or “its ok to allow some cheat meals”.. I will absolutely abuse the spirit of these instructions. And "substitutes" for the foods I crave never actual sate the urge for the cheat meal. I feel like pizza treats me the way 20 something dudes with backward hats and popped collars treat their dates. Pizza acts all innocent, like it cares about me..  Its charming, looks fantastic, and smells good… but I know that deep down the love affair is asymmetrical. Whenever I let my guard down a little, pizza ALWAYS decides not to be respectful about my choices. And the next thing you know, I am doing the 8 am walk of shame home from Pizza Hut with marinara splattered across my cheek and forehead. Also, pizza never remembers to call me the next day. I feel alone, and empty and self-loathing. I fucking hate myself for how I treat myself. Then, next weekend, I am set to do it again.

I have come to the conclusion that I need rules. I need guidelines. I had what is probably the dumbest fucking “ah ha” moment in history. “If I am going to do this… why the fuck don’t I just do it”. Point being, maybe I don’t need methods and recipes that can more closely mirror things I enjoy eating... foods that helped me to get to where I am. Maybe I need new behaviors? Instead of trying to toe the line of acceptable dietary habits, how about I dive in and drown in whatever dietary changes I am looking to make? Instead of spending our time looking for work arounds, and substitutions, and things that are “technically not cheats”.. how about we embrace the changes outlined in our dietary plans, and strive to actually adhere to the lifestyle we choose? I have found that since I adopted this approach to eating, I have not had that overwhelming feeling of impending failure. There is nothing I am more cynical or defeatist about than my own dietary success. I go in to most lifestyle changes waiting to fail. 

With all of this in mind, I have decided that the dietary lifestyle that makes the most sense to me, is ketogenesis. The basic idea is to eliminate sugars from the blood stream by eating incredibly small amounts of carbs, and elevated amounts of fat, so that your body will begin using fat stores in place of the sugars that are no longer in the blood. Here is a more scientific breakdown…

https://ketoschool.com/summarizing-the-science-behind-ketogenic-low-carb-diets-adc72a3ade8

I chose this diet because not only does the science behind it feel sound, but also because all of my weaknesses around food, are based around carbs. I have found that eliminating carbs, has eliminated my need to eat bad. Eating a keto diet, and eating the unhealthy foods I crave, are mutually exclusive. Of course I have strayed. I have had some bad days. In fact I have had 4 days in which I have eaten off plan. That is 4 days in the 10 weeks since I started this dietary lifestyle. I am not delusional, and understand that as a human, I will have bad days. I will have days in which I make poor choices. But a strict diet plan has turned what was once a daily battle, into a rare occurrence. If I was good at self discipline, I wouldn’t already be fat. That may be the dumbest, most obvious thing I have ever said. But I have found that the key for my own success, is to treat change as a forever thing. As soon as I view a diet as a temporary adjustment, or looking for substitutions, or scheduling cheat days, I am doomed. The key for me is to get out of my own head and stop thinking  about the end game. Think about today. Today I need to get healthier. I can worry about the cheat meal when its presented. I can worry about the craving when its presented. I will worry about my next lifestyle choice, when it’s time for that lifestyle to take effect. Dwelling on cheats and the next dietary step, eliminates the effectiveness of your current step in the process. I feel, that for me, its not about which diet plan I choose.. its about embracing the plan I choose, and actually sticking with it.

Also, I measure the levels of ketones in my urine (ketones are what the body produces in order to burn stored fat, and you can measure the levels of ketones being produced by measuring how many ketones are being expelled through your urine) by peeing on a stick. And I dont give a shit how old I get, I will always think its funny to pee on stuff.  

Yakity Sax Savior

Although I am not the most religious man, I do believe every person gets a healthy dose of both “New Testament Jesus” as well as “Old Testament Jesus”… or for those of you who are struggling to keep up, “kind, shepherd of man, Jesus” and “vengeful, fire and brimstone, Jesus”.. what I mean by this is we all get tests, as well as guidance. Like me, you don’t have to be religious to see these patterns. There are times we get more than we can handle in order to test our fortitude and allow us to grow, as well times that the universe seems to speak to us and show us the easy path to growth. Religious or not, we all get tests as well as smooth sailing.

