In a recent post, I mentioned how I'm motivated by progress and promise. If it feels like I'm "getting somewhere," it's easier for me to put my weight behind the effort (pun intended). But I'm learning that not all progress is necessarily measurable.
The scale is telling me that weight is coming off, but at a snail's pace. And there's a (pretty big) part of me that wishes it were happening faster. But I'm already doing that thing where I'll catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and think, "Hey... that's new." Or I'll look down at my arms and wonder who's they are. Or Kate will tell me she can "see it in my face." Or my blood sugar will drop below 100 for the first time ever. Or I'll have to make yet another hole in my belt.
Not to mention my confidence and self-esteem. I already feel like I can do things that I couldn't just a few weeks ago (starting with the Packers 5K tomorrow). I feel energized and capable.
I'm learning to feed off of those feelings for my motivation rather than numbers I used to rely on. It's kind of addicting really. The charge I get out of "look what I did" is beginning to equal that I got from "look what I lost." And I like it. I like it a lot!
Friday, July 29, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
07.25.11 :: I'm a Fair-Weather Fan of me...
I've said it before and I'll say it again, I love my Green Bay Packers. My all-time favorite team, my all-time favorite sport. The idea of switching allegiances is repulsive to me. So, good or bad, win or lose... They're MY team. I LOVE 'em!
On the other hand, are the Milwaukee Brewers. I really, really like the Brewers. I hardly ever miss a game (or at least part of it). I could probably give you the line up and batting order off the top of my head. I enjoy following them.
But only because they're in a battle for first place in the National League Central.
I suspect that if they were standings bottom-dwellers (as they have been for so many years), I probably would've stopped watching/listening/following sometime around Memorial Day. In short, if there's no chance for them to make the play-offs, I can find better ways to spend Summer evenings.
If they're not winning, I'm not following. I'm a fair-weather fan.
And, as it turns out, I'm a fair-weather fan of me, too.
This journey of mine got off to a fast start. I sold out for the fitness regimes. Made connections with rockstars in that area (Kat V. and Zac & Fawn W.). Plunged head-long into better eating and meal-journaling on MyFitnessPal.com. And so I saw quick, big drops in my weight and in my belt notches.
I was proud of the immediate progress. I shared that success with others and they answered with shouts of acclamation and support. Folks were calling me an inspiration. I practically doubled my efforts. Engaged more deeply. I got addicted to the success and the resulting support. It was a very heady experience.
"60lb goal? Bah. 100lbs? Now we're talking!! That's, like, 10 weeks from now at the rate I'm on. I'll be skinny by Halloween. Maybe I'll go trick-or-treating as a Chippendale's dancer!!"
Then came week two.
Despite the efforts (and against the direction of TeamWoodfin), I weighed-in frequently only to find the progress had ground to a complete stop. In fact, yesterday I learned that I was moving backwards weight-wise.
"Backwards?! Are you f-ing kidding me?!? Backwards? This is a lot of work to move backwards. A LOT of work! Hell... I can eat sausage biscuits and tubs of movie popcorn to move backwards. I certainly don't need to count every gram of fat and every calorie I put in my pie-hole to get THOSE results."
Yesterday morning at this time I was ready to give up. "Screw it," I thought. "I'm just meant to NEVER drop below 300 pounds. I'm meant to be fat forever."
And then that defeated (defeatist) attitude permeated my whole outlook on everything in my life. Yesterday we had a booth at The Wedding Show: Summer Edition at Shopko Hall. I didn't even want to do it anymore. Our booth looked sucky. My work wouldn't compare to others. No one would want to stop and talk to the creepy, fat photographer. I was broken... again.
But like Abe's uneaten Sausage and Cheese Biscuit, I stopped and refused to swallow that idea. I spit it out. (By the way, I didn't get that far with the SCB... I just threw that away.) To quit would be an insult to everyone. It'd be an insult to the people who've already invested their time into this journey of mine by teaching me and training me into a new lifestyle. It would be an insult to the people who've taken the time to say, "Way to go! - I'm rooting for you!!" It would be an insult to those people who've said that my efforts and bravery and transparency have been an inspiration for them to make changes in their own lives; to start on their own journeys. It would be an insult to Kate, who's been so super supportive. And, not least of all, it would be an insult to me. The today me and the tomorrow me. I owe myself more than quitting. I have to be my own biggest fan. The president of my own fan club.
