The results are in!

I'm about to tell you a tale of the results of that 2012 Fitness Challenge I frassed about at the start of the year, here. For my friends who were really hoping the blog would be more "cat-centric", I'm sorry to report the kitties had to go back to their "real" dad. Also, for the visually stimulated among the lot of you- I apologize for no before or after pictures. My genial narcissism is tempered by my own self-consciousness/loathing...and dislike of topless photo's/photo's in general of myself. While I promise to keep this more factual than nauseatingly self-deprecating...I just think it'll be funnier if I tell it to you in...my own voice...Mostly, if you're interested in how the regime actually worked out for me.

Pictured: How I look at the end of a treadmill workout as I hang from the handrails- grimacing like I'm constipated and complete with a tubful of sweat, claws, and easily groomable body-hair.

Yesterday I was standing on the landing by the front door and rocking my winter running "costume" when I had an epiphany: While it is February...and stupidly balmy for MN...and there was really no reason I shouldn't go for a run...I actually said:

Fuuuuuck this.

And then I stripped out of my layers and crawled into bed for a power-nap. Do you know why? Because I was tired, and refused to feel guilty. And January is over, sucka's.

Not to put a fine a point on it- Le results, for the numerically saavy: (January 2012)

Total Workouts (Running/Weights/Karate): 37
Total Hours: 25
Total Miles: 80
Total Calories burned (est): 15,000

Height: 5' 10"
Weight: (pre) 183 (post) 180
(Note: Several of the workouts were doubled up and factually I worked out about 70% of January. Also, I don't log my "wake-up" routine of stretching/core work/upper body awakening. Or as Mr. McConnaughey sez: "Push-ups n' Sit-up's...all right all right all right")

So what did I learn? What was I hoping to gain from this? Going in, I was excited at the prospect of adhering to a new routine and sticking to it. To "not" give lipservice to training and really work my nards off- celebrity/professional athlete style! I knew that I'd either have to spend a considerable amount of time doing it. (Indicating that I either was very dedicated, or had no life to speak of. And let me tell you, friends- It's hard not to think you're the latter versus the former) I partly believed that my body would have a quick-ish response to the training and the results would be -hopefully- immediate. True, I wasn't eliminating everything from my diet like some pre-contest bodybuilder or Spartan king.

Put the Merlot and Muenster Cheese down, motherf#cker...

I figured I had my calories measured so that I was maximizing my input/output necessary to facillitate my workouts and burn any other superfluous nonsense. My OTHER hope was to navigate down toward the 170's pound-age wise...but outside of a handful of times during a morning weigh-in I never dropped down there. Sure, I went down notch on my belt. And of COURSE the stupid fast twitch muscle fibers in my arms liked having a day all to themselves. And while it wasn't shapely and sculpted, whatever subsequent weight loss happened as a result of spending more time isolating my chest allowed me to make out the (hopefully benign) sebaceous cyst that's lived in the area around my sternum my whole life.

Cyst? What cyst? I can't find anything between these throw-pillows I call my chest.

Lastly? Man oh Man oh Man oh Man. I got soooooo fah-king tired. (occasionally) Trying to run at 5 then going to work at 6-7am then hitting the gym afterwards- OR going from the gym to karate to home again? (Karate "suffered" the most. I only wedged in 2 visits in January.) My ass felt like lead. And the soreness? In my muscles? Never really went away. There was always something new ripping and tearing and re-growing. My neck and back felt sledgehammered. (Which, if the article is to be believed, means I'm storing a shit ton of eeeevil on a cellular level...)

I started to get tired of the gross and sweaty laundry I was doing sometimes twice a week. The feeling like I had to bundle up for an outdoor run and the subsequent peeling off of clothes just because it was nice out. (Or because the cute couple I pass every morning that runs together made me feel guilty) The (sometimes) two showers a day. I ended up developing an unhealthy addiction to caffeine (natch) in order to push through the day which played hell with my tummy. And if I was going to a gig at the end of the day? I couldn't even nap because I was always exhausted AND wound up!

And in the end? I didn't even manage to do the 6 days on 1 off! Sometimes I'd give it a day, two days in between here and there. I literally could not even drag my butt out the front door or from work to the gym-And I brought my gym bag every single day. (To be fair, I convinced myself that they were getting grossly tired of seeing my face daily at the club) Finally, I reiterated this to myself. I thought: "This is why models and superstars are paid the big bucks. This is why bodybuilders & fitness enthusiasts get sponsers". And I didn't want to even be built like either.

