Time I Finish What I Started

Well, this morning’s trip to the gym did end with me popping *something* in my upper back whilst deadlifting. But even though I had to cut short my lifting (doing triceps pushdowns after that really hurt!), I still feel like a success. The fact is, I made it to the gym yesterday morning, this morning, and last night. And while the morning routines aren’t the best (the road construction/early morning meetings is wreaking havoc with my planned schedule), I’m still getting them in. More than that, I’m improving. I’m going back up in my lifts/reps.

Taking time off and losing my muscle strength and endurance has been tough on me. In addition to watching the number on the scale rise, I’ve seen my waistline, by way of my belt notch, expand and I’ve had to deal with the failures of attempted returns wherein the reality of time off manifested itself in being able to lift fewer pounds for less repetitions. Brutal all around.

But now, with these several gym appearances, things are starting to go my way. I’m starting to look like a plucky baseball team, who, rather than employ the longball to score with one hit, needs to string together several smaller successes. Running out the grounder. Stealing second. Hit-and-run the man to third. And even bunting, as I did this morning with my abbreviated lifting.

Momentum is back on my side. This big train is starting to roll again. Cheesy, cliched metaphor here. Point is, I’m not feeling like I’m stuck on the bench, looking into the game anymore. I’m back on the field, making plays, working to achieve victory.

270.9

ps, I ran for 45 minutes last night. Even pushed through and kept going when a stitch in my side appeared around the 20-minute mark. Made it 5k/3.4 miles. Not all hope is lost!

Some long-time readers know that I commute 85 miles to work most days. When I had a workout partner, I’d wake up at 4:45, get on the road by 5:10 and get to the gym by 6:30. It was a break-neck pace that I just never was comfortable with, but made work. Once Dan was out of the picture, things changed.

I stopped going up early. Then I convinced myself to get a membership at a more local gym. I went in the morning once. Then I convinced myself that I could instead work out in the evenings. Turns out that means that either dinner isn’t until 7:30, or I’m kicking The Gal out by 8:30 or I’m going really late, like around 10:30. Well, the really late option just didn’t work. By that point in the evening, I’d decompressed and become comfortable on the couch or reading or whatever. My low-blood sugar made the former option fail (I’d find myself binging when I tried this as my body needed fuel) and the middle one… well I guess I just never liked that option at all.

Then came a Great Idea, in an unexpected form. Road construction.

Turns out that my route is under construction. Leaving at my normal time to reach the office by 9, I was met by a throng of commuters. Suddenly my 85-minute commute turned into something around two hours. Brutal.

The solution?

Leave sooner. Avoid the rush. Avoid the traffic. Avoid the slow-downs.

Turns out that to avoid the rush/traffic means that I have to leave at 6. That puts me in the area at 7:30. My options then become 1) spend more time at work, or 2) work out.

I did some big lifting last week. I’ve lost tons of muscle endurance, though my actual lifts are still decent. I’m still strong. I just sweat more and tire sooner.

So be it.

I went again this morning. Did some deadlifts, some hip sleds, some Arnold presses and some hammer curls, then showered and went to work.

I miss having a buddy, but I’m thrilled to be back, taking care of business.

Some good, some bad. First, I’ve been able to knock off 5 pound in these last two weeks. However… I went on a trip to Chicago with my fellas this past weekend and put it all back. Thankfully I know it’ll be off quick and I’ll be back down those 5 and can keep rolling.

Now that that business is outta the way, I want to get to something that happened in Chicago. Something amazing and different and new and old and scary and exciting.

For the first time since 8th grade, I went swimming.

Swimming people.

And without a “swimming shirt” or other shameful tool of denial.

We were looking for coolers when we got to town to put our beers in for the weekend and decided to all pick up swimming suits. The next morning I woke up early and went to the hotel’s gym. I ran on the dreadmill, then knocked out a few sets in the weight room while I saw my buddies come into the pool area. I thought about it for a moment, worried what they (and others. and myself.) would think of me in a swimsuit. Then I realized, “hey – I’m denying myself my life. I’m not allowing myself to live.” Eff that! So I strapped on the new suit, then went down and just jumped right in. Splash!

