#474 The Fortress of Fat

For the past year, my body has suffered from neglect and abuse while I struggled to regain my mental health. Grief and loss threatened to consume me and I responded to that threat in some pretty negative ways. Ate too much. Drank too much. Exercised too little. The bottom line is, I gained almost 50 pounds since finishing my marathon in the spring. I wan't just running away from my sadness. I was building a fortress of fat where I could hide from it.

2013 had been a hurricane, and it had left my house in a pile of rubble. I was going to have to rebuild from the ground up.Late in the year, some things happened to help me reset the foundations. The time I was spending with my therapist was starting to make sense to me. I was coming to understand just what my values were, and to learn ways to make choices that were more consistent with the things that mattered most to me. I got the opportunity to play with an inspiring group of young actors whose energy and wisdom helped me to see just how destructive my behavior and my thinking had become. Important time spent with my dearest friend, though soon to be ex-wife, reminded me that though the nature of our relationship might change, true love abides. I spent a long, largely solitary Advent in prayer and contemplation, renewing my friendship with God, whose love and guidance I had taken too much for granted. I actually met some new people and started new friendships. And I squeezed into the workout clothes that used to fit me so well, and waddled my big, big butt back into the gym. On Facebook, I called it my #evolutionresolution

In spite of the extra weight, my cardiopulmonary fitness was still pretty good. Thanks to the classes I teach, I get about four hours a week of moderate exercise, and that was enough for me to maintain a strong heart and lungs, even with the surplus pounds. I was tempted to pick a race... always a great motivator for me... and start hitting the road hard. Then I mounted the treadmill.

Too heavy. Way too heavy. I was slow, my muscles screamed after just a mile or so, and my knees and hips let me know that banging them with such a big hammer was going to end very badly for all of us. I was not going to be able to run my way out of the fortress of fat. I was going to have to start somewhere else.

My old iron friends were calling me home. It was time to get back to the weight room. We had just launched a new program called MobileFit at the YMCA, and I had the Wellness Director type in my information. All the shameful numbers. Primary goal: Weight loss. Secondary goal: Strength gains. A magic combination. I should have seen it coming.

The computer giggled softly to itself, and started spitting out daily workouts that would make a Spartan cry for his Mamma. Cruel, hour-long weight-lifting sessions. Daily doses of cardio. I took the recommendations and amped them up even more. I shortened the prescribed rest periods between sets to keep my heart rate up and jump start my metabolism. I increased the progression of weight and reps to encourage muscle growth. I intensified the short walks to long jogs. I've been at it for about a month now, and when I stepped on the scale yesterday morning, I was almost ten pounds lighter than I was at Thanksgiving.

Now that's a lot of weight to lose in a short amount of time. I know that. And I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. But I'm a big boy. And I had been very sedentary. Given those two factors, it is predictable that the first few pounds would come off quickly. I don't expect to maintain that pace for long. But I am encouraged. I can do this. I can be strong again. The fortress of fat will fall. The Fat Man will run again.

I love to tell my people at the Y, "If you can slide back, then you can slide forward, too." Barbells and treadmills have no feelings to hurt. They will always welcome you back. Yes, I have failed myself. But that doesn't mean I can't try again.

Give up? I'll give up when I'm dead. Today, I have a date with a squat rack. And before I'm through the poor thing isn't going to know what hit it.

Peace,
Pennsy

#459: Losing Weight, Licking Cancer, Living Strong

As I've mentioned before, tomorrow I am giving a presentation that will test whether or not I am mentally able to function as a public representative of the YMCA. It's a crucial step in my rehabilitation and I consider it a make or break event for me. I'm not looking to hit any singles... not this time. I just finished a 2 hour walk where I finished composing my thoughts. Here's a sneak peak at the words and feelings that I hope will win be my job back in just a few hours. ~ Pennsy

They've asked me to make a speech today. The trouble is, I don't really know much of anything, so I'm not very good at making speeches or delivering lectures or preaching sermons or anything like that. Mostly, I'm just a story teller. They want me to talk to you about losing weight, licking cancer, and living strong, and it just so happens I know a couple of stories about those things. I tell you three, then maybe I'll shut up and you can tell me some of yours.

My sister Beth and Me

I was a fat boy. And I grew up to be a fat man. A fat boy. A fat, sad, angry, resentful, lonesome boy. I guess you could say I was really a frightened boy, because that's how I grew up. When I was young, I used to think I was sad because I was fat. Much later in my life, I learned that I had things exactly backwards. I was fat because I was so very sad. Like so many men, I lived for years before I learned that I had a mental illness called Bipolar Mood Disorder. Most of the time, you'd never know there was anything different about me. I might seem especially energetic some days, or particularly down on others, but you'd probably just think, "That's just Bob. He's an emotional guy." But every now and then I have more than just a bad day. Every now and then, every few years or so, I have a week or a month or a season where my emotions and thoughts seem to be totally out of my control. I can have enough energy to conquer the world at breakfast, and by lunch time be in such a dark lonely shadow that I can barely even think of getting out of bed without bursting into tears. Those of us who have this disease find many ways to manage it. Some of us get help from friends or doctors. Some of us try to help ourselves with smoke or drink or some other addiction. My addiction was food.

Eating was something I could control. I couldn't do anything about the grief and the rage that battered me like a hurricane, but I could control what went into my mouth. The more I ate, the more in control I felt. Being sad made me eat. Eating made me fatter. Getting fatter made me sad. And that's how addiction fuels itself.

60 inch jeans, XXXL shirt. 

Eventually, I found the people who could help me to tame the Bipolar monster... at least most of the time. They taught me new ways to think. They helped me find the right combination of medicine and activity to keep my emotions on a more even keel. But you know what? Life is sad sometimes. That's just life. And in my life, I had one way to manage sadness. I would eat. Every time. Until Friday, April 16, 2010 when I stepped on a scale at St Joseph's hospital. I was 49 years old. I was 6'-4" tall. I had a 60" waist and weighed 397 pounds. And that is the story of how a sad, fat boy grew up to be a depressed, morbidly obese man.

Now, here's my second story.

So, that's what cancer looks like...

You may be wondering how I can be so sure about the day and date of that step onto the scale at St Joe's. Well the truth is, I wasn't really in the hospital to get weighed. A few weeks earlier, I found a lump about the size of a raisin under the right side of my neck. Within a week, it was the size of a ping-pong ball, and I was on my way to the doctor. By the time I had had my third and fourth doctor visits, a CT scan and a PET scan, it was the size of my fist. It stretched from the base of my ear to my larynx and threatened to crush my carotid artery. "I can't tell you if it's cancer or not," the doctor said, "But if we don't get that thing out of there this Friday, you may not live till Monday.

Well, it turned out that it was cancer. Squamous Cell Carcinoma, a very particular kind of skin cancer that affects the inner linings of your body. It had started under my tonsil and grown into a 6 centimeter tumor. It had metastasized into the surrounding muscle and the lymph nodes in my neck. They removed 9 nodes, a portion of my neck muscle, my jugular vein, and several nerves; but they never found clean margins. The surgeon cut out everything he could find, but he was sure he hadn't found it all. I was going to need radiation. I was going to need chemo. It was going to be really, really bad. And then the surgeon told me these words that changed me forever.

