Yes 2K

So, after yesterday's failure, I attacked the lane with some extra motivation. Rather than repeat Friday's 300 yards on thirty second break approach, this morning I decided to swim 300 yards at a faster pace, followed by 50 or 100 yards slow. I did this for 1,000 yards and took a minute break. Then I did it all again. My first 1,000 took about 16 minutes; my second, took about 18. After last week's not quite 2K, I did a very easy 200 yard cool down to make the entire workout an official 2.01168 kilometers.

The workout took me about 45 minutes, and I got out feeling really good. By the time of the Lake Travis Relay, I'd love to be able to swim a mile in 20 minutes. That's ambitious, but totally doable, especially given lots of time to recover after my shifts.

Looking over my notes, I find that in the three weeks since I started lap swimming again, I've swum 11,500 yards or roughly six and a half miles. That's farther than my drive to work. Which means, if Al Gore and Kevin Costner are right, and global warming leads to the melting of all the polar ice caps, and the world becomes completely covered in water, I would be able to swim to work...over the course of three weeks. I better call the boss and tell him I'll be late.

In summary, working out feel good. Instead of guilt, I feel pride. Instead of feeling lazy, I feel like I'm training again. For now, I don't even feel that sore.

A Case of the Mondays

I didn't workout this morning. I don't know why. I set my alarm. I got out of bed...then...what? Somehow instead of sweating to a DVD, I ended up pouring myself of cereal and watching TV. What is that?

It's bad enough that I still haven't managed to work anything resembling a workout into a weekend routine. Now, I'm messing up my Monday mornings?

I would have thought that seeing actual progress (15 pounds since the beginning of May), motivation would get easier. What's my problem?

As much as I've said I dread the Friday I have to report a weight pain, I can't afford to skip workouts. Tomorrow morning I will do better.

Weekly Weighin: 06/26/09

Well, it's Friday and that means another dreaded trip to the Summit's scale. By my count this is my ninth time aboard the scale since I started this journey, my eighth since I began working out regularly.

This week my diet has been good, but between a busy work schedule and my baby daughter decided to regress a tad in her sleeping schedule (if only I could burn calories making excuses), I didn't get in the number of workouts I'd like. I had a very, very quick DVD workout Tuesday. Wednesday I swam a really easy 1500, and this morning I did my Not2K.

Sufficed to say, I was nervous, but I'm pretty happy with the results. I'm under 207 pounds now. I say "under 207" instead of "206" because there are decimals on the scale, and, truth be told, they were closer to 207 than not. Still, in fairness, last week's weigh in was a little over 208, so I can comfortably say that I lost about a pound and a half this week. This takes my overall weight loss up to 15 pounds.

By next week, I hope to no longer qualify as a heavyweight but instead be a natural light heavyweight. We'll see.

Why (not) 2K?

So during this morning's swim I decided to change things up a bit. Rather than swim a nice even pace for the duration. I broke my workout into sets of 300 yards. After each set I would rest 30 to 45 seconds. The result was surprising.

Despite the fact that I was pushing harder for each set than I normally would for one big swim, I was able to keep up my pace from 300 to 300. Each swim averaged about four and a half minutes give a take a few seconds.

By going faster, I was also able to swim much further than I normally would, even with the regular breaks. When all was said and done, I'd swum 2000 yards. That's the farthest I've gone in a long, long time. What's more, even with all of the breaks and a very slow 150 yard cool down, I still swam that 2000 in a little more than 40 minutes!

I was so proud of myself having swum what I thought was a 2K that I didn't realize until I hit the shower that it had really only been 2000 yards, which really only equals 1.8288K. Darn you metric conversion!

If only I'd had my graphing calculator poolside, I would definitely have swum the extra 187.22659667542 yards to make it official. Heck, I may even have made it an even 200...of course that would give me a 2.01168K, and that just seems sloppy. What's a fella to do?

Past the Point of No Return

Up until this point, for some reason I've been avoiding talking about the size of my clothes. This seems a little irrational when you consider that I've spare no detail in the matters of my weight and overall laziness. Sufficed to say, when I started this journey in May, I was wearing size 36 paints. For those unfamiliar with men's sizes (AKA rational sizes), that means my waist was about 36 inches around. I use the past tense because I'm definitely not a 36 anymore. This week I fit easily into an old pair of khakis I found that were 34's. This morning I managed to get myself into a pair of 33's. To be fair...I think I should be in the 34's. All the same, this raised the question of what to do with all my old pants. What do I do with all the 36's?