I just wanted to try on something new for a bit and stick with it.

Without seeming like I'm grumbling too much: The original idea was, truly, to determine if that type of exercise was a good option for my overall wellness/strength. I think it was a good experiment, and like all workout kerfluffles in my life I'm keeping what was useful and discarding what isn't. The leg work alone made karate easier to recover from (and the karate has been helping my reflexes- I mean, in a useful way...I can't tell you how cool it is to be able to keep the bottle of Summit that you just accidentally tipped over from falling off the counter without spilling a drop.) Spending time focusing on one body-part does along (some) room for recovery and isn't forcing your body to over-tax. (And appear like an equipment hog)

And I still really like going to the gym. This much I'm fairly certain of. And making that and karate into second homes keeps me honest and out of trouble. Add to that, over the last 30 days or so I've spoken with people who are not only returning to the gym, but some just starting to discover their own path to health, weight-loss, wellness, etc. And as a motivator, that gets me jazzed to keep going as well. I might have been fibbing a bit when I said I'm dedicating the month of February to the couch (Although "Deadwood" is taking over my life). Sue me.

And I'll see y'all at the gym.

And we're running...again...

(pictured: Symbol of DC Superhero "The Flash". I've toyed with the idea of getting a bright red race outfit for visibility purposes and affixing this patch to the chest...then kiboshed it because I'm not very fast and...well he's just not my favorite superhero)

BOOM! Double Blaug!

Moda, Feej, and I will be running the Red, White, and Boom on 7/4. Because we're weird. And running a half-Mary on our day off seemed like a pretty good idea at the time. (You know? I dragged my feet on some weird tangent about how "it's right outside my back door" and "well why wouldn't I run a neighborhood race?" yadda yadda...it's just not happening. There's no real benign reason to be dragging our asses to the starting line at 6am. Oh wait...yes there is...) I had this funny scenario in my head where I'd drag my feet on running, then agree to crew FeeJ and Moda, then show up on race day taking off my hoodie to reveal MY RACE NUMBER!!!

Unfortunately, my evasiveness was viewed as more annoying than anything. That and they sniffed me out when the race numbers were made available online. So much for surprises, no matter how weak I make them.

Hey...anyone remember last year? When Moda was educating me about "Race Karma" and we volunteered for the R/W/B b/c it was so close to us? We ran the Lake Harriet 10K on July 3rd then went over to help unload the cup and water trucks for the beverage station? Man. That was a HOT day. And the very next day when we got up to go to our water station where we had volunteered behind the Quarry? And, and, and what did it do? Yeeeeeah.

P#ssing rain. At 7am. On 7/4. We stood there soggy in our makeshift garbage bag ponchos. And when the rain did clear? And the early a.m. heat showed up? Ssssssssteamy business, kids. Anyway, my point of this whiney tirade is that because every race I've done so far this year climatologically speaking has been an exact replica of 2010? I'm visualizing soggy bottoms for at least half of the run.

Which is to say that the weather's no big deal. What is a big deal is working through injury. And f#ck all it's getting in my brain and psyching me out. Last weekend I did an exploratory run of the course just to get more-or-less familiar with the terrain. We've all trod the area, and the Deming Heights hill (the "Hard" hill on the race) has been part of my training now for a few months- I've even gone so far as to mentally say "Hi" to it when I approach, hoping the Earth Gods ease the incline and carry me up the hill. Shut it. The rest of the weekend I did lawn work in my heavy leather "outdoor shoes", then woke up on Sunday with a foot that felt like it was caught in a bear trap. Nigh on unwalkable. Gimpy limp.

And I got worried. Here's the big drawback to minimalist shoes, frassers: As soon as you switch back to heavy soled shoes, you run the risk of injury. And since I've bitched about this before (so it shouldn't have been a big surprise)...I was hoping that it wouldn't be right before my next f#cking race. My last run a few days ago in my Free's (which I'm racing in) was a 6 mile exercise in pain. I switched to two "shorty" runs in my Veeb's which both felt better. (I won't even lie when I say I was considering racing the half-Mary in them. I just haven't put up the distance)

So after the improvement I've been experiencing this year, I'm feeling a little "back to square one"-ish. I've been re-reading "Born To Run" (Which you should all. read. Inspirational, Exciting, and Informative. Something for runners and non-runners alike. Truth) to keep me inspired and focused. But I'm approaching this race with more trepidation than I did the Mpls Half-Mary. And it's mostly pissing me off. Frass. I wasn't even hoping to PR this one. Just run a fun long-weekend race with buddies.