"I've been treating people with cancer for almost 20 years. Some of they live, too many of them die. They have good attitudes and bad ones. They get angry or spiritual or serene or generous. They travel the world or they go home and call people on the phone to tell them they love them. No matter what their attitude, some live and some die. But the ones who give up... they all die."

"Your cancer has a 50% survival rate. You only have one chance, and that is to fight for your life."

But wait. I was the fat boy, remember? The unhappy kid? The depressed man? My life was miserable. Why would I want to pass up a chance for it to finally be over? It should have been the easiest question in the world, but it took me days to answer it. "Why do I want to live?"

The Hill in my dream

Then, one night, I had a dream. I am standing at the top of a grassy hill, near my grandmother's house in northern Pennsylvania. I can see blue skies and thick, soft grass as I begin to walk, then run down the hill. I look down at my feet, and I realize that I'm only touching the ground with every second or third stride. I am gliding along the top of the grass. Then I rise up. I am flying... no... not flying... I am running through the air, high above the trees and the telephone wires. I look down on herds of cows and fields of corn. It is the most beautiful day and in the dream I know that if I ever beat the heads you live/tails you die odds that the doctors have given me, if I can beat this cancer, then I am going to run. THAT's why I want to live. Because I want to run.

It came slowly. There were days when I couldn't make it from my bed to the bathroom. On my 50th birthday, my mom had to help me to the toilet so I could wretch with all my might, as if I could somehow choke up the cancer along with the sick that the chemo was forcing out of me. There were days when the burns on my neck looked like charcoal, and the blisters in my throat felt like glass shards when I tried to sip water. I spent my mornings bolted to a table while they shot me through with radiation or strapped to a chair while they filled my veins with chemicals so toxic that the nurses had to wear haz mat suits to handle them. But through the Percocet induced haze, when I closed my eyes, I could look down and see those country roads as I flew past. I was going to beat this thing. I was going to run.

The first time I tried to climb the steps, I had to sit down on the third one and call for my wife to come help me back to bed. But I remembered what the doctor had said. The ones who quit, they all die. I refused to quit. I walked to the door and back. Next day, to the porch and back. Then the sidewalk. The corner. Around the corner. Around the block. Weeks went by and finally I was strong enough to try to jog a few steps. Jog two strides, then walk a minute. Jog 10 seconds, and walk two minutes. Never give up. Never quit. The day I jogged a mile for the first time, I felt as if I had just won the Boston Marathon.

I knew that day that I was no longer just a survivor.

I was a victor.

I hadn't just beaten cancer. I had kicked its ass. And I had become a runner.

My third story is about Living Strong. 

Now during the six months from the day of my diagnosis until my first clean scan, I lost about 90 pounds, most of it muscle. I could walk. I could jog a mile, but I was still weak as a kitten. I was determined to keep losing weight. I called it "cancer's silver lining." I kept walking. I ate more and more whole foods, fewer and fewer baked goods. I stopped eating french fries and burgers. No more chips and cookies. I found that my treatment had changed the way a lot of things tasted to me. Cake was like chewing rags. Tomatoes, a food I had never really liked before, suddenly tasted like an explosion of summer air. I learned to love foods that looked like food, not just shapes in a bag or a box. I kept walking. I lifted weights. The pounds kept falling, but I wasn't really getting stronger. I needed more, but I didn't know what.

When I learned about a program called LIVESTRONG at the YMCA, I jumped at the opportunity. It was a three month, free membership. I could use the pool, the weight room, the cardio equipment. I thought it sounded like a sweet deal. I had no idea how sweet.

The original Eight and our coaches

LIVESTRONG is about wellness, not just fitness. It's about training your mind and your spirit as well as your body. It's about nutrition. Learning how to eat so we can help ourselves to heal and prevent the relapse that is always hiding out there in the darkest corner of our imaginations. It's about exercise: Zumba, Pilates, yoga, aquatic fitness, weight training, walking, running, biking... everything that the Y has to offer. But mostly, LIVESTRONG is about us, the survivors. The things we know that nobody should have to learn... that nobody could ever learn unless they have walked the road we have walked. It's about surviving, and about how survival just isn't enough. I didn't want to be a survivor. I wanted to be a warrior. I wanted cancer to be as scared of me as I had been of it.

And three amazing women: Carrie, Chelsea, and Melissa, our trainers helped to turn us into warriors. When they looked at me, they didn't see a fat, sad boy. they didn't see an obese, depressed man. They saw - of all the crazy things in the world - they looked at me and saw a Marathoner. The first time they said it, I thought they were nuts. I thought so when they made me run twice as much as my classmates. I thought so when I was lifting weights and jumping and lunging across the basketball court. I thought they were nuts right up until the May morning in 2012 when I finished the Pittsburgh Marathon in 6:21. And I raised $3600 for the LIVESTRONG at the YCMA program. This May, I finished the Flying Pig Marathon in Cincinnati, cutting my time by almost 40 minutes. And I raised $7411 to help our program to thrive. And I did it because of my brothers and sisters in LIVESTRONG.

For Becky: in a nursing home this morning, her doctors are waiting for her to get sick enough to die, but she hasn't got the time. She's laughing, visiting with friends, joking, remembering fun days together. When Death comes for Becky, he isn't going to find her waiting. He's going to have to go catch her.

For Raynee: a young mother and wife whose life is being threatened by the cruelest cancer of all. The doctors removed an enormous mass from her brain. She knows that there is no such thing as  a guarantee of tomorrow. So every few weeks, she goes out and gets a new, beautiful tattoo. Her most recent? A gray brain cancer ribbon, wrapped around a pair of brass knuckles. Raynee isn't giving in to cancer without a fight.

For all of them. For John and Mary who supported one another through each of their cancers. For Emma whose greatest fear used to be stepping off of a curb. For Pam who beat stage 4 lung cancer and for Frank who never quit until he could finally bench press a 10 pound bar.

They will never quit. They are not "survivors." They are champions.

They know what we all know.

The cancer can always come back. The cancer can always kill us... but it can never defeat us. Not if we live strong.

And those are my stories.

Never give up.

You probably have some of your own. But let me leave you with this word. Don't wait. Don't wait until you are too fat to walk. Don't wait until you are ready to kill yourself to make the sadness go away. Don't wait until you get cancer to know how beautiful and full of possibility your life is.

The ones who give up all die.

Never give up.

Never stop fighting for your life.

Never stop living strong.

Peace,
Pennsy

#405: Begging and Running, Shrinking and Thinking

OH, THIS CONSTANT BEGGING FOR MONEY...

Will He Ever Stop?

Mrs P says, "You can't expect people to give money every time you run a race." She's right, of course. I expect I'll be focusing my fundraising efforts and limiting the times I come begging. I worry that the constant appeals for money to support LIVESTRONG AT THE YMCA are off-putting and that people might be mentally "changing the channel," when I post or send a letter or button-hole them personally. It concerns me that I might be working in a way that actually discourages people from helping. But then I remember those people in the gym, sweating out reps, walking out miles, straining to perform abdominal crunches, or to pick themselves up off the yoga mat. If you know a better way to raise money, I'm all ears. In the meantime, I'm using the same dogged determination that I see them use. Please don't let my lame skills as a fundraiser keep you from joining a project that will help people personally and directly. 