The cheapo pack rat in my head screams, "Hang on to them, you never know when you might need them again."

I've decided to ignore the inner pack rat, though. Keeping my bigger pants would be like accepting the fact that someday I'll be fat again. Forget that! I've worked to hard in the last few weeks to give up. I started in May with a one year commitment, but I now realize that one year isn't going to be nearly enough.

I want to be a fit dad to my baby girl, not for a year but for a lifetime. I want to be able to keep up with my beautiful wife, not until April 2010 but until April 2090 (call me an optimist).

I'll be donated my bigger clothes to Goodwill. Hopefully it will be the first of many such donations over the next few months. The message I'm sending to my inner cheapo? "Hey you, if you don't want to be wasteful, don't let your waist go back to being as full."

A Face for Radio

I'm not sure I've mentioned it before, but I am blessed with a very cool job. I'm the Marketing Coordinator for the City of Temple's awesome Parks & Leisure Services Department. That means I get to brag about all the great things the Department does for the people of Temple. That's how I got roped into this blog as part of our community wellness campaign, Commit 2 Fit.

This morning, as part of my gig, I was asked to do an interview on a local news morning show. It was a great chance to talk about some of the exciting things happening in Temple Parks & Leisure Services right now and display exactly why I belong behind the camera.

I'm attaching links to the video here and here for anyone interested in the Temple Parks Bond, the NRPA Gold Medal or watching me look uncomfortable. For the record, I wasn't nervous...I always lose bladder control at 6:35 in the morning. It's my thing. Friends think of it as my signature move. Actually, it's probably why I don't have many friends who see me before 7.

Aaah, Portion Control...Oooh

I didn't do a lot of working out this weekend. I played a little tennis with some friends...really bad tennis, and Saturday I spent the better (or much worse) part of three hours mowing and trimming my yard. My real success, however, came on the dietary front.

Sunday being my first Father's Day as an actual father, my wife let me pick lunch. I'm a sucker for Buffalo wings, so I named a place in Waco (we were there for church) that we used to frequent. I opened the menu and felt my mouth fill with saliva. I knew with certainty that I could give our waitress an order that would have the cooks out back throwing up their hands in surrender. Instead, though, I asked for just one order of wings.

At one point last year, I split 50 such wings with a could friends of mine. Sunday I looked down at just 8. Part of me felt gypped, but I knew that if I ate slowly, it would be more than enough. Indeed, after just five wings (FIVE MEASLY WINGS!) I felt pretty full. The waitress came by asking if we needed anything, and before I knew what I was saying, I asked for a doggie bag.

I don't know if my stomach has shrunk or maybe just my eyes, but I really did feel full all afternoon, and now I get some wings for lunch. I've never been the kind of person who could leave food on a plate, but I guess I'm slowly becoming that guy. Which is good, because diet or no, I'll never be able to swear off wings. I can just swear off gorging on them until I lose consciousness.

Of humility and flipturns

I've written before about my training for the Lake Travis Relay in October. Right now, the prospect of swimming my part of 12 miles in my first open-water race has me equal parts excited and terrified. In the last week, there have been a few developments.

Perhaps most exciting, our team has a new member. He's a handsome fella, and some say I have his eyes. That's right, my dad has signed up for this crazy plan. This might seem strange, but only if you don't know my dad. He started swimming laps around the same time that I joined the high school team over a decade ago. The only difference is that he hasn't really stopped swimming since. While he's never focused too much on speed, he consistently swims over 2,000 yards in a single workout. That said, he may be the most qualified member of our team so far. Mostly, I'm just excited that I'll get to share this experience with him.

This week I got to get in a swim with one of the other members of the team, Russell, who actually first presented this idea. Russell and his wife Crystal have participated in hundred mile bike rides in the past, so I have no doubt that with the next few months to train, they'll be whipping through the waters of Lake Travis like the shark in Jaws.

Perhaps the thing about this relay that makes me most nervous is the fact that I've never competed in open water before. This changes the game in a few significant ways. First of all, the lake will not be equipped with lane lines, so I'll actually have to worry about which way I'm swimming. That's new to me. I'm told that I should plan on looking up ever few strokes. What? My high school swim coach would have strangled me with a speedo if she saw me looking up in a race.