However, I seem to be in the select few who only get “Yakity Sax Jesus”… I mean, the Lord gotta laugh too. My entire life has been a series of calamities.

I have.

-          Run through a sliding glass door, and only required a few stitches. I was 4.

-          Flown from the hood of my own moving car in high school. I landed on my feet, but momentum carried me backward and I landed on my head, and walked away without injury.

-          Fallen’ through the roof of a porta potty onto a strange woman’s back. Minus a few stitches, I was completely fine (although I imagine I ruined porta pottys for her, forever)

I think my friend Jared put it best when he said “I have spent my whole life watching you get hurt in hilarious ways, but never once seen you actually get injured”. The point is, I feel God is having a ton of fun watching me.. like I am his own personal Chris Farley. I am somewhere between a super hero, and Mr Bean. Hell, I am named “Ed Kiester”… That name feels so made up. The only person who should have this name is either the obnoxious character in a formulaic comedy, or a porn star. 

How does this apply to my physical fitness? Well, I decided to expand my horizons today. I had this still small voice whispering in my ear, “Ed, keep it fresh, try something new.. grow.. progress, you douche”. I felt like it was divine intervention at the time, but in hind sight I can tell I was being set up. I do have a tendency to stick in my comfort zone, and I believe this is a perfectly ok approach to fitness. Do physical activities that you enjoy and will keep doing. Be consistent. However, I know there may be other things I haven’t tried, and would enjoy, and for some reason I decided to start now. 

This is when I had a kismet moment. I had the teacher of a class at my gym reach out to me. We will call her… hmmmm…. “Charity”. Charity teaches a class called “Body Combat” (this name maybe a trademarked thing… I am not sure).. Body combat is a mix of cardio and strength training set to a self-defense/boxing format. This felt like something I can do. NOPE… not at all true. I just spent the last hour getting my ass kicked. And because me dripping in sweat and gasping for air isn’t funny enough to our Lord, the entire class is filled with approx. 20 attractive women. It was basically the real life version of every high school nightmare I ever had. Only in the high school nightmare version, I have no clothes on. 20 attractive women doing an exercise class in unison while I struggle not to die with all the grace of an epileptic moose. 

The class was 60 minutes long, and at the 40 minute mark, I had the most religious experience of my life. I had a vision. I called out to God to “just let me die! Fat people have heart attacks all the time.. I would appreciate it if you can drop one of those on me now”. Having a heart attack would save me the embarrassment of floundering through the last 15 minutes, or walking out. Just then, Jesus appeared in front of me holding a bag of M&M’s with a little popcorn in his glorious beard. Just as I suspected, I am the comedic relief in his divine plan. He spoke. “Eddie” he said.. “No, I won’t let you die.. this show is way too good to end now... BTW, have you noticed that Charity is calmly and clearly shouting instructions to you? You are out of breath, and looking absurd in front of all these women, and she is up there doing the same exercises only twice as vigorously, and she ain’t even breathing hard”.. he then blinked and nodded his head, and at that exact moment a tiny fart slipped out of me. Jesus laughed until he cried. That’s right, John 11:35 “Jesus Wept”, had a whole new meaning to me.

Just as suddenly as he appeared, he was gone. I snapped back to reality. As I was doing my routine of; step, jab, kick, and upper cutting I looked in the mirror and I was covered in sweat. My knees were pretty sore, and I could feel my heart racing. I imagine it was actually a pretty good show. I was obviously not prepared for this. Not that I thought I would kill the class, I know I was in the worst shape of anyone in class, but I thought I would have a better showing than I did today.  

I am signed up for next Friday too. Salvation is all about having your own personal relationship with God, and apparently I am God’s “Benny Hill”… might as well embrace it.

Healthy plans, and giant cans

Sometimes the universe speaks to me. I am not a hippie… not that I dislike hippies, I am just not one. I don’t try to cure chlamydia (I spelled chlamydia right on the first try although I am not 100% comfortable admitting this) with essential oils… I don’t try to use the power of positive thinking to magically make all my dreams come true… But I do think the universe has a way of speaking to me.