RUN THIS TOWN

Running the Way Kids Run

Two of my favorite things about my hometown are the YMCA, and John's Run/Walk Shop. They';re combining their resources to create a program called "Run This Town." Three times a week, about 20 kids, tweens and teens meet at Castlewood park on the north end of town and run together. There are almost that many adults running with them. We're training together to run a 10k race in May. The Y pays for their registration, and Johns gives each of them a pair of new running shoes. It's a way to help kids fall in love with running.


They come on foot, in old mini-vans, and in luxury sedans. Some of them are wearing expensive gear, some of them are in hand-me downs. It doesn't matter. We run together. On Saturday, I ran 3.5 miles with three young athletes. Since I don't wear my glasses when I run, I can't read the card the program director gives us with the directions on it, so I picked the fastest member of the team to be our navigator. We couldn't keep up with her, but she stopped at every turn to make sure we saw which direction to go before she disappeared out of sight. When the two younger runners and I started slowing down, I decided to introduce them to Fartlek: the speed-play with the funny name. They took turns picking a landmark in the distance. "We'll run to the red car." Then we would walk while the other runner chose our next goal. This is usually a training technique for advanced runners, but it also mimics the way kids actually run. They love to go like the wind, then stop and walk for a while. I was really delighted with how well it worked, and we finished strong, sprinting together to the finish. 


LOOKING BACK AND RUNNING FORWARD

Fat Man Shrinking

I wanted to do about 11 miles on Sunday, so I decided to run the roads I last saw on Christmas morning. My goal was to take it easy, and run the second half faster than the first: negative splits they call it. I had to laugh as I set out. I was going to do a nice short 11 miles. I remembered this post from back in December of 2010.

Tomorrow is going to be a pretty big test for me. Will I get off my duff and go to the gym, or will I give up completely? After all, I can't lift the weight I used to. I can't run the way I used to. It's embarassing to be passed on the track by old ladies or to take all the plates off a machine before I use it. I wonder what all the young dudes who are doing 200 lb shoulder shrugs think about a fat old man who can't lift a 25 lb dumbbell over his head. I wonder if I'll ever be able to lift more than my own weight again.

I had lost just over 100 pounds, and I was dreaming of being able to run a 3k again someday. No one could have ever convinced me that I'd be running a marathon in a year and a half. 

Danny the Newton Man

As I ran yesterday, I focused on tempo and form. At the expo for the Run the Bluegrass Half Marathon, I met a man named Danny Abshire. His company makes Newton Shoes, and he's written a book called Natural Running: The Simple Path to Stronger, Healthier Running. I haven't read his book yet, but a lot of what he said to me about form made sense. Keep your stride short. Land under your hips, not out in front of your center of gravity. Strike on your mid-foot to preserve your forward momentum, not back on your heel, which is like applying the brakes with every step. Use the natural flex of your ankles, knees, and hips to absorb the shock in your muscles, not your bones and joints. I tried to apply what he showed me, and it felt pretty good. I'm not introducing any radical changes in running form three weeks before a marathon, but these are pretty small, and they seem to help me stay strong and even a little quicker on my feet. I finished the 11 miles right on schedule, just a little faster than I'd planned, and I'd learned some more about pacing. Oh, and yes, I ran the second half about 4 minutes faster than the first.


SO YEAH, THERE'S A LOT GOING ON


I also have my non-running life to look after. Hugging my wife. Doing the taxes, (extension filed on the 14th.) The return of lawn care season. Slowly preparing for the Great Garage Sale. It's a busy time for Mrs P and  me. We're behind schedule on a lot of things, but we keep moving forward. All things considered, times are pretty good in Pennsyltucky. 


Here's hoping things are just as good in your neighborhood.


Peace,
Pennsy

#396: "Don't Let a Number Define You"

I don't know where that came from, but it's what I said when one of my survivors told me, "Oh, that's too much. I could never lift that." turns out she was a lot tougher than she thought. The weight I gave her was heavy, but she knocked out her three sets, and I felt like a genius. I wasn't, of course. I was just passing along a lesson I've learned about numbers. They describe you, but don't let numbers define you.


Numbers on a scale.
The size of your pants.
Your time in the 5K.
The tally of your birthdays.


There are numbers that tell you where you are.


Your first love.
Your third marriage.
Your second childhood.
Your fifteen minutes of fame.


There are numbers that tell you what you've done.


12 marathons.
7 no-hitters.
1000% return on investment.
$400K a year.


And numbers that tell you what you can't do.


One chance in a million
50% prognosis
16th seed in the tournament.


A lot of people worry about their weight. They're trying to eat right. They're coming to the gym. They're lifting more pounds, running more miles, swimming more laps, playing longer, laughing harder, and sweating more than they ever have before.


And they feel like they're failing.


Because of a number on a scale.


My friend played Pickleball for an hour with me the other day. Afterwards, she complained that her weight isn't coming down the way she'd like.


She had just spent an hour running around a court with a wooden paddle, whacking a ball across a net at me and laughing her head off. When I first met her last fall, walking from the car to the gym was a painful chore for her.


Where is the scale that measures that? How do you weigh loving your life? 


You don't measure joy.


You live it.


Peace,


Pennsy


Please visit http://www.crowdrise.com/pennsyycky and contribute to my fundraiser, Living Strong at the Y. We can do so much together.

#345: What Running is Doing to my Body

Today being the start of a new quarter, I have revised The Tale of the Tape...

	1/20/08	4/27/08	7/20/08	3/17/11	7/1/11	Change
Weight	405	366	357	292	262	(143)
BMI	49.3	44.5	42.9	35.5	32	(17.3)
Body Fat %	43.8	31.1	31.4	29.1	24.5	(14.7)
Lean Mass	228	231	245	207	198	(30)
Resting HR	87	70	68	64	62	(25)
Neck	19	18	18	17.25	16	(3)
Shoulders	59.5	55.5	59.5	55	52	(7.5)
Chest	58	57	58	50	46.5	(11.5)
L Biceps	15.5	16	18	13.5	13	(2.5)
R Biceps	16	16.5	19	14	13	(3)
L Forearm	12.5	12.25	13	11.5	11	(1.5)
R Forearm	13	13	13.75	12	11	(2)
Waist	59	52	50.5	46	43	(16)
Hips	61.5	57.5	56.5	51	48.5	(13)
L Thigh	29.5	30	26	27.5	27	(2.5)
R Thigh	30	30	26	28	27	(3)
L Calf	20.25	20	20	18	18	(2.25)
R Calf	20.5	20	20	18	18	(2.5)

 

So, what's happened to my body since March? First of all, I've lost a lot more weight. I'm giving cancer credit for the first hundred pounds, but the rest is mine. 10 pounds a month. That's a pretty good pace. The BMI is coming down, too. just a few more pounds and I'll be classified as "Overweight," not "Obese." That will be a first. Then there's the Body Fat percentage. I'm encouraged by the way it keeps coming down. I want to get to 20% by the end of the summer, but you can tell from my Lean mass numbers that I've stopped lifting weights. Yes, I'm burning a lot of fat, but I'm also losing some muscle mass, especially in my upper body. I'm not going to fret too much about that. Right now, I'm focused on training for the next couple of races, and I have chosen not to spend so much time in the gym.