Another big difference between swimming in the lake and swimming in a pool the way I always have is that I won't have the benefit of a flip turn. In case you're not familiar, a flip turn is the manner in which swimmers move into and bounce off of the walls of a pool. In my case, the flip turn may be the strongest part of my swim (which doesn't say a whole lot). Even back in school, my flip turns were usually the moments in which I made up for rest of my swim. Along with being faster, these turns are much more efficient than swimming. As a result, I wouldn't be surprised if a fifth every one of my laps is spent gliding off the wall.

As Russell pointed out, that means that if I swim 1500 yards, I've really only been swimming for about 1200. HOLY COW!

This morning, in order to prepare for the lake, I did my first swim workout in 13 years that didn't include flip turns. Every 25 yards I'd swim into the wall, turn around, and swim away. Two things happened as the result. First, I swam a whole lot slower. I think I was probably taking an additional 10 second for each 50 yard lap. In competitive swimming terms, that's a lifetime. Fun fact: in ten seconds, Michael Phelps can get out the pool, get a deep tissue massage and learn Mandarin. The other thing that happened when I stopped doing flip turns was that I started feeling very self-conscious.

"I look like I don't know how to swim," my mind screamed. "What if someone sees me?"

This isn't a new feeling for me at the gym. I often feel like I'm using the weight equipment wrong or holding my hands incorrectly on the cardio equipment. What's new is that I haven't felt this way in the pool. I usually don't feel silly there.

I think it's a good thing, though. Swimming without flip turns will definitely keep me from getting too cocky. It will remind me of what I can expect from Lake Travis, and it will remind me of just how not awesome I am.

Weekly Weigh In

After my swim this morning, I stepped atop the scale at the Summit Family Fitness Center for the eighth time since I started this journey. My weight was 208 pounds, down another two from last week. This puts my overall weight loss at 13 pounds after seven weeks of working out. I may have done a little fist pump atop the scale.

Another moment of glee came when I realized I'd forgotten to pack my belt this morning...and that I really needed it. I'm not certain, but I think I might finally have dropped down a pant size. This weekend, I may buy myself a new pair of jeans. These won't be skinny jeans, mind you, but skinnier jeans.

Dreading the scale

One of the strangest things about this process has been tracking my weight. In the past, when I've tried to drop the pounds, I'd check the scale multiple times a day. I always knew what I weighed at any given moment. As part of this blog, though, I have decided to only weigh in once a week and not allow myself to step onto a scale before hand. Tomorrow morning is that day, so today I dread.

This week I've been closely tracking my diet, and I've already swum more than 3 kilometers. My fear isn't that I won't lose weight. My fear is that not losing weight will take the air out of my balloon. Waking up early to workout is hard enough. I can't afford to lose my motivation.

Of course, the newly opened wing of the Summit has made things a little more interesting. Tomorrow morning, before my swim, I'm definitely going to try out one of the new Expresso Bikes. Somewhere between a video game, virtual reality and a workout, they look like a ton of fun. Now that's worth waking up early!

After the bike, I'll rinse off, throw on my suit and take to the lanes. I've got a relay to prepare for, and Lake Travis doesn't care what I weigh.

Once I'm done and dry, I'll step on the scale. I'm not looking forward to it. It's like eating asparagus at Thanksgiving; I don't enjoy it, but it's part of something fun...and it might make my pee smell.

But who's counting...

Left to my own devices, I'd probably be a pretty lazy guy. Truth be told, were I not married to a wonderful wife and living with our new, beautiful baby girl, I think I'd make a great shut-in. Still, excersise has not been the hardest part of this process for me. Waking up and sweating isn't fun, but it's my eating that has given me trouble.

When I started this process in May, my plan was just to exercise and try and be healthy. I very intentionally avoidable any use of the D word. I didn't want to go on a diet. I don't like diets. They feel absolutely unnatural to me. If I wasn't supposed to eat, why is there always such delicious food lying around?

The worst are those novelty diets. No-carbs; no way. Cabbage soup; try it and I'll stage a hunger strike. Do people start these diets with the intent to live the rest of their lives without carbs or non-soups? How would you get up in the morning if you knew that you'd never taste ice cream again?

Sufficed to say, moving forward with getting healthy and losing weight, I've realized that I have to pay at least a little attention to what I'm eating. No novelties here, though, I'll just be tracking my calories and trying to exercise moderation in all things.