I had a doctor’s appointment today. During my appointment I learned two things

1                      1)  The Testosterone I am taking isn’t raising my levels enough, but my estrogen levels HAVE elevated, which can be a side effect of testosterone injections. I sometimes think god likes fucking with me. My Testosterone levels are still low, but I’m almost ready to start my period. My doctor gave me an estrogen blocker to help lower my levels so I don’t “develop sexy sexy breasts” (I think that’s how he put it.. that’s definitely the gist of what he said). Of course I will probably take the estrogen blockers but part of me is thinking that when the testosterone takes and helps me shrink my waistline… and my erections are running on pubescent levels… giant boobs will make my value to the internet SHOOT through the roof. We’ll see what I decide, I need to think on this.

                            2) My oxygen saturation levels are low. They always are. It’s the only thing other than my Testosterone levels that are ever off,  and they are always low. I feel this is an odd issue to have.

As soon as my doctor’s appointment was over, I headed straight for the gym. It’s rare that I have a big window to work out and I felt I should take advantage of it. Upon arrival I ran into one of the trainers as he was heading out and we struck up a convo. This trainer is not your typical guy. I believe this guy would have been amazing at any profession, and decided to apply that to fitness and health.. not someone who was in shape and decided to make his physical condition a bankable thing. He has incredible insight and has a way of quantifying things in way that makes the subject matter really sink in. He was asking me about how my process was going.. just insignificant chit chatty stuff. But within minutes, he started talking about the small things we can all do to improve our health. He started talking about how he is sometimes frustrated with the fact that people spend so much money on dramatic changes and supplements and programs, without making the small changes. He listed off the obvious stuff like “drink enough water, get rigorous activity, and LEARN TO BREATH EFFICIENTLY”… I was instantly taken aback by this. Who the fuck ever discusses breathing? Let alone have it come up twice in one day. He went on to discuss how short shallow breathes limit the amount of oxygen that the body can pass to extremities, and if you are exerting yourself, and your body needs oxygen to pass to your muscles, it becomes a quick downward spiral when your breathing becomes labored. We discussed breathing exercises he does, and the importance he places on this process. He encouraged me to look up proper breathing techniques for working out, and the role that breathing plays in lifting... not only with supplying oxygen to the body, but also in creating proper technique and body positioning. 

As valuable as this info was, I think this is a bigger issue than just the “breathing”… there are two other distinct and important lessons that hit me.

1                   1) False authority: There is so much misinformation in fitness. It feels everyone is selling you something. How can you trust anyone who gives you advice. Regardless of what program you choose, or what help you seek, it feels as though you need to make a major financial investment, and its hard to take someone’s “word for it” when you know they are selling you something. This guy was giving me a gift. I have never given him a dime.. he wasn’t giving me advice that required a financial commitment to follow. He was just a really rad guy giving me important lessons about my own health. A resource like this invaluable.

2                2) Being healthy: I sometimes lose track of what my real goals are. My goal is to become healthy enough that I can live to know my grand kids. In the process of trying to become healthy I have become fixated on the end results. Working to lose weight has become my only goal… I am associating my worth and success with physical appearance. I have lost sight of the small steps that will add years to my life and aid in the entire process of losing weight. I am building a house without laying a foundation. I am spending tons of time, effort, and money on making big changes, and neglecting the free “easy” steps that I need to be doing. Drink water, learn to breath deeper and more efficient, fix all of my unhealthy habits.