 

Overall, I can't help but be pleased. A stranger meeting me for the first time would probably still see a fat man, but the people who have known me a while see a changed man. Soon, I'll be able to buy clothes in a department store! How nice it will be to get all of those multiple Xs out of my closet.

 

So what am I learning? It's never to late to change direction. Patience works. Long, slow runs. Gradual increases of intensity. Consistent training. Mindful eating. Sleeping right. It all works together to make you stronger, faster, and fitter. If a middle-aged fat man can do this, you can, too!

 

I think I'm going to drop the old 2008 numbers from this chart. They really are from a different life, a pre-cancer life. "Pre" a lot of things, come to think of it. I don't really know what the numbers were on the day of my surgery, other than my weight, 397. That was April 16, 2010, a kind of new birthday for me. That was the day I became a survivor, a cancer fighter. That fight, not so much the fight against cancer, but the fight for life is the reason I'm training. I don't know what God has in mind for the rest of my life, but I want to be ready.

 

Peace,

 

Pennsy

#337: Short, Swift, and Saggy

Date	Time	Miles	MPH	Min/Mile
6/9/11	00:25:48	2.35	5.47	10:59

HTML Tables

I have a long run scheduled for the weekend, so I didn't want to wear myself down today. I also wanted to try to test my speed. I don't want to get involved in a lot of speed work, yet. My body and I still have plenty to learn about endurance, and it will be a long time before my time in a race is more important than finishing. Still, I have an ego, and would like to have a little more oomph... at least enough to keep up with the strollers and dog walkers. So today, I went as fast as I could, for as long as I could.

First of all, those are some shocking numbers for me. I don't think I've ever run that fast for that long in my life. I stuck with my Run/Walk intervals, running 2 minutes and walking 30 seconds. After that first mile, 2 minutes seemed like a very long time, but I kept pressing. I could really tell the difference between this and my usual runs.

There is still a difference between the distance I measure on MapMyRun.com and what my Nike+ gizmo indicates. I use the longer of the two distances here, because it's so much more impressive. I did mention my ego, didn't I? No matter how far it was, at the end of these miles, I was spent. I don't think running 8 miles on Sunday left me feeling this tired. I am definitely not a sprinter!

On the other hand, it felt good to seek my own limits for a little bit. My legs learned something about running at a faster cadence than they are used to. I won't try to duplicate this pace on my long run, but it will be interesting to see if this work allows me to cover a little more ground.

I've begun noticing some changes in my body. As my fat percentage continues going down, things are appearing. Hip bones. Ribs. Nurses can find the veins in my arms a little easier. I can feel separate muscles in my thighs. My face looks longer. There is one thing that bugs me, though. I have these pouches of flesh on me. 130 pounds ago, my skin got used to covering up a lot more stuff than is in there now. I can tell from the scale that I'm lighter. I can tell from my pants that I'm slimmer. But my belly is like this floppy, empty sack. Not blubbery, just baggy. The other day, I took a naked stroll into the living room and asked Mrs P if she thought my gut and thighs would eventually shrink down to normal.

"Oh, no," she answered with not enough sympathy and a little too much amusement. "You should probably get a tummy tuck."

Well, no one could fairly describe this vast expanse as a "tummy," and "tucking" it just seems inadequate. I'm thinking we may have to bundle up a couple of yards of the stuff off and donate it to science. I could probably provide grafts for several burn victims with the hide sagging from my torso. Of course, there would have to be some medical reason to do such a thing. The insurance folks won't be interested in paying for surgery just so I can have washboard abs and a tight butt. Not that any of that will matter since I'll need a zipper where my belly-button used to be.

Anybody know if looking like a half-inflated beach ball in swimming trunks is a life threatening situation?

Peace,
Pennsy

#334: Faster and Fitter Than Ever

Part of the beauty of being a new runner is that you can make progress in such big chunks. I ran the Legacy Loop 5K in 35:41. That's more than a minute and a half faster than my previous best from last week. Of course, it was also about 20 degrees cooler. It was nice to run three sub 12:00 splits. Ran the whole race using 1:45/0:30 second intervals. By staying patient and sticking to that discipline, I was able to keep my strength for the whole race. At around 2 miles, I encountered a woman who appeared to be about my age. We jockeyed back and forth for a while, then I finally settled in beside her and we ran together for the last mile. We even chatted back and forth. Amazing for me to be able to run 3 miles and still be able to carry on a conversation. The race finished inside the baseball park, at home plate. I was able to run strong all the way around the warning track. I finished a couple of seconds ahead of my partner, after I took a few breaths, I looked over my shoulder and we smiled at one another. We had both run a good race.

That was Saturday. Today is Monday, and I couldn't wait to get back on the road. good thing, too. It's going to be a hot one. An early morning run is the best way to beat that. I was awake at 7:00, grabbed a SlimFast for breakfast, and read the news. At around 8:00, with the temperature at 70 degrees, I hit the street. This was a new route for me. Lots of shade, some rolling road, and a short span where there was no sidewalk. Real road running. I encountered lots of folks out for their morning constitution, run, or dog walk. Even saw a little girl zooming around on her Razor scooter! Only one glitch: as I said, this was a new route for me. I made one wrong turn that took me a few blocks out of my way, and added about a quarter mile to my workout. It was a slow, easy run, so I'm not worried about the extra distance.

One other milestone: I have crossed the 275 pound barrier. This morning I weighed in at 272, with 25% body fat. I feel terrific, and may have to buy new pants again soon. My goal is to be down to 240 pounds by Labor Day. Baby steps.

I'm so pretty now, there's no telling how irresistible I'll be at 240.

Peace,
Pennsy

#295: You Can't Get Started Until You Start

My Therapist says not to worry about what I used to be able to do, or what I might not be able to do. Ask rather, what can I do today that is of value toward my goals? So here's my next big fitness goal. I want to run in the Bluegrass 10,000 on July 4th here in Lexington. It looks impossible. Right now, it is. I can't run 6.4 miles at any pace. I'm not sure I could walk it. But I knew I could do something.

Today, I finally got up the nerve to find out what.

The guy at the desk was friendly and gave me a good-hearted needle about my Steeler's sweatshirt. Silly man., but the warmest I've enountered there so far. It was a good start. My lucky locker, #27, was occupied, so I slid my bag into #29 and made my way up to the workout room. I got on the treadmill. I find counting laps tedious, expecially when you're trying to run miles around a basketball court. The treadmill counts for me. It also helps me to regulate my pace. I'll be better able to measure my progress. Like the business writers say, if you can measure it, you can manage it.

