Saturday night at Regionals

Ramblings Post #179
Things change. People change. It's part of the circle of life and what makes us grow stronger and get better. I've changed. I once told Sporty that in essence, we're not the same person when we go to bed at night as we were when woke up that morning. We're always becoming someone else, and that's who we are. That said, when we stop changing - except when forced - is when we get old. And I'm not getting old any time soon.

So Saturday night, I go to Schmoopy's "thing" to support.

For the last six months or so, she's been on a health kick that makes my weight loss deal look like I've been eating brownies for breakfast and taking pizza through an Iv. Where as I get grapes, wheat toast and one scrambled egg for breakfast, she got a single small bowl of oatmeal and an hour of cardio.

She went hard core.

Which is how I ended up at the Georgia International Convention Center for the Atlantic Bodybuilding Regional show. Tickets were $35. I told Schmoopy that I really must like her to spending this kinda loot. But I do really like her, so I went on and ponied up the cash.

When ESPN was down at the bottom of its programming barrel a few years back, I would occasionally flip past a bodybuilding show, so I had some idea of what it was. And since the fitness model swimsuit issue was, at least to me way better than the SI swimsuit issue, I had at one time owned at least an issue or two of a body building magazine. Ages ago I might have even read one back when I was in shape. Way back, in the long, long ago.

So I show up, and it's now quite what I expected. Well, to be realistic, I wasn't sure what too expect, so anything that happened would have been unexpected. Part of my confusion came because I found out later that the most of the actual judging had actually happened that morning at 10am, when I was in class and which required a separate ticket. So, initially when the guys came out, posed for 90 seconds to some music and trophies were briskly awarded, I wasn't sure what was going on. The stunning woman sitting in front of me filled me in on that part.

To be honest most interesting part of the show, however....was the crowd. I sat in the back so I could watch most of them come in. The room was a mix of other bodybuilders, family, friends, friends who were also body builders, the large black guys that are ubiquitous in Atlanta, and the women. Apparently muscular guys in little trunks attract a lot of women. Who knew?

So then it happens. The guys have posed. Trophy are awarded. The the fitness model portion of the show starts. And suddenly the place turned into a pep rally. At Hooters.

Now, because I hadn't actually seen Schmoopy since she started this...and the last FB pic I had seen of her made her arms look a little muscular, I figured this was one more thing I had to sit through until the muscular women came out. The fitness models came on stage, skimpy bikini's, bouncing and strutting and bodies glistening. I was still in the back, trying to figure out much longer this would last and marveling at the sudden turn of the crowd from family friendly to a more "adult" atmosphere.

It wasn't until they announced Schmoopy's real name for winning Second place that I realized she had been on stage. The woman who had been explaining the nuances of the event to me laughed at my shock. Schmoopy hadn't been gearing up for the bodybuilder part...she'd been working hard to be a bikini model.

Side note: Considering she restricted her diet to the basics and did a twice a day crippling workout, I have new respect for fitness models.

Schmoopy is a normally a conservative person, and so the idea of her onstage during this portion of the show, where the girls acted bubbly and the announcer didn't have to exhort the crowd in applause surprised me. When I talked to her later, she said that the swagger she'd had on stage was her being "in character". Turns out a bubbly beach bunny type actually works out hard to look like that. Go figure. She felt it was a good experience and that she's gonna continue it as hobby.

So, $35 for 90 seconds. Which is about how long she was onstage. And for 89 of those seconds I didn't even know it was her, I was so far in the back. But then they'd done the judging in the morning so this was for the crowd. After she'd gone up, gotten her trophy and I'd let her know I had been there because she asked, I left. Maybe I was intimated by the guys in the 50 and older division. Maybe I felt a little bad as the women looked through me to guy with D-cup pecs. Maybe I decided to go and work on my own transformation via law school.

Barkeep. Water for me and whatever it is fitness models drink for my girl.

What's really going on?

Maybe it's that I'm stressing out over this midterm. Maybe its because my job is finally catching up to me. Maybe its because my diet and exercise program didn't just slow down or stop, but appears to be going in reverse. Maybe its the stress over things beyond my control...

