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.