I ran 2 miles at 3 mph. That's a ridiculously slow pace. That's a slow pace for a walker. It took me 40 minutes, plus about 15 minutes to warm up and cool down. It was laughable, but I kept good form, and I made it all the way without any breaks. I actually surprised myself with both the distance and the duration. The other day, a half hour walk around Kroger left me spinny headed and weak in the legs. I'm going to train at that distance for a while in preparation for the Habitat for Humanity Shamrock Shuffle in March. This is a 3K (about 1.8 miles) race through the streets of Lexington on what is usually a cold and rainy morning. Sounds miserable? It isn't. I loved my last one. It was actually the last time I ran in an organized race, so it's going to be a sort of homecoming for me. After today's workout, I feel confident enough to register. Soon there'll be a new tee shirt in my drawer!

I got on the scale last night. I now weigh 291. Just over 100 pounds less than I did last April, the day of my surgery. If you're tired of that spare tire, and want to try my $1500 a pound weight loss program, call 1-800-CARCINOMA Our counsellors are standing by.

Yes, the weight loss is the silver lining of this whole thing. I am now a recovering food addict, not likely to ever relapse unless I develop a taste for drinking bacon grease. Wouldn't it be crazy if cancer saves me from having a heart attack?

When life gives you tumors, make lemonade...

Peace,
Pennsy

#207: Not an Easy Morning

Not an easy morning, this one. Woke up at 3:00 determined not to go back to sleep. My mind rushed from one thing to another as if I had forgotten my Ambien. That little wonder-drug usually helps me get past those kinds of nights, but not this time. Not even a football match between Holland and some other country in white shirts was enough to put me to sleep. This in spite of the riveting action of two scores in an hour and a half. Soccer makes me feel like such a dolt. I'm obviously missing something. It is impressive that they always seem to kick the ball just where they want it to go. I couldn't do that.

After I turned off the TV, I went back to bed and let my brains race some more. I went over old jobs. Projects I had worked on years before. A letter to the editor. A political screed I wanted to post on one of my favorite message boards. Pure craziness. The sun finally came up and Mrs P started giving me medicine. I started with the new "swish and swallow" brew that numbs every part of my mouth except the places that hurt. Then I tried to take some pills. I couldn't tell if I had swallowed them or not. Kind of a foolish position to be in, actually. I kept drinking water and swallowing, but the numbing stuff left me sort of senseless back there. I knew something was uncomfortable, but couldn't tell what. As a result, Mrs P decided to crush the remaining pills - one of which is the size of a new-born's foot - and mix them up in some water so they could squirt through my PEG tube. That's how I'll be taking pills for a while. No more swallowing anything solid. Finally we did the little half teaspoon of thrush potion. The giant antibiotic pill should be firing up the thrush on my tongue again any minute.

So that's how the day started. We drove to the vet first, to drop Mo off for an ultra-sound. He has something queer going on in his tummy and the doc wanted to rule out the really bad stuff. Then we went to radiation. I managed to throw up during the short wait for my treatment. I can't even express how glad I was to do that before they bolted the mask on. Funny thing when you throw up around a bunch of radiation patients. Everyone just sort of takes it in stride. We've all "been there/done that." When I returned from the restroom with that pale, cold sweaty look, everyone just smiled and nodded. The lady next to me asked "Y' ok?" "M' ok." I answered, and we all went back to our magazines. You've got to be pretty bad off to get a room full of cancer patients excited.

I keep snapping at Mrs. P, which I hate. She's not much of a fan, either. I get so frustrated sometimes and I take it out on the stupidest things. A missed turn in the car. A glass in the living room. Nothing important. I know that this is part of the disease and all that, but I hate that she bears the brunt of it. When I think about it I can stop myself, but when I'm not thinking it just comes out of me. So unfair to her. As if life wasn't screwing her enough already.

Back home at last. I laid down and she gave me my 10:00 feeding. Sounds like a baby. I have to take a can of Ensure every two hours or else I'm going to start losing weight again. Lost a pound since yesterday morning which is very bad. They will put me in the hospital and start pumping bacon grease into me if I can't keep my weight up. This is the craziest thing. I am now down to the weight I was when I was running 5K races. Maybe I can use that as a head start when I start running again in the fall. For now the walk across campus at the cancer center has me soaked with sweat.

After my can of nutrition, I closed my eyes and Mrs P curled up next to me for a nap. These are the best parts of the day. She held me until I fell asleep, then crept out of bed to do some cleaning up. She is my angel.

I'm hoping the day stays pretty ordinary from here on out. I'm gonna shave my head. Take a shower. Maybe read a little. It's only 82 degrees out. Maybe I'll go sit in the shade later and make some phone calls. To be honest, I'm a little bored with myself today. Can't imagine reading about it is much better than living it. We'll talk again tomorrow.

Peace,
pennsy

Half Way Through

I'm half way through my experiment. I've learned the word for it. It's called periodization. It's where you commit to a routine for a period of weeks or months, employing progressive resistance, then you switch to a different one. For example from heavy weight and low reps, then lower weight, higher reps, and shorter rest periods.

I have been lifting heavy and long (two-plus hours of lifting) with two days of recovery between.

BODY COMPOSITION

Body Weight: 357 >> 352 (-5 lb)
Body Fat: 115 >> 114 (-1 lb )
Lean Body Mass: 242 >> 237 (-4 lb)

The body composition numbers are interesting. My body fat and lean body mass are both going down. I haven't changed my nutrition very much (look, it's never perfect) but my sleep was lousy this week. I had a hard time staying asleep and consequently didn't get up on time. The other thing I noticed about this routine was that only going to the gym three times turned my mood pretty dark. The anti-depressant effect of exercise is something I can't afford to play with. I think that getting the right rest, and being smarter about what and when I eat will make a difference.

My goals for the year are weight 270 and Body Fat 12.5%. That's going to put my lean body mass right about where it is now. I don't know how to manage that change. Obviously excess muscle mass isn't going to be a problem for a while.But I need to manage fat loss without losing lean. I think Cardio is going to be the answer. I want to run, but for now, I need to suck it up and do the boring work on the recumbant bike and the elliptical. It will be a while before I can ride my bike enough to make much difference to my heart. (though my quads are feeling it.)

PERFORMANCE

Bench Press: 155 >> 165 (+ 6%)
Dead Lift: 145 >> 175 (+ 21%)
Squats: 105 >> 175 (+ 67%)
Pushups: 8 >> 10 (+ 25%)

These numbers each tell different stories. The bench press is an exercise I have been pushing on for a while, so I was working close to my max when the week started. The deadlift and squats are fairly new to me and my focus has been on learning proper form without hurting myself. Know I am testing myself more to find my max. I'm close, but not there quite yet. Pushups I just started. I was embarrassed to try because I knew I would suck at them. I just finally decided to start. (no sense waiting until I can bench my own body weight - besides, right now the bigger problem is core strength. My back gives out before my arms.)

SUBJECTIVE IMPRESSIONS

I've already touched on one - I don't like the two days rest. the gym has become an important part of managing my depression. Even if it's just a short trim on the stair climber, I need to be there more often than this.

I am getting stronger in every muscle group. I feel harder and am seeing more muscle.

I miss cardio, emotionally and physically. The big power lifts, squats and deadlifts really test your cardio-pulmonary system. When I finish a set, I am breathless, sometimes dizzy, and yesterday I was slightly queasy for a minute. I recovered soon enough, but eventually cardio is going to be critical to improving those lifts.