Dude. I was so happy. So frigging happy. Swimming! I was allowing myself to enjoy life, and while I’m still working to slim down, I’m not going to let my obesity run my world any more.

I’m lost. I’m struggling. This “journey” that I am (was) on, seems to have shifted into a full-reverse. And I don’t know how to stop that.

I can barely write this stupid post. It’s been on my mind for days. However, when I first thought of it, the title was going to be Twenty, as in the twenty pounds I’ve regained since losing 85 to begin with. But as of tonight, I’d have to retitle that post Twenty-One.

Twenty-one fucking pounds.

Do you know how long it took me to lose that? How long I was stuck on 263, then on 256? How thrilled I was when I broke into the 240s, with a personal-best 247? That was *so hard*. Nights of sleep cut short. Miles and miles run. Thousands of pounds lifted.

I’m scared to go back there. Scared to try and go in the other direction. That momentum is a killer. I don’t know what to do to stop my current trend and reverse course.

Oh sure, I mean I KNOW what to do. Drink water. Get rest. Go to the gym. Lift weights. Do some extra cardio. Cut out the soda, the pasteries, the high-fat foods like pizza. Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. So why can’t I? Why can’t I do it like I could a year ago? What’s changed?

I don’t know. Nothing. Everything. This shouldn’t be this hard. This could be lots harder. Why could I find the willpower to fight before, and I no longer can?

God, I’m such a hypocrite. I wrote in my last post how to set goals. Know what I didn’t write? How to ACCOMPLISH them.

I’m still not sure just yet. Not sure what to do/say/write. I know that this week will be very hard. I’ve got a stressful couple of projects at work. I’ve got a trip out of town for four or five days.

This can’t become 25. It just can’t. I’ve worked too hard to lose it all to my old self.

I have to fight again. I have to get back up and swing. Keep swinging. I can’t give up.

Please, let me find the fire to win again. Please.

268.7

There are several things that I want to accomplish in life. Some are fairly short-term while others are much longer-term. The consistent theme will all of these goals though, is that while they have been swimming around in my head for quite some time, they’ve never really, truly been formulated properly.

Ever dream of losing a bunch of weight? Of being thin? Of looking good in swimwear on the beach? I have. I do all the time, actually. I like to think of these dreams as goals, though recently I’ve come to realize that without a plan, goals are just dreams with a more mature name. So, how can I do a better job this time? How can I really achieve these goals (dreams) of mine?

It starts with a plan.

That’s the difference between a dream and an achievable goal. I can dream I can fly like Superman, but the reality is that flying is an unachievable goal, and that truth becomes clear once you sit down to actually try to realize the dream.

Weight loss, however, is not unachievable. There are lots of blogs out there that document the achievement, from The Anti-Jared to Jack Sh*t, Gettin’ Fit to F Daddy Rants. They’ve done it, they continue to do it. These blogs excite me! They’re proof that the dream — my dream — is actually an achievable goal!

How to Set Goals

So, how does one go from dreaming to achieving? By setting a goal. Not some random, uncollected thoughts floating around that are a bit vague (I want to be thin!), but rather by being explicit with what you want, and more importantly as I’ve come to find out, how you’re going to get there.

First – Be specific. You need to clearly articulate your goal. Being thin isn’t a goal, it’s a concept. Think about what “I want to be thin” actually means. What *exactly* is your goal?

Second – Make the goal(s) measurable. This ties in with the first, but expands it. If I define “being thin” as weighing 185 pounds, then looking here I can say “I’ll lose 75 pounds” as I’m currently 260.

Third – Make the goals your own. I think that this is one of those elements in goal-setting that can easily get lost. Maybe your wife wants you to lose weight, or even more confusing, you *think* your wife wants you to lose weight. That’s not your goal, that’s hers. Be sure your goal is YOUR goal. Own it. You’ll feel better about it.