To this end, inspired by Cora's Fit to Tell blog, I've started using the Livestrong website's My Daily Plate function. It lets you input all the things you eat each day. It counts all the calories and nutritional information. Even better, you can add your daily exercises. Today, for instance, I've eaten a Nutrigrain bar and a bowl of oatmeal. I also swam 1500 meters this morning. The result, Livestrong tells me that my net calories for the day are hovering at -530.

I started using this service last week, and over the last seven days I've averaged a little over 1600 calories a day. Not surprisingly, my weekends numbers are higher.

The real value of this service, though, is that it has me thinking before I eat. That in and of itself is a big improvement for me.

One Crazy Goal

So yesterday I got a call from a friend at work. Russell and his wife are generally awesome people and, despite what they might say, are both in really good shape. Last year they did a 100 mile bike ride for charity. If I attempted to ride 100 miles on a bike, they would have to found a charity to pay for my medical bills and therapist fees.

Russell's question, "Have you ever heard of the Lake Travis Relay?"

Now, my first thought was that this sounded like some kind of run, and being that on land I have the lungs of a hamster, I was uninterested.

"No. No," he assured me. "It's a swim. It's a swim in Lake Travis."

Russell had read my blog post from Wednesday, chronicling my return to swimming. He knew I was excited to be back in the water, and he was looking to encourage/challenge/murder me.

An open-water swim? I've never done one, but I did find the idea enticing. Then I heard the catch.

"It's 12 miles," Russell told me. He said it as if he were reading me the weather report. I'm going to encourage his wife to get him a brain scan.

12 miles? People do that? Are they unaware of the existence of boats?

Apparently, the Lake Travis Relay is pretty popular. The Open Water Daily News listed in their top ten list of open water swims in the country. The rules are pretty straightforward. Teams are composed of 6 members who each swim in 20, 15, and 10 minute shifts until they finish the distance...or, you know, drown trying.

The whole thing sounded a little nuts to me at first. The more I thought about it, though, the more it ate at me. I've certainly never tried something like this before. I've never even done a competitive open-water swim. Why would I start now, ten years and forty pounds removed from my varsity swim team roots?

Then again, maybe now is the best time. I've said that I'm committed to changing my life. Why not start with something a little ambitious?

So there it is. October 10, I want to be jump into the 78-80 degree waters of Lake Travis and taking on my first open-water swim. I don't know how well I'll do, but I do know that I'm going to finish smiling.

If you think that you or someone you know might be interested in joining our relay team, please let me know. We need another guy and another two girls. They don't have to be Olympic swimmer (though, they sure would be welcome), they just have to be committed to finishing the race with us.

Weekly Weighin

This morning I let myself sleep in until 6 a.m. (it's the little joys that mean the most), and made my way over to the Summit. I'd decided last night that I just wanted to get another swim. Of course, I didn't get to the pool until about 6:45, which limited my time in the water a bit. When all was said and done, I ended swimming 1,600 yards in about 30 minutes.

I got out feeling good. Then I remembered I had to weigh in this week, and I started to feel not as good. In fairness, I've probably been a whole lot better with my diet this week. I haven't eaten any fast food whatsoever, and Tara and I have been picking some pretty healthy dinner recipes. Still, I really hadn't worked out except Wednesday and this morning's swim. I was scared of what the scale would reveal.

Imagine my elation when I looked down to see my new weight was 210 pounds. That's three pounds light than last week. Apparently swimming and watching what I eat actually pay off. Who knew?

I can't wait to see what happens when I actually swim three or four times a week. I'll be wearing Calista Flockhart's hand-me-downs in no time.

Does this outfit make me look naked?

In my last post, I talked about my return to lap swimming. It was a great experience, overall, but it did come with a small amount of discomfort. You see, before I could hit the lanes, I had to purchase some new gear.

I needed some cheapo goggles. They didn't need to be fancy. They just needed to keep the water out of my eyes.

I also didn't have a training suit that still fit me anymore, and I was a little nervous that I wouldn't find one at the store in my size. My fears were completely misplaced, though. There were several that would work. You can see in the photo here just how excited I was my the tightness of the outfit.

I will say, that as tight-fitting as the suit may be, it's a few universes better than what I used to have to wear at swim meets. Fun fact, no man looks good in a Speedo. If you're skinny, the man-kini makes you look positively anorexic. If you have any fat whatsoever, it makes you look like one of Richard Simmons' background dancers. It's like a grand prank that was perpetrated on swimmers the world over.