The thing I feel good about is that I'm sticking with the plan. I will keep at this for another week before making adjustments. It feels good to stick with my commitment.

And finally my usual whine -- I really miss running.

All in good time.

Peace,
b

Easing Up the Intensity

After a couple of long breaks for vacation and injury recovery, I'm starting to raise the bar a little. I need to get my cardio training back in motion. I've already had to skip two events that I had planned for the summer. During the "limping time" I have made good progress in the weight room though. I want to keep up the pressure there too. Moving forward -- carefully, but always forward -- that's my goal.

Good news from yesterday's weigh-in. A week of Mother P's cooking did not throw me too far off schedule. My weight is hovering around 360, and my lean muscle mass is up 0.7% so I'm still moving in the right direction. My big quarterly evaluation is in a couple weeks. The weight hasn't moved as much this time, but I expect my measurements will have changed quite a bit.

I got back on the treadmill for the first time in June. The legs felt fine, but I don't want to re-injure them. I just walked a warm up/cool down for about 5 minutes each. I'll work up from there.

The weights went ok, but my lower back is a little tender. I'm going to ask for some coaching on squats and deadlifts. I'm still not pulling a huge amount of weight but I don't want to do myself any harm. I cut a couple of lifts from my workout, and knocked the weight way down on others.

I may be trying to do too much or too many different exercises in a workout. I'm going to look at planning my routine a little farther in advance so I can cover all the muscle groups more efficiently.

Today is going to be a rest day. I have some work to do in the yard, so that can be my cross-training plan. I think it's important to do something practical every now and then to remind myself why I spend so much time in the gym.

Peace,
Pennsy

Power Cage

What a great name for an apparatus. This one is built by Body-Solid. They call it a power rack, but I like "cage". The language is more muscular somehow.

The power cage is the world's greatest spotter. It doesn't help when you don't need it, and it never fails when you do. You can use it to hold up heavy weights or to keep them from crushing you if something goes wrong. You can pull a bench inside or use the top for a pullup bar. It's not just a great tool, it's a place to be.

For me, the power cage is a symbol of my most ambitious strength goals. It's where I do my heaviest lifting. If I ever build a home gym, a bench and a cage will be my first apparatus purchases.

The cage is also where I load the bar for deadlifts. It inspires me somehow. Yesterday, I started there, and after running out of gas after one set the day before, I lifted a new personal best. It was a great start to a great workout that focused on my chest and upper back.

One thing though -- proper form is crucial when you do this lift, and proper form requires you to keep the bar movement as vertical as possible, right up against your shins and thighs. I made the mistake of wearing shorts and no leg wraps and really barked up my shins on the knurled part of the bar. I'll remember to cover them next time.



One of the guys I really admire approached me during my workout yesterday. He complimented me on my progress, then asked what I was eating to lose weight. He's frustrated that he can't drop pounds. This is a guy who lifts close to his body weight on the bench. I've seen him on the stair climber for close to an hour at a time. He is tremendously fit and he's asking ME how I'm losing weight. I told him about smoothies, salads, fish, and an occasional cheese burger. I also said that when I get stuck, I make a change to my workout, never repeating the same routine twice. I didn't want to say too much because A) he doesn't really need my advice and B) I don't really know what I'm talking about anyway. It made me realize that even athletes can be distracted by an idealized body image.

On the other hand, there's a woman at the gym who has always struck me as a natural. She is lean and muscular and works out like a fiend. I have always admired her, not so much as a sexy woman - which she is - but as a role model for the kind of work ethic I want to bring to the gym. The other day, while talking with one of the handsome young men, she mentioned that she weighed over two-hundred pounds when she started at the gym! This woman is built like an olympian!

There's just no way to tell how your body is going to wind up. You can work your butt off, eat clean, and do everything else right, but ultimately your genes set the limits. One of these people looks like a gymnast, the other like a shot putter. Both inspire me and both work as hard as a person can work. They just have different programming. It's a little daunting to know that no matter how hard I go at it in the gym, my genetics and my age are only going to let me go so far. On the other hand, i really want to find out how far that is. Not so I can look like a body builder or a marathoner - but so I can look and feel like the best Pennsy possible.

Peace,
Pennsy

Keep a-goin'

It's been a strange week of highs and lows. I started out still glowing from finishing the 5K, even as my left leg became weaker and more painful. When a bruise started to form on the back of my calf, it became clear that this was more than just a charley horse.

I consulted "Dr. Google" and checked off my symptoms.

1. Sudden, painful onset
2. Loss of strength
   
3. Painful to the touch
4. Visible bruising

Yup, I strained my calf. Not badly - but you know- badly enough. I had planned to take Monday and Tuesday off from the gym anyway. As it turned out, I couldn't have gotten from the car to the locker room without help. By Wednesday I was feeling some improvement, so I decided to take one more day of rest. I stayed home from work, walked around with Molly a little, and kept the leg wrapped and elevated.

By Thursday I was jonesing so bad for exercise that my skin was crawling. I was irritable at work, losing my temper at one point and slamming both fists on my desk - very melodramatic. I had had enough of frustration. At quitting time I drove right to Promatx. I did a little time on the bike and a little on the elliptical, but cardio was not what I was aching for. (and to be honest, they both hurt my leg a little.) I hit the weights and worked my legs and lower back as hard as I could stand. I was cautious of the injury, but rather than compensating with other muscles, I concentrated on maintaining good form and taking my time.

When I had finished my workout, I was a little lost. I had done all I intended to do, but I really wasn't ready to leave. I stood by the water fountain and looked out over the machines and the faces and the mirrors. I was so damn glad to be back. After a quick sauna, I checked the scale to see how much damage I had done on that front. As I suspected, I had gained two pounds which the meter confirmed was mostly fat. I don't think missing a couple of workouts did that, but filling the idle time with food did. To be honest, I was glad it wasn't worse.

I've been stuck at this weight and body fat % for weeks now. I keep fiddling around, changing this meal, increasing the intensity of that exercise. I'm going to dig out the blender and start making smoothies this weekend. Maybe that will help me to balance my diet a little better. Now it looks like it's going to be at least another week before I can run again. My plan is to spend that time building lean muscle mass in the weight room and learning about food without eating so much of it. I still want to do the July 4 10K here in Lexington, but it's looking more and more like a walk/run than a run/walk right now.

Tonight I had another great workout. I used the resistance bands to warm up for about fifteen minutes, then hit the weight room. Chest and upper back. I love when I finish an exercise and I can feel the muscles across my chest or between my shoulder blades. It's like something coming to life in there.

Slow and Steady. I've decided to take Aesop's Tortoise as my totem. He'll be up there in the corner of the page for a while. I know I'm not a hare. No amount of work will make me one. But patience, determination, and a tough hide will get me where I'm going just the same.

KEEP A-GOIN’

Author: by Frank L. Stanton (1857-1927)

If you strike a thorn or rose,
Keep a-goin'!
If it hails or if it snows,
Keep a-goin'!
'Taint no use to sit an' whine
When the fish ain't on your line;
Bait your hook an' keep a-tryin'--
Keep a-goin'!

