Sunday, June 15, 2014
Ten Pounds In A Month
Part II. The Beginning
A few weeks before my 36th birthday, I decided to give gym membership another try. I didn't go back to the Y, I never felt comfortable there anyway. The shy, sensitive bookish guy with the BA in English who sold toilet cleaner didn't fit in with the meatheads, oddly enough, so I went to one of our locally owned gyms.
Not knowing really what to do, I walked in off the street and talked to these two guys behind the counter, both of whom happened to be trainers. I struck up a conversation with them, signed the membership papers, and scheduled an appointment with one of them.
He was very smart, and very kind, and very honest. He laid out our goals. I said I wanted to lose ten pounds in a month. He immediately, and kindly, said that that would be too much too soon.
I was immediately impressed by that. I knew then that he knew what he was doing. He wasn't going to try and sell me some quickie fad diet weight loss program.
He made out a meal plan for me, with calorie and exercise goals. He calculated my target heart rate, and put me on the elliptical trainer.
Now, I'm still smoking a pack a day, and still having a drink every night. But I followed the meal plan and the exercise program. Our first workout together, I have to admit, was a little embarrassing. I could barely do a push-up. But I stuck with it. (His attitude was wonderful. He never made me feel like a failure). And before I could catch my breath, he upped the cardio by a mile!
By the end of the second week, I had gone from a pack a day to about five or six. Cigarettes. A day. And the level of vodka in the bottle hadn't moved.
It was getting closer to our first measurement. He had been encouraging me not to smoke, and would ask me sometimes if I'd been smoking and how many, and he was always nice about it. I knew he really wanted me to quit.
Honestly, I had no intention to quit when we first started working together. But I was doing something good for my body, and my body was thanking me. I was eating healthy, I no longer skipped meals, and was exercising 3-4 times a week, either cardio or resistance training.
And I hadn't felt better in years.
So, I knew decision time was coming. With each passing day I was smoking less and less. I still had cravings, but they quickly went away after lighting up. My body was telling me, okay, you've done your cardio, you ate a good breakfast, and now your doing this??!!! And I should say, I absolutely loved smoking. With everything. After meals, with coffee, with wine, with vodka, etc.
It was time to close this chapter. So, on a fine summers night, on my deck while listening to the crickets, I lit up my last cigarette. I was very calm about the whole thing. I looked at it, took one last puff, told it (and myself) that this part of my life was over. And I've never looked back. I have never taken another puff, I've never had a craving, I've not ever missed it.
Coming up:
The First Measurement
Part III: Strength
Part IV: Maintenance
Part V: So what happened?
A few weeks before my 36th birthday, I decided to give gym membership another try. I didn't go back to the Y, I never felt comfortable there anyway. The shy, sensitive bookish guy with the BA in English who sold toilet cleaner didn't fit in with the meatheads, oddly enough, so I went to one of our locally owned gyms.
Not knowing really what to do, I walked in off the street and talked to these two guys behind the counter, both of whom happened to be trainers. I struck up a conversation with them, signed the membership papers, and scheduled an appointment with one of them.
He was very smart, and very kind, and very honest. He laid out our goals. I said I wanted to lose ten pounds in a month. He immediately, and kindly, said that that would be too much too soon.
I was immediately impressed by that. I knew then that he knew what he was doing. He wasn't going to try and sell me some quickie fad diet weight loss program.
He made out a meal plan for me, with calorie and exercise goals. He calculated my target heart rate, and put me on the elliptical trainer.
Now, I'm still smoking a pack a day, and still having a drink every night. But I followed the meal plan and the exercise program. Our first workout together, I have to admit, was a little embarrassing. I could barely do a push-up. But I stuck with it. (His attitude was wonderful. He never made me feel like a failure). And before I could catch my breath, he upped the cardio by a mile!
By the end of the second week, I had gone from a pack a day to about five or six. Cigarettes. A day. And the level of vodka in the bottle hadn't moved.
It was getting closer to our first measurement. He had been encouraging me not to smoke, and would ask me sometimes if I'd been smoking and how many, and he was always nice about it. I knew he really wanted me to quit.
Honestly, I had no intention to quit when we first started working together. But I was doing something good for my body, and my body was thanking me. I was eating healthy, I no longer skipped meals, and was exercising 3-4 times a week, either cardio or resistance training.
And I hadn't felt better in years.