EVIL GENIUS I
Do you think we could get them to wear just cellophane?

EVIL GENIUS II
No, I don't' think they're quite that stupid... How about we get them to wear the tiniest amount of fabric allowed under the law?

EVIL GENIUS I
You think they'll buy that but not the plastic wrap?

EVIL GENIUS II
I don't know. Let's give it a shot.

I can vividly remember going up to the blocks at swim meets wearing board shorts and waiting until the last possible moment to drop them. I was like a professional hit man weary of being captured on a surveillance camera.

The first time I saw an Olympic swimmer wearing one of the new longer Speedos, I wished him dead. Not really, but I sure was jealous. These new suits are tight, but at least you don't have to worry about accidentally committing a misdemeanor by turning too quickly.

Everything's going swimmingly

I have mentioned before that a little over a decade ago I was a member of the W.B. Ray High School varsity swim team. I was never awesome by any stretch, but I was decent enough. Back in those days, I'd swim for a couple hours a day, five days a week. I was in pretty good shape, if not a wee bit scrawny.

Today, those memories feel prehistoric. I'm tipping the scales nearly 25% heavier, and I find myself gulping air after just a dozen minutes on the elliptical. I haven't been swimming, either. I tried to take it back up while in college, but never got back on track. I wasn't sure what, but something kept me from returning to the lanes.

Honestly, I think I was afraid. Failing at running doesn't cost me any real pride. I've never been a runner. Not lifting weights particularly well causes me no great grief. I've never been that guy (more on this later). I think I've been afraid that I'd get in the lane, goggles ready, and just not have the juice to move the way I once did.

This week, inspired by some encouraging words from a friend at work, I decided to return to the water (not the least dissuaded by the threat of a Jaws sequel).

This morning, after a really quick turn in the Summit's new weight room (so nice), I made my way over to the pool. I was happy to see that there was not a big crowd. It's not that I had any fear of drowning (My fat reserves make me to buoyant to sink). I just didn't want to embarrass myself.

So, I hopped into the water, pushed off of the wall, and fell into my stroke. It didn't feel difficult. It didn't feel scary. It felt like going home. The cool water enveloped me like a blanket. "Where you been?" It asked.

I didn't try and push it. I wasn't trying to test my speed at all. I just wanted a nice even pace. After my first hundred yards (the point I had been worried I'd hit some kind of evil wall), I felt great! I didn't stop. I didn't stick my head up to look at the clock. The clock didn't matter. I just fell into my rhythm and let myself glide through the water. I tried to focus on my form and my technique, the process feeling more like meditation than a workout.

I will admit that after that first 100, I did notice the preteen girl in the lane next to me pull ahead of me by about a foot. "This isn't a race," I told myself, but that didn't stop me from wanting to destroy her. She never lapped me, but she did hold there just a few feet ahead.

"Oh yeah," I wanted to yell at her. "well all the Jonas brothers are going to marry prettier girls that you! BAM!" I did take a small amount of pleasure when she quit after just 500 yards, though.

If I could burn calories by being mature...I'd weigh exactly what I do now.

For the sake of time, I called it quits after 1000 yards. Sneaking a peak at the clock, I saw that it had taken my about 21 minutes (not great but not awful). What matters is, I wasn't feeling gassed or sore or the least bit beat up. How had I let myself be away so long? Why did I waste so much time afraid to fail at something I loved. I had missed this without even knowing it.

I'll tell you right now, with lap swim times offered five mornings a week at the Summit. I'll be back. I'm not going to let myself fall out of practice with my swimming. It's too fun.

Weekend Fail

So, I've become convinced that as soon as I can get myself to stay on diet and workout on Saturday, I'm going to spontaneously weigh 112 pounds. Maybe not, but I'd be closer than I am today.

This weekend, my good friends Josh and Janet came to visit from San Antonio. It was a great time. We got to hang out, talk, and introduce them to baby Sydney for the first time. What we did not do was workout, make healthy eating decisions. It goes without saying that the responsibility for my failure rest solely on Josh's shoulders (Just look at this shirt he had on. I'd say that he doesn't always look this creepy, but I've committed myself to being honest in this blog.)

In all seriousness, having a fun weekend and spending time with friends does not preclude living healthy. No one chained me to my bed and forced me to sleep in. The weight bench didn't catch fire during the night. It was available to use. My dog certainly wouldn't have refused a walk. In fact, my friends would likely have encouraged me to be healthy.

