Hey Blog Man...

"Hey blog-man - Where are the posts? I believe those of us subscribed are due posts until April..."

Those were the words of an email I just received from a friend of mine. Sure enough, they are thoughts that have been expressed by a number of friends. I really have fallen way behind on this blog, and for that I owe a thousand apologies. I think I owe myself a few as well.

The truth is, I have not been working out or making any of the right choices that I wanted to be New Year's Day. I'm not proud of it...and it turns out it's a lot harder to write blog about things of which you're ashamed.

Last week I went for one jog with my dog, and that represented pretty much the full extent of my fitness regiment. Likewise, my diet has been, at best, passing. I have yet to get back on track counting my calories on LiveStrong.

Honestly, I don't know what my problem is. Actually, that's not true is it? My problem is that I've let myself get comfortable again. I enjoy sleeping until 6 a.m. and then sitting on the couch eating cereal (all-be-it healthy cereal) and watching TV. I like hanging out with my wife and baby at night. I like eating when I'm hungry and not worrying about whether or not I've burned enough calories to make it disappear. I like dark beer and carbs. Carbs are my friends!

Somewhere in my mind there is a disconnect. I want to get fit. I recognize that what I'm doing right now (nothing) is not going to allow me to get fit. Therefore...see, there's the problem. A+B=???

It's like I'm starting all over again. I'm still about 10 pounds lighter than I was, but apparently all those pounds were shed between my ears. I try and think back at my first attempt in May (a successful one) and remember how I did it. How did I wake up at 4:30 or 5? What has changed in me that it now seems completely alien.

I guess the answer is that I have to fake it until I make it. I just have tug my lazy butt, kicking screaming if need be, out of bed and into the fire. I either need to make time before the sun or find time during the day or at night. I simply can't let myself go to bed without having sweat a little bit.

I've compared the journey to fitness to the journey to sobriety experienced by addicts (this is mostly guessing as the only thing I've ever been addicted to is the television show Lost). I guess the logic of getting started is probably the same. I recognize I have a problem, and rather than become defeated by the seeming immensity of the task in front of me, I need to get started making baby steps. I will be healthy starting today, starting right now. I'll think about tomorrow tomorrow. I'll commit to letting the future take care of itself.

I think part of the problem is that unlike my first go round when I was looking forward to the Lake Travis Relay, I don't really have a goal right now. Perhaps that should be part of this process as well. I'll let you know if I come up with anything.

How Not to Prepare for a 5K

Going into the Lake Travis Relay in October, my only goal was for our team to finish within the 7 hour maximum. We all trained hard, and we reached that goal. Going into this past weekend's Schlotzsky's Jingle Bun Fun Run 5K, my goal was simply finish the run without ever having to walk. I did not train much at all, and while I accomplished the goal, it was a pyrrhic victory.

The idea of doing this run was actually my sister Sarah's. She's been trying to get healthy lately, and she challenged me a few months ago to join her in a 5K. At the time, I was training for the big swim, but December felt far away, so I agreed.

As I've mentioned in previous blogs, my own fitness regiment has deteriorated to near nothingness. It has been weeks since the last time I got a real sweat going during a workout and months since I got two good workouts in the same week. If that doesn't explain why I haven't lost much weight since the swim...your future as a private detective does not look bright.

Still, a deal's a deal, so even though I felt completely unprepared, I stuck to the plan. Saturday morning, Sarah and I made our way to the Pepper Creek Trail where we registered and got our goodie bags. Then, promptly at 9, we got in line at the start and waited for the starting bell.

Looking around at the crowd of runners, Sarah and I felt pretty good. There were people who looked as out of shape as we felt, senior citizens, parents with small children (even parents pushing small children in strollers). We suddenly felt like we might not be the last people to cross the finish line (assuming our survival).

All of our perceptions were thrown to the wolves, though, as the race got started. Now I know how cows feel as they filter through with shoot. All these bodies shooting past us at warp speed. Within minutes, we found ourselves jogging in a much smaller group, the non-hardcores, if you will. That's pretty much where we stayed for the rest of the run, lots of folks in front of us...behind us, not as much.

That was fine by me, though. As I kept telling Sarah, this was each of our first ever 5K, and we weren't in it to win. We just wanted to finish on our own terms, no walking.