So even when I'm behind on the scoreboard, even when I'm at the bottom of the standings, even when it looks like I've got absolutely no chance to succeed, I'm STILL gonna be a fan of me. Fair weather or not.
You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have. ~ Unkown
On the other hand, are the Milwaukee Brewers. I really, really like the Brewers. I hardly ever miss a game (or at least part of it). I could probably give you the line up and batting order off the top of my head. I enjoy following them.
But only because they're in a battle for first place in the National League Central.
I suspect that if they were standings bottom-dwellers (as they have been for so many years), I probably would've stopped watching/listening/following sometime around Memorial Day. In short, if there's no chance for them to make the play-offs, I can find better ways to spend Summer evenings.
If they're not winning, I'm not following. I'm a fair-weather fan.
And, as it turns out, I'm a fair-weather fan of me, too.
This journey of mine got off to a fast start. I sold out for the fitness regimes. Made connections with rockstars in that area (Kat V. and Zac & Fawn W.). Plunged head-long into better eating and meal-journaling on MyFitnessPal.com. And so I saw quick, big drops in my weight and in my belt notches.
I was proud of the immediate progress. I shared that success with others and they answered with shouts of acclamation and support. Folks were calling me an inspiration. I practically doubled my efforts. Engaged more deeply. I got addicted to the success and the resulting support. It was a very heady experience.
"60lb goal? Bah. 100lbs? Now we're talking!! That's, like, 10 weeks from now at the rate I'm on. I'll be skinny by Halloween. Maybe I'll go trick-or-treating as a Chippendale's dancer!!"
Then came week two.
Despite the efforts (and against the direction of TeamWoodfin), I weighed-in frequently only to find the progress had ground to a complete stop. In fact, yesterday I learned that I was moving backwards weight-wise.
"Backwards?! Are you f-ing kidding me?!? Backwards? This is a lot of work to move backwards. A LOT of work! Hell... I can eat sausage biscuits and tubs of movie popcorn to move backwards. I certainly don't need to count every gram of fat and every calorie I put in my pie-hole to get THOSE results."
Yesterday morning at this time I was ready to give up. "Screw it," I thought. "I'm just meant to NEVER drop below 300 pounds. I'm meant to be fat forever."
And then that defeated (defeatist) attitude permeated my whole outlook on everything in my life. Yesterday we had a booth at The Wedding Show: Summer Edition at Shopko Hall. I didn't even want to do it anymore. Our booth looked sucky. My work wouldn't compare to others. No one would want to stop and talk to the creepy, fat photographer. I was broken... again.
But like Abe's uneaten Sausage and Cheese Biscuit, I stopped and refused to swallow that idea. I spit it out. (By the way, I didn't get that far with the SCB... I just threw that away.) To quit would be an insult to everyone. It'd be an insult to the people who've already invested their time into this journey of mine by teaching me and training me into a new lifestyle. It would be an insult to the people who've taken the time to say, "Way to go! - I'm rooting for you!!" It would be an insult to those people who've said that my efforts and bravery and transparency have been an inspiration for them to make changes in their own lives; to start on their own journeys. It would be an insult to Kate, who's been so super supportive. And, not least of all, it would be an insult to me. The today me and the tomorrow me. I owe myself more than quitting. I have to be my own biggest fan. The president of my own fan club.
So even when I'm behind on the scoreboard, even when I'm at the bottom of the standings, even when it looks like I've got absolutely no chance to succeed, I'm STILL gonna be a fan of me. Fair weather or not.
You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have. ~ Unkown
Thursday, July 21, 2011
07.19.11 :: It's my party and I'll cry if I want to...
I'm at my desk. Crying. (You can stop reading if you don't want to read a woe-is-me tale.)
It's been kind of a crap morning to begin with. I ran late out of the house. Skipped breakfast. I defied TeamWoodfin, and stopped to weigh myself only to find I found one pound I thought I'd lost. Crap. Morning.