I'm only five weeks into this year of fitness, but I've already encountered some surprises. On the positive side, I'm a little surprised that I've been able to get up early and work out with any level of consistency. On the downside, I never realized how hard it would be for me to shake this mindset of the weekend not being a time for sweating.

Weekly Weighin

Man I didn't want to get out of bed this morning. Where did the night go? I seriously considered just skipping this morning's workout, and if it weren't for this blog, I probably would have. It's times like these that I'm grateful for this opportunity to disgrace myself on the interweb. It keeps me accountable.

I had intended to do the other half of the fat burning workout in my Men's Health Gym Bible this morning. The book says that you should take a day off to recover between them, but I thought I was feeling fine. What could it hurt? That was last night, about 15 hours after the first half of the workout. This morning, about 24 hours since the sweat session, I woke up in pain.

I feel as those someone used laproscopic surgery to insert white hot pieces of rebar into my quads. This is how Atlas is going to feel the morning after he puts down that big globe of his and takes a nap.

So rather than do the Men's Health torture routine, I only did about 15 minutes of weights. I focused on my upper body...because I figured it was less likely to bring about tears. After the weights, I did a solid 20 minutes of interval cardio. I tried to keep my heart rate above 120 the whole time. During the intense intervals, it got up to 145. Sufficed to say, it made me sweat like a pig, and my heart was singing soprano by the time I got off the elliptical.

When all was said and done, I stepped back aboard the scale for the sixth time since I started this program. Last week I weighed a svelte 214 pounds, this week I weigh 213. For those of you non-math majors, that's a one pound loss after another seven days of sweating and being sore. All told, I've lost eight pounds in the last five weeks.

Stepping off the scale, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't frustrated. Is this supposed to be this hard? I guess I just expected that as much as I've changed my routine, the fat would just drip off of me.


My feeling of frustration followed me to the locker room, and it wasn't until I started getting dressed that I made a happy discovery. My jeans have gotten pretty loose. I can't quite pull them down without unbuttoning them, but it's close. I don't know if that means I've dropped down a size, but it did make me realize that I'm making real progress.


Rome wasn't burned in a night. This is going to be a long road. Lucky for me, I've committed to at least another 47 weeks of traveling.

Pumping iron in the Living Room

Last week I described the intense new workout I'd found in the Men's Health Gym Bible. Its mix of fast-paced weight exercises and interval (read evil) cardio pretty much kicked my butt. I literally could not finish the routine. Taking that as a sign that it was a "good" workout, this morning I tried to do it at home...in the living room.

Most of the weight exercised translated just fine. I had a couple of dumbbells, so I didn't have a problem doing the squats, lunges, shoulder presses, wood choppers. Where I did run into trouble were the lat pull exercises. My living room, apparently, is not equipped with a lat pull machine. Believe me, I looked.

Not wanting to kill the flow of the routine or miss a beat, I settled for just pantomiming a set of lat pulls. Note to self, miming a lat pull does not work the same set of muscles as an actual lat pull. It may, in fact, work the opposite.

My Marcel Marceau-style lat pulls were just the beginning. When it came time for the interval cardio work, I realized that my living room (and home for that matter) doesn't so much have an elliptical or treadmill machine as it does a couch and chairs. Again, not wanting to throw off the rhythm of the workout, I just started running in place.

The idea of interval training is that you're supposed to go nearly all out for thirty second, go easier for a minute and repeat. Just for fun tonight try and go all out in your living room. Laps around the couch don't work too well. I'd love to be rich enough to afford a house that would accommodate sprinting.

Finally, I settled on running in place as fast as I could while speed punching the air. Sufficed to say, I think I got my heart rate up, but I wouldn't want to see video of the process. It probably looked like I was having some kind of seizure. If my wife had been awake that early, she might have tried sticking my wallet in my mouth.

Home workouts are great. I've found a few DVD's that I really like, but at the end of the day. I won't be canceling my gym membership anytime soon.

No, I do not want fries with that!

At this point in my life, fast food is pretty much unavoidable. Between meeting that run late and dinners that have to be finished in 15 minutes, I often find myself getting food from places with drive-thrus. Still, I'm learning, just because I need a meal to be fast doesn't mean it has to come with a 1,000 calorie minimum. Last night, I took this high-speed dining to a new level, making healthy choices not just in the selection of an eatery, but also in my choice of side.