So, I knew decision time was coming. With each passing day I was smoking less and less. I still had cravings, but they quickly went away after lighting up. My body was telling me, okay, you've done your cardio, you ate a good breakfast, and now your doing this??!!! And I should say, I absolutely loved smoking. With everything. After meals, with coffee, with wine, with vodka, etc.
It was time to close this chapter. So, on a fine summers night, on my deck while listening to the crickets, I lit up my last cigarette. I was very calm about the whole thing. I looked at it, took one last puff, told it (and myself) that this part of my life was over. And I've never looked back. I have never taken another puff, I've never had a craving, I've not ever missed it.
Coming up:
The First Measurement
Part III: Strength
Part IV: Maintenance
Part V: So what happened?
It Will Creep Up On You
"So Mark, what does this have to do with fitness?"
We're getting to that...
Well, after my experience at the Y, I didn't attempt any kind of fitness program for several years. I did, however, start to come out of my shell. I was still shy in new situations and I still hadn't figured out how off-putting that could be at times, but I had a few friends who were very outgoing and at ease with themselves, so I essentially imitated them. I still was pretty clueless, and really had no idea how to treat people or how to get along with anybody.
In my twenties I studied history, literature and art. I drank coffee and smoked cigarettes whilst reading an indy paper with an air of smug satisfaction. I ate whatever I wanted. Sure, I'd put on a few pounds during the holidays but they melted off by spring. I really didn't think too much about it. I did, however, take a class for my college PE credit. It was, again, weightlifting, and the teacher, while very nice, didn't really impart much in the way of instruction. I remember he said, "Don't believe the "no pain, no gain" rule. If there's pain, somethings wrong." I'd do a few reps on the machines and ride the exercise bikes but all I got out of the class was a grade of "Pass."
I graduated with a BA and then went to work in my family's business, a wholesale janitorial supplies company. I have to say, with a BA, I obviously wasn't prepared. I didn't know anything. About sales, about managing people, things that seemed to come so naturally to my father (of course, he'd been doing it for forty years, and I was so dumb I lacked the perspective to even see that!). This caused me a great deal of stress. I'm not a numbers person. I struggled with math, and my father could do his sales analysis reports with an adding machine, green ledger sheets, and a pencil. I couldn't even work the stupid adding machine.
I felt like a failure. I was terribly stressed. The only luxury left was food and drink. My attitude was, since I had never had a serious weight problem, then I can still eat whatever I like, whenever I like. Oh, and these GAP khakis I've had since college are looking a little shabby for work. Better get some new ones next time I'm at the mall. 32W32L. Gosh, these are a little tight. I'll take the 34s. They'll shrink in the laundry.
My point here is, so often we think, "It can never happen to me." Like middle age, my weight gain just sort of crept up on me. And then one day you catch yourself in a department store mirror or see a photograph of yourself and you think, "How the hell did I get here?"
We're getting to that...
Well, after my experience at the Y, I didn't attempt any kind of fitness program for several years. I did, however, start to come out of my shell. I was still shy in new situations and I still hadn't figured out how off-putting that could be at times, but I had a few friends who were very outgoing and at ease with themselves, so I essentially imitated them. I still was pretty clueless, and really had no idea how to treat people or how to get along with anybody.
In my twenties I studied history, literature and art. I drank coffee and smoked cigarettes whilst reading an indy paper with an air of smug satisfaction. I ate whatever I wanted. Sure, I'd put on a few pounds during the holidays but they melted off by spring. I really didn't think too much about it. I did, however, take a class for my college PE credit. It was, again, weightlifting, and the teacher, while very nice, didn't really impart much in the way of instruction. I remember he said, "Don't believe the "no pain, no gain" rule. If there's pain, somethings wrong." I'd do a few reps on the machines and ride the exercise bikes but all I got out of the class was a grade of "Pass."
I graduated with a BA and then went to work in my family's business, a wholesale janitorial supplies company. I have to say, with a BA, I obviously wasn't prepared. I didn't know anything. About sales, about managing people, things that seemed to come so naturally to my father (of course, he'd been doing it for forty years, and I was so dumb I lacked the perspective to even see that!). This caused me a great deal of stress. I'm not a numbers person. I struggled with math, and my father could do his sales analysis reports with an adding machine, green ledger sheets, and a pencil. I couldn't even work the stupid adding machine.