But, we press on... right?
Well, I was at the office and talking with some co-workers in the common area. A church volunteer comes round the corner and shouts, "Hey!" To which we all look up, each wondering to whom is she hey-ing. There were lots of conversations going on, so there was a definite din in the room. And rather than call me out by name, she gestures to her waistline. Like Aaron Rodgers. I can only imagine my face. What? I'm a champion? What is this woman saying with her pantomime? It turns out, that's the international symbol or sign language for, "Hey, fat guy!" Who knew?
Well I went over to her, answered her questions cheerfully and retreated to my office. There I reflected on what had just happened and start blubbering like a nancy. Spare tire gesture? Really... who does that? Who calls out people by their physical characteristics? If I had a big nose, would she have gestured such? Or if I were missing a leg, would she have leaned and fallen over to get my attention?
It's as though I didn't have a name (Scott), a title (Communications Director) or a social place (buddy). All I was to her at that moment was the fatest guy in the room. To her, I wasn't defined by my position or my family or my gifts or my passions. I was defined by my weight. That was humiliating and degrading.
I'll get over it. I've already started to. But as I write this I want to encourage all of you about a couple of things:
To the non-fat people: Do you have a physical flaw? Knobby knees, big ears, eyes too wide apart, that weird second toe that's longer than the big toe? Can you imagine if someone defined you by that flaw? Like, picked the one thing about you that you hate and called everyone's attention to it. "Hey, guy who can't grow a proper beard where the mustache connects to the goatee!" Or, "Yoohoo, lady who can't wear lo-rise jeans because your butt's too high up your back!" Can you imagine? You'd be mortified.
Please be sensitive to that idea around overweight people. Their weight doesn't define who they are any more than your hair color or your knobby knees define who you are. Give 'em a break.
To the overweight people: Never mind the bollocks, there's more to you than your waistline. No matter where you are in your journey (and whether you've even started one), take the time to identify the things about you that you're proud of. The kinds of things you admire in other people. If you're like me, it may take time. Sometimes it's buried under years of ridicule, self-loathing and humiliation (crying again). Like a cupcake candle at the back of a deep cave. But once you reach it you'll realize how bright that candle is. It doesn't take much light to create hope (and banish fear) in complete darkness. Then, guard that cupcake candle fiercely and jealously. Don't let anyone or anything blow it out. And they're gonna try, intentionally or not. But it's yours to protect and it may just be your saving grace. I know it is mine.
It's been kind of a crap morning to begin with. I ran late out of the house. Skipped breakfast. I defied TeamWoodfin, and stopped to weigh myself only to find I found one pound I thought I'd lost. Crap. Morning.
But, we press on... right?
Well, I was at the office and talking with some co-workers in the common area. A church volunteer comes round the corner and shouts, "Hey!" To which we all look up, each wondering to whom is she hey-ing. There were lots of conversations going on, so there was a definite din in the room. And rather than call me out by name, she gestures to her waistline. Like Aaron Rodgers. I can only imagine my face. What? I'm a champion? What is this woman saying with her pantomime? It turns out, that's the international symbol or sign language for, "Hey, fat guy!" Who knew?
Well I went over to her, answered her questions cheerfully and retreated to my office. There I reflected on what had just happened and start blubbering like a nancy. Spare tire gesture? Really... who does that? Who calls out people by their physical characteristics? If I had a big nose, would she have gestured such? Or if I were missing a leg, would she have leaned and fallen over to get my attention?
It's as though I didn't have a name (Scott), a title (Communications Director) or a social place (buddy). All I was to her at that moment was the fatest guy in the room. To her, I wasn't defined by my position or my family or my gifts or my passions. I was defined by my weight. That was humiliating and degrading.
I'll get over it. I've already started to. But as I write this I want to encourage all of you about a couple of things:
To the non-fat people: Do you have a physical flaw? Knobby knees, big ears, eyes too wide apart, that weird second toe that's longer than the big toe? Can you imagine if someone defined you by that flaw? Like, picked the one thing about you that you hate and called everyone's attention to it. "Hey, guy who can't grow a proper beard where the mustache connects to the goatee!" Or, "Yoohoo, lady who can't wear lo-rise jeans because your butt's too high up your back!" Can you imagine? You'd be mortified.