But for the past few days, at right around 8pm I get indigestion. Or heartburn. And since a burp usually cures this feeling and I'm assuming a burp isn't the fix for a heart attack, it's probably not a heart attack. I think.

Somebody take note of that.

And then, as I'm sitting here writing this, about to go into a diatribe about life and other things, a loud crash happens right outside my window and swear a limb must have fallen off a tree and hit the house. Only on that side of the house, I had all the limbs cut down (I got a lotta trees). So what's really going on? So I slip on shoes and there, just brushing the driveway...one of my neighbors TREES has fallen into my yard. This is almost too much.

I think about it and right this second I'm surprised the power is still on, because the line ran right through that spot. And I'm still on the internet, so the other line is still up too. So tomorrow, before I go to work, I got to dispose of a tree. Or at least get started on disposing of one.

My other problems we'll get back to later.

Barkeep...something to make the cold morning, not so cold.

Old Age

Ramblings Post #59
We get little signs as we get older. A twinge where there used to not be a twinge. Somebody calls you sir or ma'am, for no reason. The first gray hair, I got that one at 25 for the record. Suddenly, ten shots of tequila has the reeling, where twenty used to just be the start. And you realize that cute little thing in the tight pants that you'd like to introduce to your "game" is young enough to be your daughter --- and she's drinking in the same bar you are. There are a lot of signs. Damnit.

Yesterday old age arrived. I noticed the beginnings of a double chin.

If there is anything that makes you suddenly realize you need to take thine ass to the gym, it's looking in the mirror and seeing the start of that extra little roll of fat under your chin. The roll of fat on your hips you're used to. You've learned designer camouflage. Now you're trying to figure out how you'd look in an ascot, and thinking it might not be that bad.

I had been waffling on tightening up my diet: Adding the salads I'd started skipping back into the mix, going back to the bran cereal, cutting way back on the carbs....but have you ever tasted fresh hot fries? Or had chocolate chip fudge brownies that a still kinda soft and warm? Well I have and since I'm not working out for the moment, those snacks are looking at condo prices in my love handles. And since some old acquaintances have started pasting old photos.. and I looked stuffed and bloated in a few of them... this is not a new problem. I can see why I've avoided cameras and pictures and all manner of preserving for posterity.

It is singularly depressing.

I've done short term adjustments before: The juice week, low carbs, brief diet changes... but short term isn't gonna get it.

As many times as I've complained - whined, lamented, etc - about how women are a lot more visual than folks want to admit I'm letting a situation I can control with a little will power slowly become a a real problem. I dream of one day taking off my shirt to get into the pool and having the women look at me like a fresh grilled pork chop. With BBQ sauce. That hungry look in their eyes, that says "I need to gets me some of that." And I may have to cut back a lot of things, but I will get there.

Salads. Cutting carbs. More fruit. Already cut out the sodas. Get back to the gym.

I is gonna make it.

And this time, I mean it.

Barkeep. Pear Juice. And two rolls of toilet paper and a good book. And a magazine.

I'm doing it to myself

Ramblings Post #32
What are our triggers? Those things that actually spur us into action as opposed to those things that were supposed to spur us into action. A lot of my personal starters stem from puberty and the usually well suppressed memories and the teenage thinking inflated traumas contained therein. Sometimes it's an innocent comment that cuts to the core, a feeling, sometimes its a scent, but whatever the term, I think I should be in control of them. And I find out more and more, I'm not.



I ate a whole box of Nilla wafers in less than 24 hours.

I don't normally keep snack food in my house for just this reason. It was easy to get a few more, then a few more, then a napkin full and suddenly "where did the rest go?" Oh.

I picked up the box on a whim, because the people ate Wise haven't figured out the person doing the stocking in Atlanta is either an idiot or is hoarding the Crunchy Cheez Doodles for himself. If you double the price and it still sells out, so.... let's load up on a completely different product? (Note: to Wise Foods executive reading this I am a Publix shopper)

So I bought some Nilla wafers. Something haven't eaten in forever. They were so good.

And I ate the whole box.