I felt like a failure. I was terribly stressed. The only luxury left was food and drink. My attitude was, since I had never had a serious weight problem, then I can still eat whatever I like, whenever I like. Oh, and these GAP khakis I've had since college are looking a little shabby for work. Better get some new ones next time I'm at the mall. 32W32L. Gosh, these are a little tight. I'll take the 34s. They'll shrink in the laundry.
My point here is, so often we think, "It can never happen to me." Like middle age, my weight gain just sort of crept up on me. And then one day you catch yourself in a department store mirror or see a photograph of yourself and you think, "How the hell did I get here?"
Welcome To My Blog!
Part I. Introduction.
Well Hello! And welcome to my awesome blog!
You're probably wondering about the title.
This is my personal blog about my journey with fitness and health.
Have I developed some new miracle program that converts fat to muscle mass on a chocolate and bacon diet? In just no time at all? No. If I had done that I would have retired long ago.
Before we get to that, here's a bit about me.
At age 35, I was a pack-a-day smoker. And a fifth-of-vodka-a-weekend drinker. At 6' 2" with about 30 pounds of body fat, I was not extremely overweight, but I was far from healthy.
But lets back up a little further.
I was a very shy child. In fact well into my twenties I suffered from an almost crippling shyness that I still sometimes struggle with. It was palpable. It was the elephant in the room. It was off-putting. My first two years of college I never left my dorm room except to go to class, and I existed on snack food because I was too shy to go to the dining hall. Today we would it call it a severe case of social anxiety disorder, but we didn't know that back then. You were just expected to sink or swim. It was like, what's so hard about it? Why are you so quiet? Get involved! Secondly, I was never athletic. I always dropped the ball, and I was always picked last. PE during my adolescence was a nightmare for me. Then when I was sixteen I was sent to a boarding school due to failing grades and my withdrawn nature. I think my parents thought maybe a new environment and closer supervision would be good for me. Instead it just seemed to magnify my inability to fit in. Of course, when you're sixteen everything seems magnified, and like it will last forever. It was like the other guys were speaking a foreign language, or were playing by some other set of rules that no one had let me in on.
In the middle of all this, we had to participate in athletics. (YIKES!!!) Well, I couldn't throw, couldn't catch, I didn't know what the hell Lacrosse even was, but I figured I could run. Not much coordination needed for that, right? Just get out and run. Okay. So I signed up for the cross-country team.
For someone who had never exercised in his life, or willingly participated in any sport, you can imagine what my endurance was like. And remember, I didn't sign up for cross country out of a love of running or fitness, nor did I see athletics as any sort of character building experience. I was told I had to do a sport. So I did as I was told, figuring running would provide, if anything, the least possible amount of humiliation.
I never will forget that first day. I was so ill-equipped. Of course there were plenty of other boys on the team who had done this before and were quite good runners. So we did our stretches, and off we went, on a hot Virginia afternoon in early September.
I don't know how I got through those first two weeks. I was, again, terribly shy so I know I wasn't eating well. I had shin splints so bad I could barely walk down a flight of stairs. The hot, sticky Virginia afternoons were brutal, with the hot pavement reflecting the heat back at you as you ran down the road. And of course, of course, there was a dead skunk on the side of the road in that 90 degree heat. While you're just trying to keep up without hyperventilating, and everyone else is at least half a mile or more ahead of you. I came back to my dorm room those first two days and collapsed on my bed in a daze, wondering what the hell I'd gotten myself into. (And forgive the curmudgeonly digression, but in those days in the dormitory, there was no air-conditioning).
So, all this to say I was not impressed nor did I have any interest in being an athlete. But, being a guy, I did often wish I was in better shape. So where do you start? The summer I turned 20, I joined the local YMCA, and signed up for a weightlifting class. I was taken to the room with all the Nautilus equipment by some skinny blond who could be described as charm-free. She handed me a clipboard and a blank sheet of paper. She pointed to a file cabinet in the corner. She said this was the form to track my progress, and I could keep it in said filing cabinet. She then gestured toward the Nautilus equipment, said "Okay there's the machines. Always wear shoes in here, no flip-flops allowed. See ya." And with that she sashayed out of the room and that was the last I saw of her.
That was the extent of my weightlifting "class."
I wish, at this point in my life, I had had some real guidance. I think the best thing for me would have been for a real trainer to do an assessment of me. My measurements, my core strength, balance, my one rep max, etc, and started me on a full-body program. Now, again, I was terribly shy, still. It was difficult for me to connect with anybody and even harder for me to communicate with anybody, and, thus, it would have taken a trainer with a PHD in Psychology (and incredible patience and maybe even mind-reading abilities) to get me to open up. I was not overweight at this age. But I felt out of shape. And I had no clue where to begin. And, that, I think, is where so many of us find ourselves. But more on that later.