Obviously, if I want to lose weight, I shouldn't be going to the burger joints that got me into this predicament. I realize that many of them have healthier alternatives, but they are alternatives to the things I enjoy eating. Moreover, I'm a cheapo, and I like the idea of a value menu. You get a drink, a main course and a side. That's how royalty eat! On the occasions when I've let myself pop into one of these dens of delicious inequity, I don't just get the unhealthy burger, dripping with delectable cheesy, bacon-y grease. I also get the french fries, which I then feel obligated to eat. I don't want to be wasteful. after all. Of course, those fries are only really palatable if you dunk them in that tasty, albeit sugar-filled, ketchup. You see my problem here.

One solution I've found (I think dude named Jared lead me there) is Subway. Once upon a time, in a magical land where instead of being overweight I was a scrawny member of the varsity swim team, I could do damage to a Subway sandwich. I'd go in there and think to my skinny self, "Is a foot long going to be enough to fill me up?" I'd get the thing so filled with fixin's that it took a team of engineers to fold it closed and wrap it in paper. Then I'll trade in the chips for a couple of cookies, fill my cup with regular soda and go to town. Once finished, I'd burp offensively and all the calories would be carried away by the wind...or air conditioning, I suppose.

Today I still frequent Subway, but I have a different strategy. Rather than approaching the menu with an attitude of "What could I fit in my gullet?" I know that I can get a smaller sand which and fill it up with veggies. This way, I'll get full without using up a lot of calories. I will say that it's worth visiting Subway's website. You'll find that many of the tasty sandwiches that aren't included in their list of low-fat options are not as healthy as you might expect. A couple of them even rival the aforementioned burgers.

So that's the main course. What about the sides? Well, I've learned that even those burger joints now offer healthy substitutes for french fries. At Chick-fil-a, for instance, I was able to get a side salad or fruit for just $0.65. That's another opportunity to fill up on food and not fat. At Subway, they take it a step further. Instead of trading in your chips for cookies (shame on you Past James), you can barter them for apples or a cup of yogurt.

Yogurt, I've discovered is more than a little bit awesome. Sure, it's essential milk that has been overtaken by bacteria, but they're delicious bacteria. It's like a desert, but after eating it you'll still respect yourself in the morning. Even better, the stuff somehow expands to fill your gut. That way I don't find myself hungry twenty minutes later, looking for lost skittles in between the seat cushions of my car.

I think my mom would be proud to see me getting a little culture, bacterial or otherwise.

Honey...where's the dog?

So this isn't as much an account of my health regiment as it is a confession of my failure to maintain a good yard. After our baby was born, I've had trouble finding the time to do the little things...like say mowing.

Last week I cranked up the mower for the first time in almost two months. Did I mention that this is Texas, and it is summer? It turns out, grass (and lots and lots of weeds) apparently grows pretty quickly round here. The front yard was a real chore, with some patches approaching 5 or 6 inches. The backyard, though...the backyard was something else.

Do you remember the film Honey, I Shrunk the Kids? Our backyard looked a lot like that one, only we hadn't been reduced to Lilliputians by a failed scientific breakthrough run amok by a stray baseball. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that areas of the yard were well over a foot in height. At play, my dog looked like one of those lions on the Discovery Channel, surveying a a herd of gazelles, looking for the tiny one with a limp.

So it was that last week, after lunging and grunting my poor mower through the front yard, I moved on to this Herculean task. I worked it, too. I was back there, huffing and puffing, for more than an hour. That's when God decided to give me a break by opening up a raincloud. I had conquered all but a small patch of about ten feet by 15 feet. Not too bad, right?

Last night after work, I decided it was time to re-mow the yard. This time the front yard was child's play. It turns out, if you're responsible about maintaining the grass, the mower will slide over it like butter on a roll.

Most of backyard went by in a flash, as well. That small patch, though, was a regular nightmare. It looked like the weed patch that Godzilla must have been napping in during the nuclear explosion. Some of the weeds were definitely over two feet tall, and the grass itself was densely packed. Every inch of mowing was a struggle. I had to make two passes, like one of those newfangled razor blades with extra blades.

When all was said and done, I had a respectable yard (minus the occasional haystack), and a lower body that felt as those it had been through a pretty intense workout. If I had been holding a 40 pound medicine ball and doing lunges across a park, my back and legs would have been less sore.