When the weather kills your crop,
Keep a-goin'!
Though 'tis work to reach the top,
Keep a-goin'!
S'pose you're out o' ev'ry dime,
Gittin' broke ain't any crime;
Tell the world you're feelin' prime--
Keep a-goin'!

When it looks like all is up,
Keep a-goin'!
Drain the sweetness from the cup,
Keep a-goin'!
See the wild birds on the wing,
Hear the bells that sweetly ring,
When you feel like singin', sing--
Keep a-goin'!

I have no idea why I remembered this poem just now. Reading it again, I am struck by that last stanza. "Drain the sweetness from the cup," That's good stuff. That's American stuff.

Kind of makes a Fat Man feel like singing.

Peace,
Pennsy

Time for a Day Off

I’m taking tomorrow off, but first, I have some business to attend to.

Shameless Plug

Hey, please check out the link to Step Out, the American Diabetes Association walk here in Lexington. I will walk it, may even run some of it. Diabetes has come to the house of Pennsy and I would like to see a stop put to all this nonsense. So cough up a pledge, pardner. Do it and the Fat Man will hoot your name during his historic first public walk. Maybe Mrs P can video the moment and we can figure out how to post it.

Weight Report

My weight did not change last week, still 366, but my body fat percentage is down from 33.1 to 32.8. Not much of a change, but the readings are consistent, and I am still building muscle, especially in my upper body. I hope I reach the tipping point soon and start another big fat burn. The plateau is not a fun place to hang out.

Injury Report

The ankles are improving a little after my big run on Sunday. I’ve learned that Achilles' Tendon pain is pretty common when treadmill runners go out into the real world. I have not run or trod the mill since then, but have been doing bike, steps, and elliptical to keep up my cardio conditioning. I wore elastic compression braces on my ankles today and was pain free. I am doing calf presses every time I encounter a staircase to strengthen the muscles around the Achilles. I really don’t want to see this turn into a chronic thing.

The shoulder (left) just plain hurts. I jerked it somehow during an errant Ball Slam yesterday and the Gremlin is having a field day in there. Other than rest, there’s not much for me to do with it at this point. I’m hoping a couple days off from upper body resistance training will give it a chance to heal.

Fashion Report

I bought some pants that fit yesterday! They are actually a little tighter than I would prefer, but they won’t be for long. They’re pretty ugly, but again, I won’t be this size for very long either. Just passing through the neighborhood of fat-guy pants, on my way to those groovy styles with waists below the half-century mark.

Best Laid Plans

I was going to try to repeat Sunday’s run this weekend, but I may go for something less ambitious. A mile at a reasonable pace will probably do me more good than another pokey 5K that leaves me lame for a week.

I’m also going to start moving from machines to free-weights. There are few movements the machines allow that can’t be done more effectively with dumbbells or barbells. Free weights have the added advantage of working more than one muscle group at a time. While your arms are working to execute a shoulder press, the rest of you is working to keep from tipping over. Having to control the weight with 360º of possible directions is more work than controlling weight that can only move in two. so I’ll start translating some exercises from the machine floor to the free weight floor.

I’m going to try the following program.

• Day one (Monday) - upper body, and moderate cardio (run or cross train)
• Day two - bands, and moderate cardio
• Day three - lower body, and moderate cardio
• Day four - rest.
• Day five - Bands and a long, easy run,
• Day six - long, heavy lifting, and
• Day seven - intense run (pace or endurance)

I’m going to avoid the treadmill for a while. My ankles need to learn how to cope with Mother Earth again, so I’ll try to do the bulk of my running outside.

I’m also realizing that my reluctance to track food is probably more denial than avoidance. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to get more serious about nutrition if I want to replace those last pounds of fat with muscle. If I find myself stuck in a plateau that just won’t give, I’m going to have to break down and do it. For now, I’m just trying to avoid junk and binges. “Those last few pounds” are still buried a long way down.

Peace,
Pennsy

PS>>Hey, don't forget Mother's day! (The cats want me to take them shopping tomorrow night.) Maybe we'll just pile Molly the Dog, Mo, Buddy, Kizmet, Maggie, Sniffy, and Dennis the Nervous Fish into the Honda and go out to IHoP on Sunday. Kizzie loves international cuisine. (Molly just loves farting in the car.)

Pax,
p

Tale of the Tape, The Fat Man Shrinketh

	1/20/08	4/27/08	Change
Weight	405	366	(39)
BMI	49.3	44.5	(4.80)
Body Fat %	43.8	31.1	(12.70)
Resting HR	87	70	(17)
Neck	19	18	(1)
Shoulders	59.5	55.5	(4)
Chest	58	57	(1)
L Biceps	15.5	16	0.5
R Biceps	16	16.5	0.5
L Forearm	12.5	12.25	(0.25)
R Forearm	13	13	Ø
Waist	59	52	(7)
Hips	61.5	57.5	(4)
L Thigh	29.5	30	0.5
R Thigh	30	30	Ø
L Calf	20.25	20	(0.25)
R Calf	20.5	20	(0.5)

Counting on the Fat Man

My weight was higher this week than last, 366 instead of 362, but then I had just done an hour and a half of cardio before last week’s weigh in. I could easily have dropped that much water weight and more with a long workout. This Sunday was weights, not running. It’s probably a more reliable number. I hope I’m not rationalizing this. I worked out five days this week, and ate pretty cleanly, mostly fruits and raw veggies at the meetings and fish, chicken, and salads at night.

I got a body fat detecto-gizmo on Amazon. It looks just like the one that they use at the gym and the readings are close enough that I feel confident using it. My body fat today is 33.1 which is a little lower than two weeks ago. I’ll try to set a consistent time to take that reading so I can get a decent baseline.

Mrs P is going to get out the tape tonight and we’ll do some measurements. Of all the numbers in my life, those are the ones I anticipate will have changed most radically. There is just no debating the fact that my body looks and feels smaller.

The big news of the week for me is that on Friday I ran a full mile for the first time since starting my program. I expected it to be more exhilarating than it was, but it was in the middle of a thirty minute run/walk so I didn’t really have time for a victory dance. Next stop, 1.5 miles without stopping. I just hope it doesn’t take another three months to get there.

Working out was a huge mental boost for me this week. I had all the stress I expected and more at work, but being able to pound it out in the gym really helped me to stay human and sane. None of my “spells” this week.

Back to the iron today. I returned to the weight machines to see how the week of resistance bands had affected me. To tell the truth, I felt a little weaker, but I was able to finish my sets by taking longer breaks between. I may try some combination of bands and machines to keep working the muscles in different ways

The ankle continues to improve, though my left shoulder feels a little sore. I don’t remember hurting it, just discovering that it felt a little queer. I’ll keep an eye on it the next time I do arm work.

Don't tell my horsey friend alykat, but I actually made my first trip to Keeneland this week and did not hate it. The grounds are beautiful. The athletes are beautiful. The girls are beautiful. I don't expect I will ever be a racing fan. I would much rather watch horses running naked in a pasture, but there are much worse ways to spend an afternoon in the Bluegrass than watching beautiful stuff while the guy next to you wins $200 on a $5 bet.

All things considered, a good day at the end of a good week. It’s nice to be the Pennsyltuckian.