Well Hello! And welcome to my awesome blog!
You're probably wondering about the title.
This is my personal blog about my journey with fitness and health.
Have I developed some new miracle program that converts fat to muscle mass on a chocolate and bacon diet? In just no time at all? No. If I had done that I would have retired long ago.
Before we get to that, here's a bit about me.
At age 35, I was a pack-a-day smoker. And a fifth-of-vodka-a-weekend drinker. At 6' 2" with about 30 pounds of body fat, I was not extremely overweight, but I was far from healthy.
But lets back up a little further.
I was a very shy child. In fact well into my twenties I suffered from an almost crippling shyness that I still sometimes struggle with. It was palpable. It was the elephant in the room. It was off-putting. My first two years of college I never left my dorm room except to go to class, and I existed on snack food because I was too shy to go to the dining hall. Today we would it call it a severe case of social anxiety disorder, but we didn't know that back then. You were just expected to sink or swim. It was like, what's so hard about it? Why are you so quiet? Get involved! Secondly, I was never athletic. I always dropped the ball, and I was always picked last. PE during my adolescence was a nightmare for me. Then when I was sixteen I was sent to a boarding school due to failing grades and my withdrawn nature. I think my parents thought maybe a new environment and closer supervision would be good for me. Instead it just seemed to magnify my inability to fit in. Of course, when you're sixteen everything seems magnified, and like it will last forever. It was like the other guys were speaking a foreign language, or were playing by some other set of rules that no one had let me in on.
In the middle of all this, we had to participate in athletics. (YIKES!!!) Well, I couldn't throw, couldn't catch, I didn't know what the hell Lacrosse even was, but I figured I could run. Not much coordination needed for that, right? Just get out and run. Okay. So I signed up for the cross-country team.
For someone who had never exercised in his life, or willingly participated in any sport, you can imagine what my endurance was like. And remember, I didn't sign up for cross country out of a love of running or fitness, nor did I see athletics as any sort of character building experience. I was told I had to do a sport. So I did as I was told, figuring running would provide, if anything, the least possible amount of humiliation.
I never will forget that first day. I was so ill-equipped. Of course there were plenty of other boys on the team who had done this before and were quite good runners. So we did our stretches, and off we went, on a hot Virginia afternoon in early September.
I don't know how I got through those first two weeks. I was, again, terribly shy so I know I wasn't eating well. I had shin splints so bad I could barely walk down a flight of stairs. The hot, sticky Virginia afternoons were brutal, with the hot pavement reflecting the heat back at you as you ran down the road. And of course, of course, there was a dead skunk on the side of the road in that 90 degree heat. While you're just trying to keep up without hyperventilating, and everyone else is at least half a mile or more ahead of you. I came back to my dorm room those first two days and collapsed on my bed in a daze, wondering what the hell I'd gotten myself into. (And forgive the curmudgeonly digression, but in those days in the dormitory, there was no air-conditioning).
So, all this to say I was not impressed nor did I have any interest in being an athlete. But, being a guy, I did often wish I was in better shape. So where do you start? The summer I turned 20, I joined the local YMCA, and signed up for a weightlifting class. I was taken to the room with all the Nautilus equipment by some skinny blond who could be described as charm-free. She handed me a clipboard and a blank sheet of paper. She pointed to a file cabinet in the corner. She said this was the form to track my progress, and I could keep it in said filing cabinet. She then gestured toward the Nautilus equipment, said "Okay there's the machines. Always wear shoes in here, no flip-flops allowed. See ya." And with that she sashayed out of the room and that was the last I saw of her.
That was the extent of my weightlifting "class."
I wish, at this point in my life, I had had some real guidance. I think the best thing for me would have been for a real trainer to do an assessment of me. My measurements, my core strength, balance, my one rep max, etc, and started me on a full-body program. Now, again, I was terribly shy, still. It was difficult for me to connect with anybody and even harder for me to communicate with anybody, and, thus, it would have taken a trainer with a PHD in Psychology (and incredible patience and maybe even mind-reading abilities) to get me to open up. I was not overweight at this age. But I felt out of shape. And I had no clue where to begin. And, that, I think, is where so many of us find ourselves. But more on that later.
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