There are two lessons here. One, everyday chores like lawn work can provide great workout opportunities. Two, mow your dang yard if you don't want it to look like a scene from the Congo.

A Wii Bit of Exercise

Generally speaking, I'm not a big video gamer. In college I spent (you might say wasted) hundreds of hours engaged in virtual battles. After graduation, I got married, and sense then I haven't been much of a gamer. Enter the Wii, an delightful little gaming system that has offered us lots of fun and a few sweaty workouts.

When we purchased our Wii a few years ago, my wife and I mainly played sports and laughed at each other. This was all well and good, but it would hardly qualify for a journal of me being less of a couch potato. Then, last year we picked up the Wii Fit package, and quickly found ourselves addicted.

The Wii Fit utilizes a balance board to put you through various cardio, strength training and yoga workouts. It is also packed with fun balance games...I may have spent a bit more time on the games than the exercise. Who can say, really?

Fortunately/Unfortunately, Wii Fit also had a journal that would track your progress...or lack there of. Before every workout or play session, the board weighed you and judged you...harshly. The first time I ever stepped atop the attachment a tiny anime voice called out, "That's overweight!" She said it with such cruel glee that I was just waiting for her to steal my lunch money, give me a wedgie and kick my dog.

This weigh in feature could have been a motivator to work out, I suppose. It didn't really play that way for me. Instead, it became a reason to not step on the scale. I just didn't want to see my graph show any upward momentum or have that voice poke fun at me (Which it did, every single time I signed in).

To be honest, I haven't stepped atop that scale since before my wife got pregnant. It has been nearly a year, and I was just beginning to get the courage to face the anime voice when my wife read about Wii's new fitness program Wii Active. This sounded like a great chance to dodge the mean anime lady, so I jumped at the chance to pick up the new program.

It turns out, Wii Active is a whole lot like Wii Fit. Instead of a balance board, it comes with a pouch that holds the Wii remote against your left, registering the movement of your legs and you do everything from run in place to performing squats and other isometric exercises. It also offers the chance to customize your workout with activities, including boxing.

As a self professed fan of MMA, I was immediately drawn to the boxing activities. It's easy to see how these could be easy-going low-impact exercises, but I get so into it...it gets pretty high impact. You'll notice in the image on the right that my fist have gone full-on Chuch Yeager and broken the sound barrier.

At least for me, Wii Active wouldn't take the place of my regular routine, but it does offer a great alternative for those times that I can't find the time or energy for a traditional workout. I think it's important to occasionally trick myself into workouts that feel like fun. It's like I'm hiding broccoli in my own mashed potatoes...horrifying.

Wii Active does offer Wii Fit balance board compatibility. I imagine it would add new elements to the game...I just haven't gotten up the courage to try it yet.

I Deserve This.

Friday I stopped just short of falling down dead in the Summit Family Fitness Center. This weekend I used that workout as an excuse for enjoying some delicious desserts. I'm starting to think some of my weight loss may be taking place between my ears.

How can I punish myself with a workout so intense that I couldn't finish it only to dig in peach cobbler and homemade ice cream in the following days? I have a couple theories.

Theory 1, 2 AM James owns the weekend. In the last month, I've spent more than 9 hours working out, none of them on a Saturday or Sunday. Clearly I view weekends as a time for licenced laziness. Clearly, calories don't count on Saturday. Which means desserts are fair game.

Theory 2, I've gotten overconfident in the effectiveness of my weight loss regiment. Is it possible that, after the first two weeks of consistent weight loss, my subconscious decided that my metabolism was now bulletproof? "Surely with all the calories I'm burning with these morning workouts, I could eat this stick of butter without fear of comeuppance."

Theory 3, my lazy butt thinks it deserves to get paid for waking up early and sweating. The wage it seeks? Deliciously sweet dessert foods. Sure enough, looking at that peach cobbler Saturday night or the extremely tempting cake Thursday night, the thought that crossed my mind was, "You know, a few months ago I definitely would have eaten that, and back then I wouldn't have worked out afterwards. Given that A+B=C, I clearly have no choice but to pour this down my gullet."

I'm not sure which of these is my problem. It is likely some grotesque hybrid of the three. The conundrum for me is that I don't want to pretend I'm never going to eat another dessert. I'm going to eat dessert. I just need to limit myself. I don't want to be the old me plus regular sweat sessions. I want to be making consistently healthier decisions...unless we're talking about my mom's cardamon bread...then diet be darned.