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First things first, this morning was my weekly weigh-in, and it fell flat – literally.  I did not lose, and I did not gain, any weight this week.  I’m happy about not gaining, but not losing…  Come on.  I think my nutrition was fine (we’ll see what the nutritionist says), so that leaves me to look to exercise as the source for weirdness at my weigh-ins.  I missed a couple of cardio days last week, and my off days last week were toward the end of the week, with my off days this week towards the beginning, making for almost a whole week between cardio workouts.  I know when I first started exercising, it actually led to a small gain, so I wonder if that happened again.  If so, all the more reason to stay consistent with an exercise routine.  At any rate, stepping on the scale was underwhelming.

The treadmill on the other hand…  Last night brought back the endorphin high to the point of my almost not giving a rat’s tookus about whether I lost weight or not this week!  In middle and high school, I was the kid who hated, hated, hated phys ed.  Well – I guess middle school wasn’t really so bad (though square dancing can be a bruise to the 13-year-old male ego), but high school P.E. really did suck.  My high school phys ed class consisted of 4 days a week, at 7:30 in the morning, on the track – with the assignment being to run 2 miles in half an hour.  Friday’s were in the weight room, which wasn’t so bad, but those 4 days on the track ruined the whole damn thing.  So I walked my two miles (with very short bursts of running) every morning and hated every minute of it.

Back to the here and now, I’ve been walking on the treadmill for five weeks, gradually increasing my time and speed.  I knew my endurance had improved a good bit, but I wasn’t really sure by how much.  Fellow blogger Jay commented here a few days ago, wondering if I were running for my 42 minutes on the treadmill.  I wasn’t, but that got me wondering, could I???  So last night, kind of suspecting my loss wasn’t going to be there on the scales this week, and feeling bored with walking for 42 minutes yet again, I decided to give my routine a jolt and see how much of it I could jog.

After a brief warm-up, I started out being able to jog about five minutes straight!  I was pleasantly surprised – thinking I’d be lucky to jog for 2 minutes before being torpedoed off the back of the treadmill.  For the rest of my workout, I alternated between a fast walk and a relatively light jog – probably jogging about 15 minutes total.  So what, you marathoners say?  For me that was huge – a great personal exercise accomplishment!  And the 42 minutes went by so much more quickly than if I’d walked the whole thing.  I finished feeling like I’d won a race – even if I were only competing against myself.

Well, I’m in the midst of next week now, and jumping back on the wagon has not been easy.  It’s less like jumping on a wagon, and more like trying to throw my lame @$$ onto a bullet train traveling full-speed ahead through the Japanese countryside.  I could really kick myself, because getting back up to my regular schedule with exercise feels like starting from scratch.  Tonight on the treadmill, I did my prescribed time (42 minutes in this fifth week since starting my exercise program), but instead of getting that endorphin high after a few minutes, my mind started effin’ with me.  I thought, “This is crap. Total crap.”  Around minute seven, I truly was considering stopping, thinking I could fulfill the remainder of my forty-two minutes dancing to my iPod playlist.  Mind you, my name is Chad, and I dance like a Chad, which hardly burns calories.  (Think college boy over bite shuffle.)

Thankfully, the angel on my other shoulder reminded me that if I could just stick with it a few more minutes, the endorphins would kick in, and it wouldn’t feel like complete torture.  And they did, kind of, but not to the extent I remembered having been almost euphoric over the past couple of weeks.  I finished my 42 minutes, but I didn’t get the same great feelings I had been getting before.  Thus, I’m convinced that exercise is much easier if you keep up a consistent schedule and don’t let it get thrown off.  Now that’s my motivation to keep hauling my fat butt on the treadmill – because I don’t want to have to jump back on this bullet train again.