I already feel big. Okay, check that...I feel fat. And since it's beginning to dawn on me that a sparkling wit and personality really doesn't offset a gut, I need to do something. I still remember that stinging comment I overheard, being described by a someone I met at a party as the "fat guy in the kitchen". I had not thought about that in a long time.

My gym membership is about to go big time.

Barkeep. Water. Large amounts.

I can feel my blood pressure

This is a health post
I'm getting old. What can I say. And things that should be swinging freely are starting to creak. No not that...minds in the gutter. But as my father likes to say, "getting old is better than the alternative." And the band played on...

A few years ago I had a chest pain, and Sporty insisted I go to the doctor, something I normally would not have done. In most cases, being a typical guy, I would have shrugged it off until the pain subsided then found out twenty years from now that my condition had existed since when I should have taken my ass to the doctor long ass time ago. But anyway I did go to the doctor because she said to and found out I had high blood pressure.

I say had because it's much better now. Going to the doctor and finding out fairly early probably helped. She might have saved my life.

I mean, you ever see one of those movies where the doctor's goes "Excuse me sir, are you sure you're breathing?" Yeah, that was me the first time I went. Numbers at the far end of "you might want to lie down, take a few breaths and try to relax." Looking back I'm fairly amazed they didn't call for an ambulance. Now it's down to merely a little high from time to time. Like now.

Maybe it's the school thing, and the job thing, and the house thing, and the money thing and every other damn thing all coming together in a lovely multi-threaded stress weave but lately I have a sensation that I haven't had in years. Back in my heavy drinking days I would wake up after a good drink and feel my blood pressure in my ears. I was a eerie feeling, sort of a low rumble in my head which I knew if I just stayed still for a while would pass. When I stopped drinking like that, those moments alone in bed on Saturday and Sunday mornings hoping I hadn't drunk myself to death passed for the most part.

And that was true until a week ago. I can hear it again. And it scares me.

I mix up the diet - salads, oat bran, baked foods, veggies and juices mixed with fried whatever and the occasionally extra greasy greasy something. I stopped eating crazy portions, now I just eat until I'm full throw the rest away. My weight is still down, my belts and pants loose.

Is it the diet? The stress? The whole of my existence?

Barkeep...something calming and soothing. With some rum in it.

Back at it, Still Throwing Blows: Workout update

After my few months in the Park last summer, I'll guess at least four months maybe longer (I didn't keep track I just did it) I've waddled my big ass back into the gym.

Okay, it's not that big an ass, and I'm not waddling, but you've got to motivate yourself somehow.

I joined LA Fitness, because I told Sporty I would, and have been getting up at 6am to go and do an hour. The thing about it is, just like at the park, my 6-ish a.m. arrival makes me a latecomer. By the time I arrive the place is jumping. The treadmills are full, the bikes are in major use and the cycling class (which is overfull) is just reving into high gear. People are sweating, some folks already look ragged and I'm wandering in to do light work. I feel....light weight. In the bad way.

Now I remember why I don't like gyms. They make you competetive. Or rather, they make me competitive.

I get on the bike same time as you, I'm not getting off 'til you get off. I get on the treadmill same time as you, I'm in it until you pull up stakes.

Even if you're in obviously better shape than I am. Which is bad. I'm contemplating going to two-a-days to catch up. That would be working out at 6am and working out again after work. I know this because I had to take day after my first day, because I was too stubborn to admit that the smaller guy with the bodybuilder build could lift more than me, so I didn't change the weights on the pec machine. I cannot describe to you the sore.

I know I have obessive tendiencies. I'm trying to work through them.

Well, here we go again. Tom, my former walking partner and fast master, has chosen another spot to get his winter workout on, so I'm on my own.

Currently the workout is Bike for 20 minutes, Ellptical or whatever that machine is for 10 -15, then burnouts on the pec machine and lat machine. Add in my stretching on the front and you get almost an hour.

Just getting started.

Barkeep...let me a get a apple mango smoothie with a shot of beeswax. I'm getting in shape.

Still walking....