Please be sensitive to that idea around overweight people. Their weight doesn't define who they are any more than your hair color or your knobby knees define who you are. Give 'em a break.
To the overweight people: Never mind the bollocks, there's more to you than your waistline. No matter where you are in your journey (and whether you've even started one), take the time to identify the things about you that you're proud of. The kinds of things you admire in other people. If you're like me, it may take time. Sometimes it's buried under years of ridicule, self-loathing and humiliation (crying again). Like a cupcake candle at the back of a deep cave. But once you reach it you'll realize how bright that candle is. It doesn't take much light to create hope (and banish fear) in complete darkness. Then, guard that cupcake candle fiercely and jealously. Don't let anyone or anything blow it out. And they're gonna try, intentionally or not. But it's yours to protect and it may just be your saving grace. I know it is mine.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
07.19.11 :: Ain't No Mountain...
My thoughts as I was driving to work this morning. (Sorry for the bad video/audio. Stupid HTC phone - ♬ Wish I had an Apple iPhone ♬)
Monday, July 18, 2011
07.18.11 :: It Moved...
One of my favorite episodes of Seinfeld (actually I don't know that there ISN'T a favorite episode - well, maybe the finale) is one in which George goes in for a massage, gets a male masseuse and has some "movement" when the masseuse starts working George's hamstring. SUPER Funny.
I thought of this the other day after working out with my friend and trainer Zac. When we were done with the workout, Zac had me lay down and he started to stretch out my legs and arms. It was like when you see football players on the sidelines after coming out with a cramp. The trainers will grab the player's extremities and stretch them out. Bending, pushing and twisting the player's body to work out the kinks and to get blood flowing. When Zac did that to me... it moved.
But not like George Costanza's movement.
For me, my heart was moved. I was blown away that someone would care enough about me and my journey and my well-being that they'd put their hands on me. That they'd grab hold of my fat ankles and mend my body. That they'd grab my sweaty, chubby wrists and twist me around in order to fix me. After years and years of doing whatever I could to help other people, it was humbling and foreign to have someone do something so... what's the word? Attentive? To be so attentive towards helping me. So serving.
I was moved to the point of tears. Although I blinked them away (I hope) before Zac could see them.
And now, what a motivation! What kind of Jackie would I be if I repaid that attention and service with poor eating and missed workouts?!? It's like I feel like I have to work even harder to deserve the attention Zac (and Fawn) have paid me.
I have a number of wonderful, giving and supportive people in my life. None more so than my wife, Kate, and my brother, Mitch... But of the people to whom I'm not related or married, I've never been more moved than I am by the actions of Zac and Fawn. Thank you.
Friday, July 15, 2011
07.15.11 :: An Affair to Remember (Ne, to Forget)
I have a love affair with food. I always have. One of my earliest memories is being a pre-schooler, at home with my mom, plopped in front of the television watching "Password" and eating Braunschweiger sandwiches on white bread with cold butter. It's little wonder I had to shop in the Husky Boys department for clothes.
Even today I think about food a lot. For those of you without this curse, the closest I can compare it to is your first love. Do you remember? For me, I couldn't get her out of my mind. She was the first thing I thought of in the morning and the last thing I thought of at night. Every moment in between I imagined what it would be like the next time I got to see her or talk to her. I was electric in anticipation of being with her again. The hours leading up to our next date or encounter were agonizing, but when we finally saw each other, there was no place I'd rather have been.
It's the same for me with food. Every event, every activity, just about every thing I do has food attached to it. For me, they go hand-in-hand... part and parcel. Let me explain:
The Movies: I love cinema. Love it. It's a dark room that takes me to another place for two hours. I don't have to think about my job, my to-do list, my obligations. It's just me, the story... and my own huge tub of buttered popcorn. Always a large. Always with butter flavoring (added twice - once half way full plus salt and once again when it's full). And always with a giant diet cola. Fit people talk about walls and runner's high... Let me tell you, for me, there isn't a feeling higher than having a movie ticket stub in your pocket and a tub of popcorn in your arms. I can feel the exhilaration in my belly now just imagining it.