Fourth — Set a time limit. That’s what this blog is all about actually. See, I told myself that my goal was to lose 150 pounds when I was 335. That’s good; the goal is my own, it’s measurable and it’s specific. The problem? Here I am 20 months after starting to achieve my goal and I’ve not yet achieved it. I guess I sort of thought I’d be done by now, but I never really put a time limit on my goal, so it’s still just kind of out there. Shouldn’t I be done by now?!?

Fifth – Put your goal in writing. I realize that writing down a specific, measurable goal is scary. Honestly, I’ve been doing the weight loss thing for 20 months now, I have a sense of how I’m going to accomplish my goal, yet putting it in writing here is still a bit anxiety-inducing. Why? Because by putting it in writing I make it real. I make it something to which I am accountable. If I write it down I own it, good or bad. And that means I can succeed — or fail.

So those are the key ingredients in setting goals. Now that I’ve laid that out, I’m going to do two things: I’m going to write down MY goals, and I’m also going to encourage you to write down yours. Add them to the comments section of this post. Put them on your blog and link to it in the comments. Email me directly from this site. Tweet at me! Just make it happen. Make your goals something you can work to achieve. Make them real.

My Goal

I want to be thin, which to me, on my body, is 185 pounds. That means my goal is to lose 75 pounds. I will lose, on average, two pounds a week, which will take 37.5 weeks to accomplish. That puts my target date of achieving my goal at November 17th, 2010.

***

Finally, I’ve got to give credit where it’s due; my understanding of goals, goal-setting, and accomplishing goals has been helped dramatically by Dave Ramsey. Dave is primarily a financial advisor, giving financial advice to those in debt. For those who subscribe to his debt methodology, I’m on Baby Step 2, with only my car note to go.

Back in July of 2008 I found myself a very unhappy 335 pound man. I don’t exactly know why that day, unlike every day before it, brought a huge rush of motivation to me, but I didn’t stop to question why. I didn’t hold myself back. I dived in, joining a gym, changing my eating habits and writing a blog.

My overall goal was to lose 150 pounds, meet a gal, fall in love, and generally get my life moving forward again.

Amazingly, I sort of kind of did that. Only, it doesn’t work out quite like I’d planned it in my head. See, by committing myself, by taking that first step and making a choice, by drawing a line in the sand, I got my life moving forward that day. I discovered a truth then – if you have nothing to look forward to in life, if you’re always looking to the past as your source of happiness, it’s hard for life to progress. That day I started looking forward.

Is it any wonder then that only one week into my new commitment to myself, I found the seeds of a new romantic relationship plant themselves and slowly take root? Positivity breeds positivity, and life started to show me that. Pretty soon she and I were dating, then she asked me to be closer so we could REALLY see what we had together. These days we’re making jokes about how much ring we can afford, and if we should dial it back (me) to have more for a downpayment on a house, or (her) get something that’s a bit more… uh… bigger.

Looking back at my goals, I see that I hit two on my list: I got my life moving forward, and I found love. The only thing I didn’t do was what I thought the whole thing was about in the first place — lose 150 pounds. At my best, I’d lost 88 pounds, getting down to 247. Tonight when I weighed myself I saw that I’m now 262, amending my loss to 73, or alternatively speaking, gaining 15 pounds.

Fifteen pounds, that have gone from barely-noticed to shameful to hateful in the past four or five months.

And while I’ve been adding weight back on, The Gal has instituted her own weight-loss program to great success. I hate to admit this, but I’ve become jealous. Initially I doubted her willpower — afterall, I was the guy who got up at 5am to hit the gym before work for over a year straight; how was she ever going to find the ability to do something so hard? Yet she did. She’d found the willpower while I’d lost it. It made me envious. Then success for her – one week in and she’d lost weight. One month in and the problems that her knees gave her had all but disappeared under the weight training classes she attended. During that time I noticed that the gorgeous biceps flex I’d developed had vanished. My arm barely changes shape when I flex now. She’d ask me advice, and I willingly gave it — my expertise was all I’d been reduced to at this point. However with each bon mot dispensed, I felt more and more the phony, someone just phoning it in.