I've lost track of the days since we started...it's on here somewhere, but I'm still out there pretty much every morning since we started. I think we've missed only five or six days, and since we walk EVERY day - that's seven days a week, not five and two off or just the weekends - it's working out rather well. We do 2.6 miles on the nice gravel city provided track and with the walk in and out we get in roughly 3 miles.

The people you meet in the park at 6:30am are all focused. And sweaty. Some even have dogs. Occasionally you meet them with their personal trainer. Because we're all running or working out we don't really get much conversation, so I give them little mental nicknames to keep them straight.

There's Lonely. When we started walking she had two friends who walked with her, but they stopped coming and now she's out there walking by herself. And talking on her cellphone. Who she's talking to at that hour is a mystery.

There's Good Friend and Trying. Trying is out of shape, and comes out and struggles her way around the track. Good friend is her friend who is in fabulous shape...who occasionally forgets her girlfriend is in a bad way. She'll come breezing past then have to jog back to her girl.

There's the Indian Firecracker. We actually are pretty cool with her. She's training for a triathlon, taking an intensive Spanish course at the AUC and looks cute as button. Well she is. And I got all that from our brief 10 second conversations as she breezes past.

There's Barbie. Do I need to explain that one? She only runs the two and is out.

This morning we met the Naked Runner. He's not actually naked but he runs shirtless...and barefoot...and looks as though if could run in a loincloth it would be his preference.

I haven't seen Old Man Steel, Parking Lot Dad, Old but Sweet or the Workout Twins lately.

People aside, this outdoor exercise will continue until it gets too cold. Then it's gym memberships and juicing. As a result of all this, my clothes have gotten a little looser, my energy is up, my stomach looks flatter and my posture has improved. I feel pretty good about the whole thing.

Tom on the other hand has lost 60 pounds.

Okay, walking didn't knock that much weight off of him, he also stopped eating. Like all the way. He's been a forty day Juice/Water fast that has him strolling around like a hospital out-patient. I've suggested that he see a doctor as that much weight loss occasionally leads to kidney damage, but his new Zen like attitude has expressed the the idea that a "fast is to heal the body, not to hurt it" and regards my suggestion as being in error. Good thing we have full coverage health.

As his energy levels have fallen I've been adding difficulties to my sessions so that I get the most out of mine: Adding stairs, side sprints, hill climbing, etc. He should be done by this weekend...then we're talking colonics. Which is a whole other posting.

Barkeep...let me get a apple raspberry mango smoothie. Put a little rum in it.

These feets is made for walking

If you're ever in Piedmont park at 7am, you might spot me walking it out. Last week I got punked into starting an exercise regimen at 6:30-6:45 AM in the park. We do an hour then take it in and go to work.

By punked I mean we middle aged out of shape guys are in the office all the time talking about diets, how we're about to get started next week (always next week), how we're about to start eating better, regain that form we sported in high school or college and fuck like a rockstar again..only this time knowing we'll what we're doing. And she'll love it.

So after two weeks of suggesting a quick break in the middle of the work day, so I could get away from my phone, my buddy asks me how many times I've gone out and took the break. My number was a little low. To prove I was serious I agreed to do this thing at Piedmont. I ain't been up this early regularly since never.

I was surprised to find the park so crowded in the AM. We usually enter over by the Park Tavern, swing wide by the lake then around the track, do three brisk laps (we're supposed to be adding stairs tomorrow) then roll straight down to 10th and back to the corner. Walking now, not running, jeez. In our stroll we're greeted by the Boot Camp folks who are out doing calestenics when we get there (what time do they arrive?) and many the morning jogger.

I get tired watching the Boot Camp folks as they run by.

Me and Tom talk about whatever, and I think we're the only friendly people in the park. I don't really see anybody else talk to anybody else. Okay, the homeless guy was talking to himself, but I'm not sure that counts.

My goal is a six pack. Okay maybe a twelve pack-ish. All I know is that I'm down from a keg, and working my way from party ball down to case. I just want to feel comfortable taking off my damn shirt. As soon as my legs and back stop hurting. And my feet. And my sides. And my butt.


Bartender...Bacardi and diet Sprite.