This topic carried over to eating as well… how to maintain positive momentum. This is something I have also been getting emails about from some of you. People asking “how do you avoid treats and sugary snacks”. Answer: I don’t. I won’t. I am not looking to avoid anything. I am looking to reset my default settings about food. Food isn’t necessarily “bad”, my relationship with food is bad. My brain is the issue. Treats are fine.. but they need to be just that, “treats”. I need to make eating clean be my setting most of the time. I don’t need to throw away all unhealthy food and avoid being in situations where sugary food is around. How does that “fix” anything. I need to overcome the issues, and not just avoid them. I need to teach my brain that I don’t need to eat this type of food so much. I told my trainer friend “My kids have responsible relationships with food, why punish them by throwing the oreos away so they never get any? My kids have shown a healthy mentality towards food, I don’t want to put a taboo on unhealthy food, which will only make my kids hyper aware of these foods and make the sugary treats more enticing to them”. I believe this. Treats are ok. But they need to actually be treats, and not something I eat daily. I am trying to overcome my mental attachment to unhealthy foods. Not just remove temptation.

This is gave me a minor "ah ha" moment. Why do treats need to be meaningless sugary snacks that can be stored in the cupboards? Wouldn’t I be killing two birds with one stone if I was to make the treats with my kids? Having fun snacks as well as a positive interaction with my child. What could possibly make eating a treat more of a positive situation than making the entire process be rewarding and interactive. This would create the ultimate teaching experience. This goes for all eating habits. I think we can all agree that everyone over 17 is an opinionated piece of shit… stubborn and riddled with bias… this is just good science. The actual equation is “x>17 than x=POS”… x being age of course. But little kids are sponges. If you tell an adult something innocuous like “you should eat veggies during every meal” .. that adult will ignore what you are saying, wait for their turn to talk, and then smugly express how fucking stupid you are. I feel most adults are more interesting in looking smart, than being smart. But tell a kid “you should eat veggies at every meal” and they will respond with “why”. Why not take advantage of this? Have treats around. Make treats a positive experience, but explain why treats aren’t an everyday thing. Don’t create a taboo. Create a learning experience. Set their defaults in a positive manner, while resetting my own defaults.

This was such a great convo to have. Helped me so much. And the universe decided I needed to have it. I love the idea of helping set my kids healthy habits while resetting mine. Remembering to actually take all of the steps in laying a healthy foundation. Also, as added bonus, while writing this I have made a decision on the estrogen blockers. I have decided to embrace my soon to develop boobs. Embrace the IDEA of them anyway, not physically embrace them. Well, not not embrace them, but that is a post for a different blog.

With my black hair and my fat ass thighs.

I know my writing is mostly cynical and anxious and even mean spirited at times. There is little catharsis in venting happy thoughts. When the “struggle” feels less like a struggle, I don’t have an overwhelming urge to jump on here and be petty. Yes, I fully understand how petty much of my struggle is. In fact, this whole process is only arduous because of my mind frame. The physical part of eating right and exercising isn’t nearly as hard as we make it on ourselves.

Today was one of the good days. I don’t know why. What was different? I honestly would like to know because then I could maybe learn to harness it. But today I strutted into the gym like I owned the fucking place. I had to apologize to the two beautiful woman in the lobby (Hotty McTightPants, and Blondie McGreatBody) because the poor things don’t get to make out with me, OR have me touch their butts. I truly pitied them for this.

I only had maybe 45 minutes to workout but I made it in, damn it. I also have been eating amazingly. I find that logging things into MyFitnessPal helps keep me on track. I become proud of myself for long stretches of time as I see day after day go by without crossing over my calorie threshold... its been a long time since I could use the term "proud of myself" while discussing fitness topics. By the way, I don’t like that the abbreviation for Calorie is “kCal”. How fucking smug. It feels like an old white guy trying to give himself a “rapper guy name”. Go fuck yourself kCal… how pretentious.

I knew I was having a good day, but what really clued me into how amazing I feel today, was the fact that at one point I was assigning “parts” in the songs I was listening to, to random members of the gym.

Posse On Broadway – Sir Mix A lot

             Sir Mix a lot: No one at Villa is cool enough for this part. Hell, no one in the world is.

             Kid Sensation: My trainer Bryan… He is truly the teenage lady killer

             The Posse from 23^rd and Jackson: Joey, Chris, DJ.. because they are always lookin for                                  some action. Plus, I like to think of them as "my posse"... I am pretty sure they feel                              the same. 