Frass N' Grumble.

Annnnnyway, as I polish of this glass of whine I'd like to (again) encourage you 4 readers to drag your butts out to NE Mipples this coming Monday to cheer the race if you can. I know that many of you don't get done puking until noon, but your support is nevertheless welcome and appreciated down to the soles of our feet.

Happy Fourth o' July, friends!

Aging means evolution (pt 1)

(pictured- Unflattery. Pre-5K in July 2010)
Did you know that there was a time when I was a helper to folks who needed to start a fitness routine or wanted to lose weight?

It's true! I, the royal Me, was a veritible fountain of information of all things fitness (I was like a personal trainer "lite"). And Goddamn right I was. I've been lifting weights and living a healthy lifestyle since I was 14. I'm well-read, trained, and have a experience/experimented often and well in those years. I never had a six-pack, or that crap. Just an enjoyment of working out and a healthy diet.

The unfortunate drawback of all that is a bit of a bout of dysmorphia. Lookit up). Your old pal Mikey has never really been what you call "comfortable in his own skin". I've never went nutso about it except when I was in Jr. High and living off of only instant breakfast in the a.m. and pizza rolls at night- It's just a fact. I've an Endo/Meso frame and it's not easy to keep my weight down. No biggie. (Did I mention I'm over 30? Whatever. The stipulation people put on our bodies when we get older is way off base, IMO)


So the big joke is the two best diets are break-ups and cancer. That's a fact. And I am a super-emo-mopey-ass when I'm dumped, and proceed to spend my days not eating and drinking the night away until I'm over it. This, my reader, is how it was for me around 5 years ago or so.

And I was thin.

Like, for the first time since high school. I actually felt like I was in good shape. Sure, I was what my friends called an "unhealthy weight" (or a refugee camp victim, as AL says) but I felt good in my skin, you know? Even when my diet/eating came back I was still doing all right. I gave blood and they complimented me on my resting heart rate. I felt good. And fit. And I thumbed my nose at an old co-worker who told me it's all down hill after you hit "30".

Let's fast forward to about a year or so after that: I got a physical. And I found out some alarming things. (Especially when they'd call and have me come back for "more tests")

-I weighed around 195 lbs. Even when I played football in High School I didn't weigh that much.
-I had high cholesterol. I actually found myself rationalizing my diet to the doctor to no avail. (I guess fat free cheese and soup wasn't cutting it)
-I had high blood pressure.
-I was at risk for diabetes...and cancer.
-I grew an abcess in a (ahem) very delicate area of my body.

That, friends, had me bummed out. To a huge degree. I joined the local gym with my girlfriend, thinking that maybe it's a result of not having access to a full weight room or the ability to do cardio. (I was still running. Just not...a lot.) And then, more crap happened. (1) My S.O. and I went on a cruise. And (2) I had to buy a boat load of new pants and shorts for the trip- In much larger sizes. I officially couldn't button my old jeans. Also? Comments started coming up about how I "looked like I'd put on weight". I started looking at pictures of myself and really, reeeeeally not liking what I saw. (I started looking like my dad and my grandpa Ken.)

I avoided/tried avoiding pictures unless my head was tilted a certain way. Like the below photo, I'd find clever ways to position myself to reduce the overall amount of body I was showing. I got rid of/donated my old clothes including the tight hipster t-shirts. Shirts went untucked. Pant tops were left unbuttoned. And even though we had joined the neighborhood gym? Nothing seemed to really be changing on me physically.

In spite of being told by my girl that I should just be happy in my own skin I still felt a little like Sisyphus. I was doing my part. I was lifting. I was jogging. I was eating soup. I still ate healthy (I thought.) I was enjoying food and even allowing myself dessert every so often. I stopped my offhand-comments about my "chubs" that used to annoy my girl when I said them. It felt like I had a healthy attitude, but my body wasn't responding any more.


Here we were. I was 34 going on 35...and I felt I must have been doing something very wrong fitness and health-wise. And I was getting more and more frustrated that I was going to have to come to terms with the fact that as much as I'd envisioned myself as being "fit" and "healthy", this was how I was going to look for the rest of my life and it was time to start getting comfortable with that. (Pictured: How I pose when I don't want unflattering body shots to go on Facebook and they do anyway)