First, let me send out a big old THANK YOU to everyone who has been reading my ramblings and encouraging me to continue. When I started this blog, I honestly didn't intend to post on here every day, but maybe just two or three times a week. I quickly found this to be a great outlet for my thoughts, and I also found that in relieving my stress, I might be at least a little bit entertaining. I had 13 different people text/e-mail/Facebook me this weekend asking where my weekend posts were. That made me feel amazing! And as of 8:30 this morning, the blog has had over 700 views for the six posts I did last week. Pretty nifty. Anyway, since I didn't post all weekend, I'll give you guys a supercharged Monday report.
In the 72 or so hours since my last post, a couple of things happened.
1) I went grocery shopping
2) My new workout arrived in the mail
3) I found out that old habits die hard
As a follow-up to Jeff and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Friday, I went to Walmart Saturday morning to get an eye exam and pick out some new frames that didn't sit half-cocked on my face. I've been rocking the same frames and lenses since November 2005, so this appointment was long overdue. I went through the appointment and quickly remembered why I hadn't gone to the optometrist in five years. The first thing they did was the air blast in the eye deal. In middle school I decided that having a big round face was not helping me in the coolest kid category. So, in my hormone-riddled pubescent brain, I decided that it was surely my lack of glasses that was keeping me from making the leap into whatever being popular meant. I talked my mom into taking me to the doctor where I fully planned on half-assing the exam to get glasses, but being this was my first eye exam, I didn't know what was coming. They made me sit in terrifying chair in a poorly lit room, put my chin into a holster that looked like it was a torture device from the Middle Ages, and proceeded to shoot air into my eye. I hated it then and I hate it now. After about six months of realizing that being the fat kid with bifocals wasn't helping me out with the ladies, I ditched the glasses and swore I'd never go through that again. That is until I started sitting at a computer for 16 hours a day and slowly went blind. After the doctor got done torturing me (I can't be sure, but I think he asked his helper bees to bring in the water board equipment when I got up to leave), I walked out into the bright lights of Walmart to pick new frames. At this point, my eyes were fully dilated, and while I could see well enough to not run into the table, I was far from being able to make a solid decision on the future of my eyewear for the next five years. I fumbled through pair after pair, struggling to tell if they made me look like a young George Clooney or an old Kathy Bates. I finally settled on a pair that probably makes me look more like Drew Carey (pre-weight loss) than I already did, but they fit my face and my style. Walmart also carries the Randy Jackson line of glasses, and I think the nice girls there had me try on every single pair. But, and this is just me dawg, I just wasn't feeling them. They were a little pinchy in the middle, so, yeah, um, for me they were just aight.
Anyway, with my pupils still fully black, I stood in the middle of the fluorescent lighting capital of the world and I decided I should probably pick up groceries to get me through the week. I decided that my baked potato idea was grand and was definitely something I'd like to keep in my repertoire, but I was going to need to mix it up a little to make this thing work. I had looked around some other sites to see if there were any good options for me, and I decided that I'd start with Progresso soups and pita pocket sandwiches. I started with the soup aisle, but as I stared at the rows of cans I realized I couldn't see well enough to know my split peas from my chicken noodles. I picked up the cans and tried bringing them closer and further from my face to get a better idea of what I was buying. I found that distance was the key, so I turned the cans I was interested in around to the nutritional values, took a couple steps back, and then leaned and squinted to make out the calories/sodium/fat. As I was doing this, I heard a loud, high pitched "Yep!" I turned around to see a woman standing there next to me, also looking through the soups. I thought maybe she was on the phone or something, so I didn't think anything of it. Twenty seconds later I heard it again. It was clear this time that she wasn't on the phone, so I looked up and down the aisle to see if there was anyone around her that she could be sending her loud affirmation to. No luck. Was she mocking me? So, back to my squinting I went, only to be interrupted for a third time. It was at this point that her kids came running around the corner with hands filled with cereal and chips. She talked to them in an average voice and sent them back to find other goods from other aisles. In the process, she also yelped. Thanks to MTV's True Life, I figured out that the woman was probably suffering from Tourette's syndrome. I started to feel bad for questioning this woman's sanity and motives for yelling in the soup aisle, so I hung my head a little bit as I turned back to focus on a chicken gumbo. It was at this time that her husband came up next to her. Together, they walked past me, excused themselves, and let out a little giggle as I heard her try to explain the crazy squinting person standing three feet away from the soups trying to figure out how many servings were in a can. I quickly grabbed three of whatever was closest to me, made a dash to the pita aisle and through the vegetable section, and headed to the self checkout.
