Salads. Yardwork. Sleep. I think I actually look a little better.

I woke up this morning feeling like a new man. Not like that man, but certainly better than usual. I can dream, can’t I (which begs the question: Does Brad Pitt simply dream of continuing to be himself?)?

Anyway, I haven’t been able to get to the gym lately, but another pound has come off. It didn’t just melt off, mind you — which is hard to believe considering the Tallahassee heat — but it certainly departed by just adhering to the math. More calories out, less in.

Contributing to the “more calories out” portion of the equation have been typical around-the-house chores. Mowing my front and back lawns burned over 1,000 calories; walking the dogs in hilly area for 30 minutes a day burned over 700 calories; chopping up a fallen tree in our backyard (with an axe) put another 800 calories to bed.

All I’m saying is sometimes all you need are some intense non-gym activities to get the scale moving in the right direction: down.

Do some weeding. Do some mowing. Do some walking. Have a carrot.

Until next time.

There’s more to this than meets the scale.

It’s been a crazy time, but typing that’s just an excuse. The fact remains that I’m stuck at my 12 pound loss. It’s okay, because I know why I’m still there. I’ve been calorie-cocky.

Something inside me believes I’ve got this weight-thing licked. I know what I have to do to lose weight — and I know how to do it. Thing is, I haven’t done it. I haven’t reached my goal weight. Not even close. Stuck here since the beginning of February.

It’s mid-July now, and I’m posting this as I sit in our hotel/ condominium on Hilton Head Island overlooking good chunk of the Atlantic. It’s a place that inspires thought and introspection. After only a few hours here I know that the fire to continue my weight loss is still there. It’s just dimmed a little (right now it’s just enough to get a couple of S’mores together).

Today, I biked and worked for a total of 700 burned calories. I’ve eaten salads and cut way back on vacation snacks like chips and dip and entire cans of cashews. The biggest inspiration this year, however, has been my wife’s family. My sister-in-law’s husband is in killer shape. So is my father-in-law. They’re helping me motivate. They haven’t said anything to push me. They don’t have to. The way they take care of themselves is inspiration enough. And I thank them for it.

How are you doing? What’s inspired you lately?

Remember to stop and smell the flowers (even if it is just the butt end of a Jimmy Dean sausage tube).

Temptation is not an apple.

As my wife whipped up her brother’s pizza breakfast recipe which included a significant amount of Jimmy Dean’s porcine goodness, I noted the butt end of the packaging she’d lopped off — every nook and cranny filled with Porky Pig’s less fortunate lineage, spiced up with red pepper and sage. I knew that soon it would become a very greasy and delicious item that was far from my current menu.

As soon as the thought came, it went.

I remember — even in this beauty, there is evil. The evil that clotheslines us from the path of weight loss path onto the oncoming Mac truck of physical blah. We must fight the urge to devour, the urge to give in, the urge to just f* it and eat it. We must merely realize that the stuff we love is there, and it will be there even after we reach our goal weight. Until then: look, smell, and and run the other way.

Have a great morning, and don’t forget to laugh and smell — just smell — the sausage.

It’s 23º in Tallahassee, and I’m headed to Boot Camp for a foot-long hoagie of an ass-kicking. (FROM INTENT TO NON-ACTION)

As you’ll see from the original post below, I had every intention of going to BootCamp yesterday, but the second I hit “publish” my wife came to tell me our pipes were frozen.

Here’s the thing. My mind should have said, ok, no big deal, turn on the warm water faucets, let it drip, head to BootCamp. What my mind said was, Forget BootCamp, it’s 23 degrees. In all honesty there was nothing I could do on a Saturday morning for my pipes other than putting on my faux fur pimp coat and spooning them into possibly flowing again. Seriously what else was I to do?

Within about 20 minutes, the pipes figured their shit out, and it was too late for BootCamp.

Sometimes your mind is on your side, other times your mind is in a box of Hostess Twinkies. It’s just a reminder that we have to train our minds, as well as our bodies.