Packer games: I don't own a cheesehead. I was given a Clay Matthews throwback jersey that I wear occasionally. I don't have a "G" tattoo or a Brett Favre vanity plate. But... I LOVE my Green Bay Packers. I love fall Sundays. Go to church and make plans for where to watch the game. Aaron Rodgers, Clay Matthews... and something special to eat while the game's on. Ham roll-ups with pickles or Old Dutch Potato Chips with homemade shrimp dip or Caffe Espresso's recipe for Chili Con Queso with lime Tostitos. If the game is on, there's gotta be something yummy to eat.
Golden Hour: I have a busy life. I have multiple jobs. I'm always doing favors for people (that's a-whole-nother post). I have two small kids. I'm always hopping. But after work. After the kids are fed. After the kids are played with. After the kids are bathed and put to bed, that's the golden hour for me. I get to sit down on the floor in the corner of our couch, spool up whatever tv series I'm watching on Netflix or DVD... And eat whatever the bleep I want. Kids are in bed. Kate's in bed and I'm by myself to eat whatever I please. Chips and dip. Deliciously bad popcorn (for which I'm kinda famous). Desserts. You name it... Well, actually, I'D name it and I'd devour it. Too much food too late at night. But some nights I'd find myself hurrying my family along in their schedules JUST so I could have the room to myself to indulge my appetite.
I could go on and on, but you get the picture.
That all has to change. Period. There's no two ways around it. And this is gonna be one of the bigger portions of this mountain I'm climbing that I'll have to get around. I love food... No wait.. I love TO EAT food. I often feel like it's the one thing I get to do for me. My reward for my hard work. I deserve it, dammit. I'm always indulging other people, now I want a half a box of Wheat Thins Stix with a half a stick of butter for myself. But I'm embarrassed by it, so I have to wait until no one else is around. What would Kate think if she knew I was scarfing down butter like that? What would my brother (and best friend), Mitch, think if he knew I was having two Sausage and Cheese Biscuits from McDonalds every morning for 10 straight days? Brother, what you do in the privacy of your own mind or when no one else is watching... That's who you are. You can pretend and fake all you want, but you're only kidding yourself and eventually that catches up to you. And that's where I find myself. Overweight. Unhealthy. Ashamed of who I am.
So...
Dear Food,
It's over. It's not you it's me. I'd like to say, "we can still be friends" but for right now, let's just keep it professional. That would be best for both of us. And who knows, maybe one day we can figure out a way to spend time together.
Sincerely yours,
Scott
Even today I think about food a lot. For those of you without this curse, the closest I can compare it to is your first love. Do you remember? For me, I couldn't get her out of my mind. She was the first thing I thought of in the morning and the last thing I thought of at night. Every moment in between I imagined what it would be like the next time I got to see her or talk to her. I was electric in anticipation of being with her again. The hours leading up to our next date or encounter were agonizing, but when we finally saw each other, there was no place I'd rather have been.
It's the same for me with food. Every event, every activity, just about every thing I do has food attached to it. For me, they go hand-in-hand... part and parcel. Let me explain:
The Movies: I love cinema. Love it. It's a dark room that takes me to another place for two hours. I don't have to think about my job, my to-do list, my obligations. It's just me, the story... and my own huge tub of buttered popcorn. Always a large. Always with butter flavoring (added twice - once half way full plus salt and once again when it's full). And always with a giant diet cola. Fit people talk about walls and runner's high... Let me tell you, for me, there isn't a feeling higher than having a movie ticket stub in your pocket and a tub of popcorn in your arms. I can feel the exhilaration in my belly now just imagining it.