That ends now. We’re done with the bullshit. Done with the jealousy, the envy, the feelings of inadequacy and failure that have led me back to ordering large White Chocolate Mochas with whole milk and whip cream, along with apple fritters when starting my day at Caribou Coffee. Eating portion sizes that are twice or more what they should be. Watching my weekly cheat become a daily one. It’s time that is over. It’s time I reassess what I really want. It’s time I finish what I started.

My main goal hasn’t changed — I want to be 185 pounds. However, this time I’ve added some other goals to aim for as well — some weight-related, some not. I’ll be going into those more in the days and weeks ahead, but for now I just want to establish myself again.

***

Just as a quick level-set: I used to blog elsewhere, but lost my mojo as The Gal and her friend made reading me a daily habit. As I began to fail I also started to retreat from my daily writings as I didn’t want them focusing and talking about my failures. It became a self-perpetuating problem. I spoke with The Gal regarding my old blog; she was of the opinion that if blogging is important to me (it is), then I should start up a new one, away from the prying eyes of her and her friends. She’s cool with not having a clue about this thing. So am I. I’m back, and I don’t feel so restricted with my thoughts — not that I’ve got lots to write about her or anything. More like, when I’m trying to be honest with myself by blogging my thoughts, I don’t want to fear that it’ll spark debate back home. Anyway, with the start of this blog that issue is effectively dealt with — I’m back, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. As an act of posterity I’ve brought those old posts over to this new joint.

If you’re new to my weight loss efforts, welcome. If you’re an old friend coming further along with me, welcome back.

I’m glad you’re here – we’ve got work to do.

“Chrysalis,” he said plainly.

My friend and I were out for dinner, and halfway through my first beer I’d mentioned how I felt like I wasn’t feeling quite right lately. I’d mentioned how I felt these weird jumble of emotions all the time. How sometimes I saw things perfectly as they are and how I was comfortable with how I fit into them. And how other times everything was a jumble and I was totally confused and worried. How I felt I’ve lost my funny.

“I used to be funny, right? I used to be –”

“Mean.” He said back, cutting me off. “You used to be really, really mean.”

My mouth curled up in my half-sneer and I grabbed for my beer.

“So now what?” I asked. “What do I do?”

“Chrysalis,” he said.

“What? What’s chrysalis?” I asked, clearly having forgotten my junior high biology class.

“It’s like… it’s like a cocoon. You know, butterflies? Look, the caterpillar? He knows what’s up. He knows what he’s all about. The butterfly? He does too. They ain’t about the same thing. They’re different. The caterpillar is all about eating and hanging out. The butterfly is all about being sweet. But between the two, there’s the chrysalis. It’s the part where one becomes the other. That’s you. That’s where you’re at right now. You ain’t the caterpillar, but you’re not yet the butterfly either.”

He’s right. I don’t know exactly when I stopped being the caterpillar – maybe at twenty-five pounds down? Thirty? When I got under 300? When I mentally decided to move forward and rejoin life? Not sure. At some point I stopped seeing myself as that big, awful version of me that I was. But at the same time, I’m not where I want to be. I’m stuck in the middle. My self-esteem is bruised. My self-perception isn’t wholly negative, but when I catch a glimpse of my reflection in office buildings or the bathroom mirror at work, I’m stunned at how bad I still look. I sort of mentally feel like I should look a bit better than I do. Not in a body dysmorphia sort of outlook. Just… I’m ready to be something else. I want desperately to be the butterfly right now.

But I’m not. I’m changing. Evolving. I’m in a chrysalis. But life keeps going on, not waiting for me to catch back up to it.

So after my little XXL shirt experiment (fail, btw), I decided that I was a glutton for punishment and went digging into my closet for pants.

Two things about these closet pants – the first, they’re called closet pants because that’s where they live. Not out among the active pants that I might wear to some fashionable joint like… the mall. Or the grocery store. Or work. Nope, my closet pants don’t fit, so much like the Isle of Misfit Toys, the closet is the current last stop for my non-fitting stuff. Lots of shirts in there too. And it kind smells like old in there. I don’t really venture into the closet too much.