Peace,
Pennsy

Punching Rubber and Musings on my Inner Fat Man

I am still surprised at how much the resistance bands wear me out.



The movements Brad taught me emphasize velocity. Each one explodes from its starting point. So you start a chest press with the handles at your shoulders, then punch both arms straight forward as fast as you can. I have tried this kind of movement with weights and it is very hard to keep them under control. It also bangs the joints. The resistance bands don’t seem to stress the joints at all. And sitting here three hours after my workout, I can feel that my muscles were just as surprised as I was.

A nice half hour of intervals on the elliptical finished off the sweaty part of the night, then stretches, a sauna, and shower.

I’m still pretty stoked about yesterday’s weigh-in, but there's thin ice ahead. The next few days are going to be stressful at work. I am only planning to take Wednesday off at the gym, but getting there tomorrow is going to be a squeeze. We will be working in the conference room for most of Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday which means little walking and lots of noshing. I’ll make sure there are plenty of veggies in arms reach. I really don’t want to backslide now.

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. - Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis

A lot of the men at the gym workout in front of mirrors or watch themselves as they do curls or whatever. Maybe they’re watching their form, maybe their just admiring how great their muscles look. I don’t really look that great yet, so I avoid the mirrors. But here at home, I find myself feeling new shapes and ridges in my shoulders and arms that I’ve never felt before. my knees are actually smaller than my calves. My body is changing and it kind of fascinates me to watch the changes.

And sometimes I wonder, when my body has completed this strange metamorphosis, will I change on the inside? Will I be more confident? More assertive? Will I become a bully or a gentle giant? When I stop thinking that people see me as fat, what will I imagine that they see? What will I see?

Just like the sub-300 pound mark and the sub-40 inch waist, I guess I’ll have to wait to find out.

I’d hate to do all this work and just find a skinny fat man inside.

Peace,
Pennsy

Fat Man Bragging

January 19
Weight 405
BMI 49.3
Body Fat 43.8%

April 20
Weight 362 (Down 43 lbs/11%)
BMI 44.1 (Down 5.2 pts/10.5%)
Body Fat 33.5% (Down 10.3/23.5%)

I am fittn’ to bust.

Today I did my cardio. Knees and ankles all felt great. I did 96 minutes total. 6 on the stair climber and 30 each on the bike, the elliptical and the treadmill

I have also decided that while I admire Jeff Gallaway and find much wisdom in the things he says, I seem to feel better if I do some gentle stretching both after a 6-10 minute warmup walk and after my workout is finished. So there’s my conclusion after that brief experiment.

The weigh-in was such a shock that I looked to see if something was blocking the scale. I was hoping the week’s change of pace would pay off, but was not prepared for that kind of result. It seems like the fat melts in big bursts, not on a gradual smooth curve. I am really looking forward to seeing how the resistance bands might alter my results. they are much more of a cardio challenge than the weight machines have been (at least the way I’ve been using them).

And just look at that BMI! Soon I won't be Morbidly Obese any more. I'll just be plain old obese. Now hows that for a goal?

I’m going to go mow the lawn now. I feel so good, I don’t want to sit still.

By the way, check out today's Pennsyltuckian for a review of a book I really enjoyed. Maybe you will like it too.

Peace,
Pennsy

You Talking to Me? - or the Tale of the 300 lb Chicken

I worked cardio tonight. About 7 minutes in the stair climber, 30 on the elliptical, 30 on the recumbent bike, and another 15 on the treadmill to cool down. The left knee and right Achilles' tendon both felt better afterwards. Still trying the stretchless workout. I haven’t noticed any ill effects yet.

Are you talking to me?

Tonight, I feel stranger than I have since I started working out. I met with Brad, the owner and head of Promatx today for my quarterly progress review.

We talked about nutrition, of course. I have some things I can do better now. Need to work harder on eating more small meals throughout the day. Right now, I have carbs in the morning and fats and protein in the evening. I need to even that out some.

Having a trainer tell me that I need to eat more was a real shock. But there was an even bigger one.

“What is your goal?”, Brad asked.

“I want to lose 200 lbs.”

“How would you feel about changing that?”

We had just measured my body fat,and it turns out that in order to reach my target weight, I will have to lose almost 50 lbs of lean muscle along with the fat. I was confused. So what should my target be?

Based on my current lean body weight, if I get my body fat down to 18% (not bad for a man of 47) I would weigh 304 lbs! Were I to get down to 10% body fat (pretty fit for anyone of any age) I would weigh around 277.

These numbers have really rattled me. Especially when I consider that since I started working out, I have gained 19 lbs of muscle and lost 53 lbs of fat.

See what’s happening there? My lean weight (in red) is increasing almost 40% as fast as my fat weight (blue) is going down. I don’t have the patience to work the figures at this hour, but it appears to me that if my muscle weight keeps increasing at this rate, I will be at 10% body fat at right around 300 lbs.

I am going to be a trim, muscular 300 lb man. That sentence freaks me out for reasons I can’t even begin to explain. The words seem so incongruous - me...fit...trim...three-hundred pounds -- I can’t even picture what that will look like. It certainly won’t look like anything I have ever imagined myself being.

It’s one thing to count your chickens before they’re hatched, but I’m starting to realize that there’s a very big chicken waiting to peck its way out of this blubbery shell and the bird scares me a little.

Jeremy Likness has posted a series of before/after pictures of himself as he reduced from 30+% to 10% body fat. (245 to 188 lbs)

Frankenpennsy will be 6 inches taller and 112 pounds heavier. - It that even possible? And will I really look that imposing in robin's egg blue underpants? This may send me to the shrink a few months early.

Peace,
Pennsy

Stormy Monday

I listen to SRV and Albert King and I understand why Robert Johnson went to the Crossroads.

Last night at the gym? Feh. Could have been better.

I’m sticking with just lifting weights for my upper body. I set new Personal Records on several weight stations today. The Shoulder Press is still at 50 (2 25 lb dumb bells) but that is a new exercise I'm trying this week, so I don’t expect those muscles to be ready to grow yet.

Cardio was half an hour of intervals on the elliptical. I really need to stay off the treadmill, but I want to run so much. My knees just aren’t interested in my fitness goals right now.

My weigh-in was a disappointment. I gained three pounds. I’ve been eating too much red meat and too many “healthy” snacks like nuts (and maybe a cheeseburger or two). I need to stick to fruits and other low fat things when I want to nosh.

My last plateau was after a 20 lb weight loss, so this may turn out to be a pattern. I want to pay close attention to see if there are behavioral factors too. Do I “reward” myself with food when I’ve lost that much? I’m not sure, but if so that’s a pattern worth changing.

I hate having to pay so much attention to my food. Thinking about eating just makes me want to eat. I’ll find a way to deal with that - one that doesn’t involve chocolate or a drive-through window.

Today is my quarterly review with the trainer. We’ll take measurements, body fat, BMI, all that. I’m looking forward to it. In spite of the small set-backs, I know I’ve made real progress in the last three months. I’ll be glad to see what the new numbers look like.

I’m thinking that one way to work through a plateau is to do something different - to change the exercises that my body is getting used to. I’ll ask for some counsel in that area tonight.

Peace,
Pennsy