I decided at some point last week that I should probably find some sort of exercise to work alongside my new healthy lifestyle. My friends and I have been fascinated with P90x for quite some time, so I decided I'd start shopping around on eBay and Craigslist to see what I could find. In the product reviews, I noticed that a lot of people commented on the intensity of the workouts and the time commitment, but I knew that going in. After all, how was I going to go from a keg to a six pack without a little burn? I decided to head over to the P90x website to see what they had to say on the subject. I read product descriptions and user comments and realized I was probably getting in over my head. The site said something to the effect of "This routine is intended for people who are ready to take their workouts to the next level and transform their bodies in 90 days. However, if you are obese and haven't done any activity in the past 15 years, it will kill you. Proceed at your own risk." Maybe it wasn't quite that harsh, but that's how I read it. Instead, it pushed me towards a different product, the original Power 90 workout. This workout was for everyone! I read through the comments, and middle aged women, 73 year old men, and the morbidly obese all were having great success. It was so easy to do that one 90 year old grandmother was now bonding over it with her four month old grandchild! So, I found a used copy on eBay for $20 and had it rush delivered. I wrestled with whether to do it this weekend or not. The routine calls for six days on, one off, and the total workout is around 40 minutes. I decided to skip it Saturday because I was already exhausted from my 100 yard dash in Walmart, so I decided I'd give it a shot on Sunday afternoon. The kit came with a measuring tape to get a starting result, 2 DVD's (one beginner, one advanced), a recipe book, and a calendar to monitor my progress. I started with my measurements. No big surprises there. The tape was long enough to go around all my biggest areas, so I was feeling pretty good about that. I put on a pair of shorts and a hooded sweatshirt (no sweat, no sexy) and popped in the DVD. The video featured three people. There was a man and a woman in phenomenal shape standing in the back, and a super chipper man in front leading the party. They were all smiling and laughing it up. This was going to be fun. We started with a stretch to loosen up our muscles. The four of us bent to the left, bent to the right, and then three of us successfully touched the floor without bending our knees. I could tell my muscles hadn't been used in some time as everything seemed to pull and ache. By the end of the stretch, I noticed the first beads of sweat starting to drip down my face. No big deal. I sometimes sweat getting off the toilet. Next, we transitioned into Power Yoga. I've done yoga before and always seemed to enjoy it. I'm not sure I've ever done Power Yoga, though. We were flying from the Downward Dog into an Upward Snake, then throwing our legs back and somehow ending up in a Warrior. I felt like I was in a turbo charged game of Simon Says, only I didn't know what all the commands meant. "Okay, gang, swing your arms around and into the Flying Squirrel, now crouch down, bend over backwards, let out a grunt and we're in the Moose." On the flexibility scale, I'm somewhere between iron and diamond. I kept imagining a little old woman standing next to me flying through the poses as I wondered how much longer it would be before my hip went out.
After Yoga, we jumped into the cardio. Jumping jacks, running place, lunges, jumps...pretty standard fare. The nice man on the screen kept telling me that I didn't have to go at their pace and that if this was my first workout, I shouldn't be ashamed to hit pause and grab some water. I took this as a challenge. By this time my sweatshirt was living up to its name and was adding about 20 pounds to my frame. I huffed and puffed my way through the jumps, all the while praying that my neighbors couldn't see me through the giant picture window in our living room. After the first round of cardio and hearing multiple times that I should probably just hit pause, we were granted a 45 second break to grab some water, towel off, etc. I also decided I should probably ditch the sweatshirt. The two people in the back of our ring leader were starting to show some signs of exercise, and I might have even seen a bead of sweat run down one of their faces. I was starting to hate these people. Next up was more cardio, this time in the form of kicking and boxing. I shadow fought for about five minutes while trying to keep up with the folks on TV. Suddenly, I found myself in a daydream where the smiling face on the TV was standing in front of me and I was making him hurt as much as he was killing me. So was the imaginary old woman that showed me up during yoga. And then I suddenly felt like I was fighting me. I saw a reflection of shirtless big Jeff in the window, and I got mad. Even more angry than I was at the yoga lady. I didn't like that person in the window. I didn't like the way he jiggled every time I threw a punch in the air. I hated the way his face was all red and wet. My punches suddenly got crisper and more concise. I was using my whole body on the uppercuts. The old lady and the chipper dude didn't make me so out of shape that I couldn't do a workout that had been touted for everyone. I did. So, I decided I'd start with the man in the mirror, and I'm asking him to change his ways. One air punch and high kick at a time.