To be completely honest, it wasn't that bad. The hardest part of the entire run was a muddy patch that temporarily left my sneakers weighing an extra 2 pounds each. As we approached the finish line, though, I realized I still had plenty of juice. With Sarah's permission, I broke off and ran the last 20 or 30 yards. I was truly surprised to not be in more pain.

Saturday night, however, the pain came, and it came angry. I swear I had sore muscles inside my knee. I had grand plans for the rest of my day. There were dreams of cleaning the house, doing laundry, perhaps doing a little Christmas shopping. Didn't happen. Instead, the rest of my day consisted of laying on the couch watching television, taking short breaks occasionally to go to the bathroom or complain about my agony.

This morning, I got to look at the results of the race. It makes it harder to feel good about having finished in 181st place out of 208 runners. That puts me in the bottom 13% of the field. My total time was 42:15, putting my pace at a blistering 13:38 per mile.

Overall, I walk away from this experience with mixed feelings. I finished the race without walking, sure, but I can't help but think about how much better I could have performed had I really trained for it. Much to my chagrin, the Jingle Bell Fun Run may have wet my whistle for future runs. I truly believe that with a few months of preparation, I could easily shave 7 to 10 minutes off of my time.

God help me, did I just become a runner?

Not Your Dad's Tricycle

I had a great weekend. Not only did the daylight savings time gods grant me a magical extra hour of sleep, but I got to try out a new toy. It's called a Trikke, and it is good for a wacky good-time workout.
I was first exposed to the idea of Trikking while at a conference for recreation professionals in Salt Lake City. There was an expo with hundreds of booths full of vendors trying to show off their wares. Most of the exhibits were for things like playgrounds and shade sails, but a few featured cool new fitness toys. The booth that caught my attention was that of Trikke. A Trikke is a three-wheeled, man-powered vehicle that is propelled not by peddling but by carving. It looks a little like two razor scooters welded together. Here's a video of a Trikke in the hands of a pro:

Stepping atop one of their demonstration Trikkes, I was hooked. It may not look cool, but the thing just feels fun. I didn't buy a Trikke in Utah, but I thought about them the whole way hope. My wife told me that I kept bringing them up nonstop for the following week. After some thought, I went on EBay in search of a deal. If I can find a Trikke for less than 70% of the retail cost, I told myself, I'll bid on it. Sure enough, I won an auction and ended up getting a model for about 58% of its normal cost.

After a week of anticipation, my Trikke arrived last Friday. I eagerly put it together in our living room (my wife was thrilled) but didn't get a chance to ride it until Saturday morning. Tara's mom and sister were in town, so we packed the whole crew into the car and headed to beautiful Lions Park.

Holy cow was this a beautiful day. I got the Trikke set up (had to run and buy a tire pump) and gave it my first try. I had watched dozens of YouTube videos, so I felt pretty confident that I would do well. Confidence in some is warranted. Confidence in me is delusion. I swung my arms. I shifted my weight from foot to foot. Instead of forward movement I felt only shame.



I had to cheat and kick start myself the first time, but after a couple laps around the parking lot, I was doing better. I started to find the sweet spot in the movement which is a combination of twisting the handlebars, leaning the steering column and shifting your weight from foot to foot. I wouldn't say that I was going fast, but I was definitely improving.

After everyone had a few tries (my wife had some skills of her own) it was time to head home.

"Can I go on ahead and meet you guys down the way," I asked.

My sweet wife gave me the go ahead, and I was off. I managed to get past the softball field parking lot before I hit a pretty large hill. I was tire, sore and happy as a clam. We folded the Trikke up, threw it in the car and headed home.

When we got there, I pulled the Trikke back out and did another lap around the block. This thing is crazy fun. It literally works every part of your body from your feet to your arms and chest. By bedtime, I felt pain in my legs and shoulder, but it was totally worth it.

I think the Trikke is going to be a great tool for fitness. I'll keep you updated on my progress.

Weekly Weighin: Relapse!

So... I weighed in Friday morning. I haven't posted the results yet. If you guessed that the results didn't have me sprinting to a keyboard, you guessed right. For the first time since I began this journey in May, I stepped aboard the scale and saw a number from my past. Sure enough, I gained weight, and it sucked.