1) If they can do it, so can I… So far, I think this has been the single most useful strategy for me.  Basically, I seek out stories of others who have lost large amounts of weight – a lot.  Almost everyday, I check one of my favorite websites that profiles people who’ve achieved their health and fitness goals.  One great one in my city is our local paper’s website – the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.  I have a link to their Weight Loss Success stories on the right hand side of the screen under “Resources.”  They also profile a new weight loss success story about once a week, and keep a link on their homepage under lifestyle.   The Today Show also does great profiles of weight loss success stories, including the weekly Joy Fit Club segment, profiling those who’ve lost 100+ pounds.  I finally realized that I’m no different from these people – if they can do it, so can I!

2)  Old pictures can haunt you… Last week, I came across some photos of myself at my highest weight ever, around the holidays in 2008.  It’s remarkable these photos even exists, as I avoided cameras like the plague at that weight.  If I saw a camera approaching, I’d ask nicely that the eager and smiley friend or relative (turned photographer) retreat, then I’d threaten, then I’d take evasive maneuvers – stealthily disappearing from the situation as the shutter clicked.  Somehow, these photos slipped through the cracks.  Just to see the difference in the weight I’ve lost so far (37 pounds from when I started this journey in October 2009, and probably 45 pounds lighter than my weight in those photos) is enough to keep me away from the french fries and on the treadmill most days.  The thing I notice most is how uncomfortable I was in my own skin.  One of those photos is tucked in the corner of my bathroom mirror now, so I see it and rededicate myself to these efforts each and every morning.

3)  Accountability… I’m a people pleaser (in some ways).  Maybe the better description is that I keep my word.  If I tell someone I’m going to do something, it’s important to me to do it, so having some mechanisms for accountability in place are crucial for me.  I’d tried having an exercise/diet buddy a couple of times in the past, and for me, that just didn’t work.  A friend or family member, no matter how honest they’ll be with you, also has a history with you that you can’t totally divorce from their encouragement in this area.  It’s not a bad thing, but losing weight can be a touchy subject, and sometimes that history – whatever it is, needs to be checked at the door, which just isn’t possible to do.   What I really needed was someone detached and knowledgeable to whom I was accountable, and I found that in my nutritionist and my trainer.  These are my “coaches” in this effort who keep me on track.  And while it’s not for everyone, blogging has provided great accountability for me, too.  I mean, would you want to put all this stuff out on the freakin’ world wide web, and then not follow-through?  Yeah – me neither.

4)  Cut myself some slack… I’ve said this before, but I really do believe that you can’t make any food or foodgroup verboten if you want to be successful long-term.  I know there are some rabid healthy eaters out there who think refined sugars should never pass our lips and high fructose corn syrup is the devil’s nectar (and it well may be), but if I tell myself I can NEVER have something again, that just does something psychologically to me that makes me not want to pursue this at all.  So while I’m not saying you should eat foods like that regularly, a realistic lifestyle change, at least for me, is to say that most days of the week I’ll eat lean, nutritious foods, but if every now and then I want something kind of unhealthy like key lime pie (which I had for my mom’s birthday dinner tonight) or hush puppies (yes, I’m southern), I have them.  In moderation.  It isn’t cheating or going off my diet, and it doesn’t mean I’ve fallen off the wagon and should binge.  It just means it’s a treat that I don’t have all that often.  Nothing more; nothing less.

So that’s what I do to stay motivated; what about you?  Leave a comment and share your strategies!

I’ve always hated to hear people say they “forgot” to eat. This seemed like a completely foreign concept to me, who always had plans for my next meal not too far from my mind. I still plan for meals, but now it tends to be in a very utilitarian, food as fuel way, instead of the more reactionary, “that pissed me off/stressed me out/made me sad/made me happy, so I deserve french fries/pizza/mongolian beef/ice cream” way. Today I didn’t plan, I got busy, and I just didn’t get hungry, until very late. I think I got away with it today, as I wasn’t completely famished when I did leave work and get to dinner, but overall, I’ve learned that I really can’t go more than a few hours without a small meal or snack if I don’t want to end up eating too much or something bad later in the day.

The good news is, I feel like my life is once again my own, as the projects were completed and submitted today! And I didn’t even treat myself with something fattening, but with a healthy dinner and a night off from other chores.