The workout ends with some quick ab exercises, and I did as much as I could. I finished the DVD feeling tired and disappointed in my overall performance, but also optimistic that this was something I could do as long as I kept at it. I need to prove to myself that I'm not in worse shape than a 42 year old morbidly obese man in Kentucky. I feel reinvigorated and ready to tackle this week. If I had only done that workout on Saturday...
After I left Walmart on Saturday, I went home and took a quick power nap on the couch. I had invited one of my friends over for a night of video game entertainment, so I needed to have my mind fresh for the upcoming marathon. I had been good all day. I ate a chicken sub with lots of veggies and no sauces at Subway for lunch. I had a big glass of tomato juice to get my vitamins. I was rolling. My friend arrived and we jumped right into the fun. At some point, I realized that I was eating a bag of chips that I had purchased in an effort to be a good host. No big deal. A couple of chips never killed anyone. Then we popped a couple of Tony's pizzas in the oven. Hey, we were working hard! I had been good all day, so a couple of slices of 'za weren't going to derail me. Next thing I knew we had devoured two pizzas (of which I easily ate an entire one plus some) and a thing of cheesesticks. And I'd drank 3 tomato beers. And I'd eaten half a bag of pretzels. It was so natural and happened without me even thinking twice. This is what I do, this is who I am. My friends come over or I hang at their place, we play some games, munch on some snacks, drink a few beers and have ourselves a good time. Nobody worries about calories, nobody stops to count carbs. We just have fun, and usually food is tied into this fun. Now my friend is probably 6'2", 140 lbs, and he downed three 24 oz Mountain Dews while I had my beers. I'm pretty sure he didn't think twice about how empty the calories in pop are. After he left and the full reality of the night set in, I thought about how unfair it was that he didn't have to think about these things. In fact, it never feels like anybody has to think about these things but me. I've never heard a friend order at a restaurant and ask for the dressing on the side or if there is a steamed vegetable substitution for the smothered baked potato. Maybe they just aren't as vocal about it, or maybe they really do live active enough lifestyles that they burn off all the crap they put into their bodies. Maybe they secretly sneak late night spinach or carrot sticks into their lunches the same way I sneak a Snickers bar or a double cheeseburger. I don't know, and I've never known. Don't get me wrong. I'm not angry at my friends, and I don't ask them to change their ways as I go through my yearly diets. I don't ask them to keep certain foods away from me or change menu plans just because I'm coming to town. Ultimately, it is my burden. They've always been supportive of me and my efforts, but sometimes it feels like I'm an alcoholic in a world full of people who've never had a drink. They feel for me, but with the exception of a few, probably haven't had to walk in the same plus-sized shoes.
Anyway, I wish I had worked out on Saturday because then I think I would have remembered how hard I was working towards making a life change, and maybe I would have been a little more conscious of my decisions that night. I did the right thing at the end of the night and sent the rest of the chips home with my friend to get them out of the house. I did the wrong thing by feeling sorry for myself and eating the last three pieces of pizza after he left. I paid for it on the scale. I was down two more pounds going into Saturday, but this morning I was at the exact same weight as I was on my Thursday weigh in.
But here I sit, Monday number 1510, and I'm staring at a week of new challenges. I know there will be more bumps in the road, but I'll keep fighting through. If a night of pizza and beer pushed me to start my exercise on a day that it would have been really easy to sit on the couch, watch football, and eat more pizza, I guess I'll take it. I continue to learn the same lessons I've learned a hundred times before, but this time it is going to be different. This time when I ask myself, "Can I really do this?" I'll have the voice of my soup aisle friend loudly reminding me that, "Yep!" I really can.
Your Rocky of boxing the air,
Jeff
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