After a 45 minute workout at the Summit that didn't include swimming, I stepped on the scale, stepped off, stepped back on again, got off, removed my shoes, stepped back on, and felt the joy drain from my heart. Last week I dropped below 200 pounds for the first time since high school. At that time, I said, "All I can think about right now is that after years in the 200's, I will not be going back. Yeah, baby!" Well, seven days later the scale read 202.4, making me not just fat, but a fat liar.
The funny thing is, I was so sure I was going to have gained weight last week, but I was unprepared for it to be the case this time around. In retrospect, I don't know how I didn't expect it. Thanks to the closing of the Summit pool and my brilliant M-W-F incident, I only got in one swim last week. While I went on a lot of runs with my dog, none of them really constituted aerobic exercise (we haven't gone much more than a mile.).

On top of all that, my diet was not what it should have been. I'd be great for the first two-thirds of the day. Then, I'd get home for dinner and eat big helpings of delicious (not healthy) food. I even had desert a few nights. On what planet could I have thought that would result in weight loss?

Sufficed to say, this just got real. I might have thought it was real before, but I was mistaken. As of Friday, I was three pounds heavier than the week before. I have four days to lose those pounds, and that's what I'm going to do.

When life gets in the way...

Let me start on a positive note. This weekend marked the first time that I actually worked out on a Saturday. It's been a struggle with my weakened weekend motivation throughout the process, and it felt good to break the streak and sweat on a day that I didn't have to report to the office. That said; it's all been downhill since Saturday...

It feels like all the forces of nature have conspired to keep me from working out this week. Since I began this blog in May, I have not gone as long between workouts as I have since Saturday. Of course, there was a good reason for each morning workout I missed, but isn't there always?

Returning from a three day weekend trip to Corpus, my wife and I learned that infants don't need to have traveled by plane to be jet lagged. Our beautiful little girl had her sleep schedule all scrambled, and she had taken us down with her. For me that meant treating Tuesday morning as an opportunity to recover some lost z's. Excusable.

Wednesday morning I had some very important work that I needed to get done before I got to the office. This is a rare occurrence, so I knew I needed to work in, not work out. Hey, sometimes the job has to come first.

Last night I promised myself that I'd do better. I set out my packed workout bag, folded the morning's clothes and filled my water bottle. I set an early alarm and settled into bed. My alarm went off before 6, just as I'd planned. What I didn't expect, though, was the look on my wife's face. Apparently little Sydney had woken her up every two hours during the night. (Before you go thinking I'm one of those guys who willingly ignores the baby's crying and lets his wife take care of it, let me just assure you that, instead, I'm one of those guys that could sleep through any noise on earth. I've asked my wife to shake me awake to lend a hand, but she won't, especially not nights before she knows I'm getting up early.) This morning she looked exhausted. Swimsuit on and gym bag in hand, I couldn't leave her alone with the baby, who the monitor showed was waking up again.

So I didn't workout this morning. I stayed home and took care of my daughter while her mom got some very much deserved sleep. It made the fifth day in a row that I haven't worked out.

The thing is: I don't really regret any of the aforementioned decisions. I needed sleep. I had to work. My wife needed a hand. I guess if I step aboard that scale tomorrow and it shows the dreaded gain, I won't lose sleep...much. Moving forward all I can do is get back to work.

Weekly Weighin: Are you kidding me?

It's Friday, and that means stepping onto the Summit scale for the first time in a week. I don't mind telling you that this is the first week that I haven't felt dread over the proposition. Between last week's zero lose and the fact that I really brought it this week, I knew I was in for a big number. Of course, I was wrong.

Last week I was frustrated by not having lost more weight, but I knew I could only blame myself. I hadn't put in the time at the gym (just two real workouts), and my diet was far from a priority. Bouncing back from that experience, I worked my butt off this week (unfortunately, not literally). Monday and Tuesday I got up early and worked out to the Biggest Loser Weight Loss Yoga (it may sound funny but it's not...it's torture). Then, for the first time in about twelve years, I put in three consecutive swim workouts Wednesday, Thursday and this morning. What's more, these weren't wimpy swims. I wasn't just floating for 40 minutes. I was really pushing. I did a number of sprints as part of interval training, and I timed myself on longer distances.

Approaching that scale this morning I felt great. I felt deserving. Then I stepped aboard...and I felt like I'd been kicked in the pants. I lost weight, but it was definitely in decimal form. For the last two weeks I'd weighed in at 206.8 pounds. This morning, the scale read 206.2. For those of you whose calculators don't have room for a decimal (and who didn't excel in middle school math), that means I've only lost one half of a pound in the last week. HALF A POUND!