This is unrelated, but thanks to my good friends Kathryn and Jeff for taking my mind off of grant-writing for the evening last night and having me over for a fantastic dinner. Kathryn is madly talented in the kitchen – think funny version of Martha Stewart minus 35 years. She rocked a totally healthy meal of roast pork, polenta, and swiss chard, with a lemon custard (made with silken tofu and soy milk) and blueberry sauce. And Jeff rocks the dishes – they’re a perfect match. If I had my wits about me (which may return now that my big deadlines have come and gone), I would have taken an iPhone picture of the meal and posted it here. Anyhow, thanks again for a great evening guys!

So what about you – have you ever “forgotten” to eat? Or do you think the whole concept is a load of bull?

But first, I should ‘fess up that I haven’t totally been on the ball as far as exercise is concerned for the past week, in more ways than one.  Last Sunday, I intended to do strength training, followed by cardio, a combination that I’ve come to enjoy.  Instead of working out 6-7 days a week, I double up cardio and strength days, knock it out at once, and the cardio ends up being much easier, without the lead calves that seem to plague me for the first 10 minutes on the treadmill when I start cold.  So last Sunday, I finished my strength training and jumped on the treadmill, only to feel like I was either going to throw up or pass out once I got started – neither of which seemed like a good idea, as I envisioned myself flying off the back of the treadmill and crashing through the second story window behind me.  I went for 4 minutes, and I realized this feeling wasn’t going away.

Not wanting to be discovered unconscious in the bushes under said second floor window, with a helluva strawberry from the treadmill belt, I stopped and rested for a few minutes, but I still wasn’t feeling great.  I had a snack, thinking my blood sugars might be a little whacky, and it did help some.  But I ended up not doing cardio that day, and then I got super busy at work last week, coming home exhausted and not having the energy to work out (or so I convinced myself).  So I ended up only getting in two days of cardio in the past week, instead of my prescribed four, though I did get two days of strength training in, which is good.  So – no biggie – “bygones,” as they used to say on Ally McBeal.  Next week I’ll get back on track.

Which brings me to earlier this evening…  I was doing my strength training routine, and I got to an exercise called the Superman.  So far as I can tell, the name for this exercise has less to do with being strong enough to leap tall buildings in a single bound, and more to do with looking like a bit of a jackass in exercise clothes stretched out like you think you can fly.  Well I can’t.

To do the Superman, you lie face down on a balance ball, and you put your feet against the baseboard of a wall.  Then you stretch your arms straight out in front of you, holding on to a dumbbell, and you  lift your torso up in the air and off the ball.  I’d increased my weights tonight, and I had just finished a set of 110 crunches (an increase for me), so my body was adjusting anyway as I began to do the first couple of reps of the Superman.  To further throw me off, I had the Jay-Z and Alicia Keys duet version of Empire State of Mind playing, and I was really starting to get into singing along – distracting my attention from being the best Superman I could be.

Then it happened – I started to wobble a little to the left on the balance ball.  I remember letting a little “whoa!” escape my lips as I lurched to the right to try and stay on the damn ball, followed by a jerk to the left, another yell, and THUD.  Superman lying face down in the floor.  This is why I exercise at home and not in a gym.  Worse things could happen, though.  The ball could have burst, like I feared in my first session with my trainer.  At least I fell off of it and not through it!   But it seemed like a fitting end to a week where my exercise was a little unsteady.  Once I stopped laughing, I picked myself up and assumed the Superman position again, I quit trying to rap like Jay-Z, and I finished my routine.

Next week I’m back on the ball with exercise.  Seriously.

Which brings me back to the scales this morning…  I was not looking forward to it.  But lo and behold, I got on, fully prepared to begin my old ritual of nose-blowing and hanging off toes to shave off a half pound.  And then I looked down – 4.5 pounds lost this week!  Say what?  I rubbed my eyes, convinced that glass of Layer Cake was more potent than I though, but there it was – 4.5 pounds down, for a total of 37.5 pounds lost now.  I stepped off and on the scale three more times just to verify, and there it was, in all its digitally displayed beauty – a great loss for the week.  I looked back over my food records, and I hadn’t done as badly as I thought.  Handling a busy week at work and still losing weight defies logic in my old fat guy mind – more evidence that I really am reconstructing thirty.