I did manage to make up for tricking myself into not going to BootCamp — at 4pm I was at the gym lifting, jumping rope, and running. Total of 500 calories burned. Sweet.

ORIGINAL POST:

I finally got some much needed rest. I managed to sleep 8 hours this evening without the help of Jose Cuervo. A very good thing.

I’ve had my Special K with skim milk and a half-cup of strawberries. My wife is making biscuits and gravy.

Say a prayer for me. BootCamp is a bitch. Here’s proof.

To get you through the morning, one of my favorite comedians talking about his weight loss battle. Have a killer weekend, and don’t forget to laugh (don’t think you will while you’re watching this).

This fitness stuff gets really tough when you’re really busy. How did Captain Lou Albano do it?

The last seven days have been long and arduous. I said yes to too many project requests.

Captain Lou Albano -- somebody's hero

It caught up with me yesterday. When I went to the gym, I couldn’t do my regular routine. I was devastated. I spoke to the trainer who recommended I lay of the weights (and cake) till I get some rest.

I lowered my head in shame and did 30 minutes of incline treadmill. I followed it up with 10 minutes of bike, off of which I almost fell, blaming the mishap on an invisible boulder.

I was dizzy. I was done.

Fortunately, my workload goes back to normal on Sunday. I dealt with the setback today by walking 3.5 miles. Just walking — nothing more (oh yeah, and wrestling with my poster of Captain Lou Albano). It was enough to burn 300 calories.

That’s ok for now. Next week, I am the Hulk. Enough Bill Bixby. Aw, crap, it’s almost 2am.

How are you doing? Setbacks? Triumphs? Love to hear about any cool posters you have too.

Hope all’s well, and don’t forget to laugh — even if you happen to fall off a stationary bike.

Come back, wagon! Come back!

Oh man. Been a rough few days, but no gain in weight. Yet. I suspect a half pound or so will find me as easily as scalpels can pinpoint Joan Rivers’ exact location. It’s further proof that we need a plan for busy days.

We still need to get to the gym. We still need to write down what we eat. We still need to ignore the can of aerosol cheese in the pantry — no matter how lonely it may seem. (Just put it next to the Triscuits and walk away.)

So, my excuse? Been working hard. That’s it. Up till about 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning to keep up with several demanding new work-related deadlines.

I’ve been extremely productive workwise, but I could have accomplished the same or more if I’d gotten to the gym and eaten better. Plus, I’d feel much better too.

This morning, I’m crawling back to the wagon. It’s a bit off in the distance but I’ll make it. Maybe I’ll sprint there. Maybe I’ll walk there. Maybe I’ll give myself a little motivation by naming it Angelina.

No matter. My mind’s already there, but my body’s doing a little kicking and screaming. As of now, though, breakfast has been eaten and written. 1 Cup Special K, 1/2 Cup skim milk, 1/2 banana, 1 dash of gamey determination. (I recommend you add this last ingredient to your coffee, as it clashes with banana.)

How’s it going with you? Hope you’re laughing. I am. The other choice isn’t acceptable.

Have a great day.

I didn’t say I wanted to be a lab rat in 2009, but it could be worse.

Six weeks. Me and you baby.

Since December 9, I’ve been working hard at my new gym, American Bodyworks in Tallahassee. So hard that owner Kathy Hogan noticed, and asked if I’d be willing to take on a new all-in-one free motion machine and corresponding program called MC2. I said yes.

Please note: The photo is deceiving. The machine looks like it wants a hug but I’m sure coddling is the last thing on its mind. I’ve seen it up close. It’s 8 feet tall and does not smile.

From what I understand this machine is the first of its kind in the city and it’s supposed to burn  more calories in 30 minutes than any other machine and program out there. To be sure, I’ll be wearing my heart monitor so I can offer up some hard numbers after each workout.

My sessions will start sometime next week. We’re shooting for three times a week for six weeks. I’m pretty excited about the possibilities, and have already gone to Costco for a jumbo 2 gallon bucket of Advil. More news as the day approaches.