Second – I don’t have too many pairs of closet pants left. Back in December or so of last year, I made a good, but bad choice. See, I had tons of pants that were just sitting around, collecting dust and old smell. And I have a buddy who, while a bit husky, isn’t fat, but is broke. He burned through his one or two pairs of pants (I mean, *really* broke), so I gave him my pants. I thought to myself that screw it, I was now officially a fat guy, and that wasn’t going to change. I didn’t need size 36 or 38 pants (still fatty pants, btw). So I gave them all away.

And now things have changed.

Currently I’m wearing size 44 pants. While that’s big, some dudes at my weight are in the fifties. Apparently my weight didn’t cling to my hips, it went to my sweet gut instead. Whatever. So I went into the closet and lo and behold… three pair of jeans were up on the top shelf! I grabbed the first pair – a pair of 42s in a brand I’d never heard of. Did I even buy these? Seriously, I have no recollection of them. They looked fairly new, as in unworn. Hmm. So I tried them on. As I was drawing them up over my thigh, I was waiting for the worst but mildly surprised. Then I pulled them up over my butt. Still fine. I went to button them, and… erm… they did. They buttoned. Not like, omg these pants are so loose, but more in a, “hey, we’re going to button for you, but you’re still probably a couple weeks of hard work away from sitting comfortably in us” way. Neat! So then I grabbed the second pair, again a pair of 42s. They slid on more comfortably than the previous pair! I went to button them and – wait a minute… where’s the? What? No button? Apparently I’ve done this experiment before. Weird. No recollection, but these jeans (decent-looking, and a brand I’ve heard of), would fit quite comfortably. If they had a button. Whatever.

The third pair were a set of 40s, but in an ‘urban’ brand, so they’re probably a bit generous. I hoped. I pulled them on and immediately felt them constrict around my thighs. I pulled them over my butt, but they resisted. And once they were on, I went to button them. No dice. Like, a good two inches of no dice. Dammit.

But it’s actually okay. Now I have those 40s sitting on a shelf by my bed, waiting for me. They want to be my buddy again. So once that happens… I guess that means that I can shop for jeans in a normal store. No more Casual Male XL for those. So damn close. And once a 2xl fits, I’ll never have to step foot in that store again! I can’t wait to never give them my business.

So this past weekend I had to attend an event out of town, and to get there I had to fly. Flying, while fairly innocuous in the past, has taken on a new dimension since the past holidays.

Over Christmas I flew an airline that I normally don’t. Typically I fly Northwest, and while it’s not the greatest of airlines, especially with a nod to service, it’s serviceable in the end. At Christmas, in my quest to not be totally broken by the fees of the airlines, I flew American. Anyone out there have experience with this? Anyone know where this is going?

Turns out that American Airlines has a length issue with their seatbelts. I guess more correctly, I have an issue with their seatbelt length. I don’t know how long they are, but I can officially say that they aren’t long enough. Or more correctly again, I’m too wide for them. I asked the stewardess for an extension, and she was able to provide one, which was cool as the whole time I’m having my anxieties act out a funny play in my head in which I’m told that until my belt is buckled, the plane isn’t leaving, and that because I can’t buckle this fucking thing, that I’ll just be delaying everyone, booted off the plane, made fun of, yadda yadda yadda. Though one of the stewardesses (airline attendants?) did hand the extension to me all covert-like on the downlow. She was, no doubt, trying to save me a bit of embarassment, but in the end confirmed what I already knew – my waistline is shameful.

Anyway, Northwest has longer seatbelts and during my flights this time I was fine, though I did catch the nice look the woman in the middle seat flashed her husband when I motioned that I had the seat next to her. They giggled as if they’d been doing the hack comedian bit about being stuck next to the fat fuck on the plane. Fair enough.

I don’t want to be the guy who stewardesses feel sorry for and who is the butt of catty looks and hack comic bits. And I don’t really want to fly again anytime soon.

And I don’t want to be fat anymore.