This puts my weight loss to date at 15 pounds after 10 weeks of working out. I know I should be focusing on that 15, but I can't help but feel the 10 in marrow of my bones.

How does that happen? I worked out. I watch my calories like they were invading enemy forces. I did all the things I was supposed to do. I feel like I got gypped. I know, I know, I should be grateful that I lost something or that I didn't gain weight. I'm not grateful, though, I'm frustrated. How am I supposed to get my lazy butt out of bed at 5:45 to workout, when it hasn't really paid off recently? Wouldn't it just be easier to stay fat and just hang out with my wife and baby?

Don't worry. I haven't given up. I'll be back to work this week. I just hope that next Friday the scale is a little friendlier.

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.

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.

Goooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllls

I should start with a confession. I was not an especially good boy this weekend. Aside from mowing the yard and shopping with my wife (a near marathon by my standards), I didn't get in a real workout. I realize that if I want to reach my goals, I'm going to have to start looking at the weekend as time off of work...not time off of being fit.

That said, I realized this weekend that I haven't really talked about any specific goals of my own. I've said I want to lose weight and get healthy, but that's pretty vague. How much do I want to lose?

It's hard for me to think in terms of a goal weight that isn't attached to my favorite sport, Mixed Martial Arts (MMA...Most folks know it as "ultimate fighting"). I've been watching MMA for a few years now, and I'm thoroughly addicted. To be clear, I have no intention of ever actually fighting. I tried taking a class once, only to discover that I don't like getting punched in the face. Still, when I think of my potential weight loss. It's in relation to the UFC's weight classes and titleholders.

Currently, and for some time now, I'm a Heavyweight (206-265 ibs). That means that I'd been facing likes of the tank-shaped fellow on the far right. Brock Lesnar has to cut weight to make the 265 pound cutoff. I don't want to be Brock Lesnar.

If I drop another ten pounds, I'll be a Light Heavyweight (186-205 ibs). That's probably the most exciting group of fighters to watch, in my opinion. The new Light Heavyweight champ is Lyoto Machida. He's the kind of Karate Kid that would have been a nightmare for Ralph Macheo. Truth be told, even fat I'm too small for that weight division.

Next up would be the Middleweights (171-185 ibs). Right now I'm 30 pounds from fitting in with this group, and that seems like a pretty ambitious goal. Still, when I look at belt holder Anderson Silva, I start to lose bowel control. Again, those guys are pretty tall. If I end up putting on a lot of muscle, this might be a good goal.

If I end up looking wiry (isn't that a beautiful dream?), Welterweight (156-170 ibs) is where I think I should be. Welterweights like champion Georges St. Pierre often walk around much heavier than 170 pounds and have to cut weight before fight day. If I can get under 185 pounds, I'll just imagine that's the case with me.

The last UFC weight class is Lightweight (145-155 ibs). At one point, Lightweight champ B.J. Penn was my favorite fighter. Not to put too fine a point on it, though, but barring the amputation of a limb, I don't see myself weighing 155 pounds. Remember, my goal is to lose weight and get healthy. I have no plans of implementing an eating disorder into my weight-loss arsenal.

Weekly Weigh-in

Well, it's Friday, so it was time for me to weigh-in at the Summit Family Fitness Center. Each of the preceding weeks, I had posted a loss of 3 pounds. This week...not so much. I weighed 215 pounds. If that number seems familiar, it's because it is exactly what I weighed last Friday.

I shouldn't be surprised by this lack of improvement. I worked out one less morning this week than I did last week.

Still, I feel better than I have the last few weeks. My ability to get through a workout without wanting to vomit has dramatically improved. Moreover, this week I felt like I was finally starting to see results, subtle as I might be.

All the same, losing nothing is better than gaining, I suppose. This week I'll have to redouble my efforts to ensure I have better news next Friday.

A small victory over 2AM James

I've written once before of my ongoing battle with 2AM James. He's my own personal Loki, turning off my alarm clock in the middle of the night to keep me from working out in the morning. This morning 2AM James and I clashed in a battle royale that saw my hand raised in victory.

My workout alarm went off at 5:40 a.m. this morning (Sure it seems early, but it was almost 10 in London.), but it was 2AM James that got to the device first. Dedicated to keeping me fat and lazy, he switched the alarm to a more comfortable 6:30 and laid back down to rest.