Packer games: I don't own a cheesehead. I was given a Clay Matthews throwback jersey that I wear occasionally. I don't have a "G" tattoo or a Brett Favre vanity plate. But... I LOVE my Green Bay Packers. I love fall Sundays. Go to church and make plans for where to watch the game. Aaron Rodgers, Clay Matthews... and something special to eat while the game's on. Ham roll-ups with pickles or Old Dutch Potato Chips with homemade shrimp dip or Caffe Espresso's recipe for Chili Con Queso with lime Tostitos. If the game is on, there's gotta be something yummy to eat.
Golden Hour: I have a busy life. I have multiple jobs. I'm always doing favors for people (that's a-whole-nother post). I have two small kids. I'm always hopping. But after work. After the kids are fed. After the kids are played with. After the kids are bathed and put to bed, that's the golden hour for me. I get to sit down on the floor in the corner of our couch, spool up whatever tv series I'm watching on Netflix or DVD... And eat whatever the bleep I want. Kids are in bed. Kate's in bed and I'm by myself to eat whatever I please. Chips and dip. Deliciously bad popcorn (for which I'm kinda famous). Desserts. You name it... Well, actually, I'D name it and I'd devour it. Too much food too late at night. But some nights I'd find myself hurrying my family along in their schedules JUST so I could have the room to myself to indulge my appetite.
I could go on and on, but you get the picture.
That all has to change. Period. There's no two ways around it. And this is gonna be one of the bigger portions of this mountain I'm climbing that I'll have to get around. I love food... No wait.. I love TO EAT food. I often feel like it's the one thing I get to do for me. My reward for my hard work. I deserve it, dammit. I'm always indulging other people, now I want a half a box of Wheat Thins Stix with a half a stick of butter for myself. But I'm embarrassed by it, so I have to wait until no one else is around. What would Kate think if she knew I was scarfing down butter like that? What would my brother (and best friend), Mitch, think if he knew I was having two Sausage and Cheese Biscuits from McDonalds every morning for 10 straight days? Brother, what you do in the privacy of your own mind or when no one else is watching... That's who you are. You can pretend and fake all you want, but you're only kidding yourself and eventually that catches up to you. And that's where I find myself. Overweight. Unhealthy. Ashamed of who I am.
So...
Dear Food,
It's over. It's not you it's me. I'd like to say, "we can still be friends" but for right now, let's just keep it professional. That would be best for both of us. And who knows, maybe one day we can figure out a way to spend time together.
Sincerely yours,
Scott
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
07.13.11 :: The Post I Dread...
"You don't need to know where you're goin'. You just need to know where you've been!" Mater, Cars
Mater just may be right. In my many attempts to get this right, I've never ever taken photos. I'm embarrassed, ashamed and disgusted by what this looks like. In fact, like Tobias Funke of Arrested Development, I'm practically a Never Nude. I HATE MY BODY. What you see here is actually the most that even my wife, Kate, gets to see.
But it seems like, as painful as this is, this a great step for me. To lay it all out bare (pardon the pun). It helps me come to grips with where I'm starting from. And so, in the future, I can see and know where I've been.
(Warning: Not safe for those with heart conditions or for small children)
P.S. I know the toilet paper roll is empty.
Mater just may be right. In my many attempts to get this right, I've never ever taken photos. I'm embarrassed, ashamed and disgusted by what this looks like. In fact, like Tobias Funke of Arrested Development, I'm practically a Never Nude. I HATE MY BODY. What you see here is actually the most that even my wife, Kate, gets to see.
But it seems like, as painful as this is, this a great step for me. To lay it all out bare (pardon the pun). It helps me come to grips with where I'm starting from. And so, in the future, I can see and know where I've been.
(Warning: Not safe for those with heart conditions or for small children)
P.S. I know the toilet paper roll is empty.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
07.12.11 :: It's Time..
I find myself in the middle of the perfect storm. I'm 44 years old and weigh more than 300lbs. I have high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and high blood sugar (Type II Diabetic). I have low stamina, low energy and low self-esteem. I adore my children but am worried that I won't see them grow up or grow old. I love my wife, Kate, but am worried that I'll get sick (or die) and leave her to care for Raelee and Abrahm.
A perfect storm... A critical cross-roads.