How’s your weight loss going? Made any drastic, lasting changes?

If you can’t laugh about weight loss, make plans to head down to American Body works and laugh at me sometime next week. I’ll be sure to let you know when.

My VO2 Max VO2 Sux. (Or, this post is going to be as boring as a head of iceberg).

This is not me. My feet don't blur. Yet.

Tomorrow, January 5, 2009, marks one month to the day since I started down the yellow brick dreadmill to my own land of Oz — a magical place where I look like George Clooney and have the body of Mario Lopez (it’s a mythical place, I realize). The simple, delicious fact is, I’m down 9.5 pounds.

To celebrate the occasion, I’d thought I’d re-calibrate my heart monitor settings to reflect the physical change. I realized that what I hadn’t done originally during the setup was enter my VO2 Max setting — the maximum amount of oxygen in millilitres, one can use in one minute per kilogram of body weight. Yeah, seems like way too techie for a beginner, but the heart rate monitor can better track caloric burn with that figure.

I searched online, found a great information resource. After a little reading, I decided to conduct the Astrand Treadmill Test in order to estimate my VO2 Max. I headed for the gym. Without getting into detail about how I almost passed out on the treadmill doing 5mph at a 7 degree incline, I basically discovered that my aerobic capacity is similar to that of a healthy 60 year old man or a really hot 45 year old woman (not really welcome information when you’re 38 and produce testosterone).

I cursed Astrand and his stupid treadmill test. I even think I called him ASS Strand out loud. And laughed.

No matter, I estimate I’ll be back to having the cardiovascular processing of a 38 year-old by my 39th birthday in April. I’m definitely going to give it my best shot.

And by the way, suck it, Astrand.

How are things going for you? Setbacks? Milestones?

Love to hear about ‘em, and don’t forget to laugh. (And give a loud curse to Astrand for me while you’re at it).

Lady Velveeta! Temptress of the non-refrigerated “cheeses”!

Damn you processed orange/yellow temptress.

Inevitably, it happens. Something processed, colorful, and delicious lands on your unsuspecting fingers as you selflessly prepare a meal for a youngen. Velveeta being squeezed out of its silver-foil pouch is a song-less siren — that glistening viscosity, that shapeless delicacy, look away!

The inevitable happened today as I was making a box of Velveeta Rotini and “broccoli” for my daughter (the broccoli packet looks like a nickel bag of hooch if you ask me, not that I’ve ever seen one). Once the pasta had been boiled and the bits of broccoli had all but disappeared during the draining process, I cut the cheese pouch and squeezed. A couple of teaspoons oozed onto my finger.

I stopped, admired the glop, and calculated the  potential calories, fat, and miscellaneousness contained in the little mass. I could feel my hand begin to rise in defiance of my brain. Before my fingers could get to my mouth, I ran for the sink, turned on the water, and let the yellowish matter be washed away.

Test passed.

Any little battles you’ve won or lost today?

Love to hear about them. Don’t hold back, and don’t forget to laugh.

Over the holidays, I gained 1/2 pound of gamey determination.

Back on the wagon baby. My first dinner back after the holidays.

Some people would be horrified to realize they ingested an surplus of 1,750 calories in 10 days. I’m ecstatic. If I’d known that was all the damage I’d be doing, I may have downed some more cabrón lechón (f’in roast pork)!

Though I had a decent helping of roast pork, I held back. I even wrestled the pig for the apple in his mouth.

Once home from the holidays, I headed for the grocery store for some cabbage, broccoli, shrimp, and carrots. I stir fried it all in 1/4 1 tsp of olive oil (I’ve found that’s really all I need).

I automatically snapped back into weight loss mode. Though I may have been dragging behind the wagon for a few days, it is now underfoot — or underfatass, as the case may be. Today, I hit the gym today and killed 900 calories to boot. According to my calculations, the half pound will be gone by morning. The gamey determination stays.

How have you been? Has the new year pulled you back or onto a groove?

Leave a note, and don’t forget to laugh.