But just when I start to fluff my ascot and feel like I might actually fit in – enter skyr.  Skyr, you say?  I hadn’t heard of the stuff before tonight either, and frankly, I’ll be glad if I never meet it in a darkened alley again.  I had picked up a filet of grilled salmon, some lemon orzo, and dill marinated cucumbers – a nice, simple, healthy meal – and I was looking for a little something sweet to go with it.  I counter-intuitively steered myself away from the bakery section, and I came across the yogurt.  I was looking for a nice, light yogurt, and feeling gastronomically adventurous, I was drawn to a simple looking container of orange and ginger flavored skyr, which the label described as Icelandic style strained non-fat yogurt.  You could almost picture the dairy farmer coming in from the pastoral fields with his beloved cows, milking them by hand while sitting on an old-fashioned wooden stool, and then making the yogurt in an immaculately clean chilled white tile room.  And orange and ginger?  So different from your typical blueberry or strawberry yogurt.  I really wanted to love this stuff.

When I began reconstructing thirty, my nutritionist recommended that I give Greek yogurt a try, as it had more protein and would be more filling than regular yogurt.  I gave it a try.  It sucked.  Hard.  I’m not a big dairy fan, anyway, and I was in my late twenties before I could even eat the really sweet mass-market yogurts.  I always thought it tasted like liquid bad breath, and this Greek stuff tasted like straight up gastric acid.   The nutritionist told me if I didn’t like it, using the regular light yogurt was fine, with a spoonful of the Greek stuff stirred in for extra protein, and that actually was pretty good.  I have to admit, though, yogurt just isn’t one of those things I really like, so it’s gradually been replaced by other snacks for me, but tonight it sounded good – complementing the salmon and cucumbers as a really nice dessert.

When I saw that skyr is strained, I did wonder if it would have the same alarming pungency as that strained, thick Greek stuff I had tried just a few months before, but I was bowled over by the fancy package and the unique flavor of orange and ginger (I love citrus desserts), and I gave it a shot.  How cool would it be if it were really awesome, and I could all non-chalantly recommend that my friends and co-workers try this incredible thing called skyr?  That’s the foodie wannabe in me coming out.  But as I popped the top on the container, the “fragrance” escaped.  The dog, usually fascinated by anything on the kitchen counter, got a whiff of the stuff that led to an explosive canine sneeze, and then she quickly lost interest and retreated to her chair.  I think regular yogurt smells bad, too, so I wasn’t totally deterred; thinking the flavor of skyr may still be okay.  I took a small spoonful, and that’s when the excrement hit the oscillator (I can’t take credit for that – a colleague said it in a meeting the other day, and I’ve been looking for an opportunity to use it in my writing since).  This stuff had the consistency of tofu and a flavor that made the Greek yogurt I’d tried taste like Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey.  My eyes began to water, my cheeks turned inside out, and I raced to the trash can,wondering if there were any mouthwash, chewing gum, or straight-up vodka close by.  My visions of making a foodie discovery worthy of being shared were dashed, and it took a full 39 minutes on the treadmill and watching the whole State of the Union address before the taste finally left my mouth.  Then I had a different dessert – a light ice cream sandwich.  Serves me right – foodie wannabe.

So there I sat, on my way home from work, finding myself seriously considering an illicit visit to this Atlanta institution.  Part of making true lifestyle changes as opposed to dieting for me is allowing myself to have things I really like, in moderation, and not cutting anything out of my diet completely.  But tonight, hungry, cold, tired, and not having had dinner yet, I knew after eating the one scrumptious doughnut I could have safely allowed myself, I would have been tempted to bring my nutritious day of food down in a blaze of glazed glory!

On “Skinny” drove.  Next time, baby.  Next time.