It could have ended there. It would have ended there a few mere weeks ago, but not this morning. A little voice in the back of my head would not let me go back to sleep. "You need this," he said, and he was right.

I've suddenly realized that beginning this commitment to healthier living is not at all unlike overcoming an addiction. I've never had a real vice before, but I'm starting to realize that comfort was my drug of choice. Just as with a real drug, if I'm going to beat it, I'll have to do it one day at a time. I can't wonder whether or not I'll be doing push ups and cardio when I'm 40. I can't say that I'll never enjoy another gorgeous, greasy burger. All I can control is this moment. I can live healthy right now, and worry about tomorrow when it comes.

Instead of focusing on how much it stinks to be awake and sweating before the sun rises, I can get out of bed and get to work. I know it will be hard, and I'm not at all sure that it is going to get easier any time soon. I can't let that stop me today, though.

That's why this morning I didn't go back to sleep. I didn't let 2AM James claim the day. I got my butt out of bed and get my morning workout done.

It's a tiny (microscopic really) victory, sure, but it gives me a confidence that I can do this. I can live healthier starting today, starting right now, this very minute. Take that, 2AM James.

Making Time

Before I started this year-long commitment, I had not consistently gotten exercise in a very long time. The reason, at least the reason I told myself, was that I simply didn't have the time. I realize now that this was untrue, and I think it's this understanding that will make all the difference for me.

The reality is, I've always made time for things less important than fitness. In the mornings, I always had time to watch Sports Center while leisurely eat my sugary breakfast cereal. I've shown great discipline in always making time to watch two to three hours of television at night after work. For the last year, I've even found the time to carve out three hours every Wednesday night to lead the Temple Movie Club (If you aren't going, you should be).

It's not that these things are bad (maybe the sugary cereal part). All this is simply to say that I do have time. It's a question of how I prioritize and spend that time.

My approach so far has been to wake up thirty minutes earlier and work out before my wife and daughter get out of bed. As I have been working out using a DVD these last few days, the early morning schedule has the benefit of shielding me from possible derision at the silly moves I'm no doubt making.

I don't know if I'll be using this morning hours to get my sweat on for the rest of this year. My guess would be that life will continue to change and demand that I make adjustments and changes to my daily ritual. The difference is that from now on, I know there is time for be to make healthy living a priority.

I'm grateful, too, that along with my living room workouts, the Summit Family Fitness Center is open most days from 5 a.m. to 10 p.m.. Those hours are shorter on Friday and weekends, but those aren't the days that I run out of time.

James vs. 2 AM James

I've discovered that in my efforts to get fit and live a healthier lifestyle, I have a real and dangerous adversary. I call him 2 AM James.

You see Regular James wants to get fit. He's committed. Regular James sets out his workout gear before going to bed and makes sure his water bottle is clean. Regular James knows this process isn't going to be easy, but he's in for the long haul.

Then there's 2 AM James. 2 AM James could care less. 2 AM James would be way more interested in fitness if it came in the form of a pill or perhaps a chalky chewable tablet. 2 AM James likes getting a full night's sleep. He hates being sore, and he really hates being tired.

All this sounds simple enough. Clearly in the battle Regular James has the advantage, right? I mean, he's organized. He's motivated. What could go wrong? I tell you, 2 AM James is an evil genius. He knows he doesn't have to break Regular James; he just has to put up a few roadblocks.

2 AM James got his name by turning off the alarm clock in the middle of the night. This way, he knows, I will wake up too late to workout...or late enough that he can convince me it's too late to workout. Another successful strategy he has employed is to put off or not finishing work at night. He knows this will mean I have to wake up early, not to get my sweat on, but rather to finish up whatever jobs he has left for me.

I realize that to beat 2 AM James I have to think like him. What do I know about 2 AM James? He's lazy. If I put him in a situation where real effort is required to do his evil, he's just as likely to let the moment pass.

To this end, I've started plugging in my alarm clock several feet from my bed. Now, shutting off my alarm would require 2 AM James to get out of bed and walk across the room. He's not going to do that. He'd rather just get the sleep he can in the meantime.

I'm not saying that I've beat 2 AM James. No, ours will be a war that lasts a lifetime. I will say, though, that I got up early this morning and beat him up a bit.