To be funny (and to find an angle to promote the event), I volunteered to take part in KickStart; a fitness/mindset session hosted at my church. Kate came along, too. I discovered, under the tutelage and encouragement of Zac and Fawn Woodfin that I wasn't too far gone. That despite being a big, fat, giant guy, I was still somewhat flexible and could still move fluidly. Where others in similar shape were walking through drills, I was able to push myself harder. Maybe it was to impress my wife. Maybe it was to impress the Woodfins. Either way, I found motivation there.
Then I went on vacation where three things stuck out for me. I tried longboarding on some hills, and while I was mortified at the thought of breaking the deck in two, I realized I was completely comfortable on that board and missed the days when I could skate without giving it a thought. Then we went for a boat ride. My oldest son, Jared, was driving. He hit some pretty big waves and the seat on which I was holding Abe on my lap snapped in two. I was crushed with embarrassment. Finally, I stepped into a game of beach volleyball (a game I used to love). I could still see the shots I needed to make and knew how to make them. I just couldn't get my body in position - at least most of the time.
I came home and set up an appointment to meet with personal trainer (and friend), Kat VonFossen. Kat laid out a workout for me that was far more interesting (and challenging) then I ever could have imagined. It was inspiring and the way my body felt - through the burn and the stiffness - was exhilarating. I got hooked on the idea of making something happen.
It was at that meeting where Kat told me that Zac and Fawn where interested in working with me on a journey. But they're coming from SoCal where there's the reputation for people to say things and offer things but not really mean it... y'know, to sound nice. So I didn't reach out to them. Cuz there's nothing worse than offering to help someone just to sound nice and then have that person call you to claim the favor (I would guess).
So, at Kat's behest, I started documenting my meals and exercise on MyFitnessPal.com - And I took Kat's regime to The Y every other day. I've already started to shed pounds.
Then two amazing things happened. 1) My dad learned of my new initiative and offered me $1000 if I dropped down to 260 pounds, and B) Fawn Woodfin confirmed that they were, indeed, sincere about their offer to help me on my journey. Awesome!!
So here I am. At the beginning.
A perfect storm... A critical cross-roads.
To be funny (and to find an angle to promote the event), I volunteered to take part in KickStart; a fitness/mindset session hosted at my church. Kate came along, too. I discovered, under the tutelage and encouragement of Zac and Fawn Woodfin that I wasn't too far gone. That despite being a big, fat, giant guy, I was still somewhat flexible and could still move fluidly. Where others in similar shape were walking through drills, I was able to push myself harder. Maybe it was to impress my wife. Maybe it was to impress the Woodfins. Either way, I found motivation there.
Then I went on vacation where three things stuck out for me. I tried longboarding on some hills, and while I was mortified at the thought of breaking the deck in two, I realized I was completely comfortable on that board and missed the days when I could skate without giving it a thought. Then we went for a boat ride. My oldest son, Jared, was driving. He hit some pretty big waves and the seat on which I was holding Abe on my lap snapped in two. I was crushed with embarrassment. Finally, I stepped into a game of beach volleyball (a game I used to love). I could still see the shots I needed to make and knew how to make them. I just couldn't get my body in position - at least most of the time.
I came home and set up an appointment to meet with personal trainer (and friend), Kat VonFossen. Kat laid out a workout for me that was far more interesting (and challenging) then I ever could have imagined. It was inspiring and the way my body felt - through the burn and the stiffness - was exhilarating. I got hooked on the idea of making something happen.
It was at that meeting where Kat told me that Zac and Fawn where interested in working with me on a journey. But they're coming from SoCal where there's the reputation for people to say things and offer things but not really mean it... y'know, to sound nice. So I didn't reach out to them. Cuz there's nothing worse than offering to help someone just to sound nice and then have that person call you to claim the favor (I would guess).
So, at Kat's behest, I started documenting my meals and exercise on MyFitnessPal.com - And I took Kat's regime to The Y every other day. I've already started to shed pounds.
Then two amazing things happened. 1) My dad learned of my new initiative and offered me $1000 if I dropped down to 260 pounds, and B) Fawn Woodfin confirmed that they were, indeed, sincere about their offer to help me on my journey. Awesome!!
So here I am. At the beginning.
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