             Kevin: The super handsome dude with a maroon tank top (Although I stared at him for 10                               minutes trying to will him to scream “Its time to get def”.. but he never did)

             Larry (the white guy who people think is funny): Every other person in the room… 

This happened for every song. Tribe Called Quest's "Electric Relaxation"  was a bit harder. I was the only one in the room with "Black hair and Fat ass thighs"... but this made me not want to play this game anymore. By the way, every time a Busta Rhymes song comes on, I play the part of Busta. Fuck you.. .its my game, I get to be Busta.

Fatty McF***Face

I am pretty tired of all of the clips of people who are so excited to be in the gym! So excited for their run! I get that all of these people are selling us something, and marketing dictates that they present a certain persona. But damn it, what about the rest of us. Sometimes I see how happy everyone is to work out, every day, and I feel like somehow I am a loser because somedays I would rather lay in the grass and watch clouds than go into the gym. I think that most of the fitness marketing aimed at fat people, is fit people showing us how happy they are. But what about the journey. The journey from fat to fit is an arduous one. Its filled with self-loathing, and doubt, and periods of wanting to give up. And I don’t know that smiling, happy, super fit people are what I need to motivate me.

Take yesterday for example… I went to the gym 3 times. I want to end the story there. I want to leave this post at “I went to the gym 3 times”. However, let’s look at the trips I took.

1      1) I took my boys to the Easter egg hunt that my gym was throwing. So while super fun, I didn’t meet my health goals on this trip.

2        2) I forgot my wallet in a locker and had to go back to get it

3       3) I went in later in the day for a workout. Here is the pre-workout I did

a.       I sat in my car listening to music and trying to guess the names of all the people who went inside… there was Fatty McSmilesTooMuch, Dummy McFuckface, Smuggy McProbablyDrinksKambucha, and my favorite, Slimmy McGreatAss… he was in amazing shape. It’s funny how many people at my gym are Scotsmen with oddly descriptive naming conventions. I guess this doesn’t really count as a warm-up. But I did finally muster the gusto to go inside.

Once inside, my mood didn’t change. I lifted, I did some intervals on the bike… blah blah blah… who cares. My real workout wasn’t what got me exhausted or sweaty… it was the people inside. People would walk up and ask “how’s it goin’, dawg”.. and “What’s up bro” (I don’t know that they really talk like that, but that’s what I hear coming from them). I also noticed how many people were talking in canned motivational poster talk. “The journey of 1000 miles starts with one step”, and “Winning isn’t everything, but wanting to win is”.. and “the worse you feel while here, the better you’ll feel tomorrow”. Whatever happened to taking the time to have a genuine comment? Friday, I seriously got a “TGIF” from someone. They are so lucky that I responded with a chuckle and a “have a great day”.. because my instinct was to yell “go fuck yourself” into their dumb looking face. Here is a general rule for me… if I see you and you aren’t in the mood to talk, don’t talk. I wont be offended. But don’t pretend to give a shit, and decide to have a conversation with me in cliché idiocy. It is a waste of both our time. Instead just scream “fuck you” into my face. “Working hard or hardly working”… “TGIF”… “Livin’ the dream”… if you see me and your instinct is to say any of these to me, instead just look at me and say “go fuck yourself”.. because when you say these things, what you are really saying is "I am not willing or able to make a relevant statement here...". 

So as you can see. My workout didn’t make me shiny and happy. It didn’t improve my mood. I am not all of a sudden happier because of it. The idea that fixing my body will be a cure all for the things I hate on a day to day basis, is insane. Skinny people have bad days too. I am pretty over the endless sea of smiling faces trying to sell me workout meals, or diet plans, or workouts.. I am ready to just live. Have working out be a part of my life to improve my health, not some magic elixir that will repair everything. I need to be just as ready to workout and eat well on the days that I am rooting for nuclear war, as I am on the days where I am wearing my $250 workout outfit and smiling and feeling amazing. I do honestly think it would be refreshing to see more of these instagram and twitter workout people with 500k followers be more relatable. Show us we aren't worthless fucking slugs because we have off days.