Have a Nice Trip; See You Next Fall

So this week-end was what I refer to as Laundry Week-end, what with how I do two weeks worth of laundry over at Michelle’s apartment on Saturday.  I like a name that tells you what it is. Because I’m doing two weeks worth of laundry, I’m hauling two very full hampers worth of laundry into her apartment, and because she’s *never nice enough to help, I have to do it in two trips.

Michelle’s apartment is on the backside of her building so I have to cross the parking lot and then go to the opposite end of the breezeway to get to her door.  The complex is pet friendly, but I thought they discouraged dogs.  I’ve noticed recently that there seem to be more and more small dogs around in the neighborhood, including at Michelle’s building.  As of this week-end, three of the four balconies that face the parking lot around her breezeway have dogs living in the attached apartments.

As I crossed the parking lot and walked up the path toward the breezeway the dog in the ground floor apartment on my left poked his head through the blinds on the sliding glass door and started barking at me, all menacing and tough-like.  And by menacing and tough-like, I mean the dog was pocket sized and not even remotely intimidating.  I looked at him, laughed and said, “Ooo.  Tough guy!”

I don’t know if it was the dog barking, or me talking that attracted the attention, but just as I took the two inch step up to the next level of sidewalk, I heard barking coming from the right.  I turned and looked to see the dog in the apartment on the second floor, on my right, out on the balcony and had stuck his little curly head between the bars on the railing and started barking at me, as well.  My last thought as I mounted the two steps up to the breezeway was “Oh, Stereo!”

I proceeded down the hall to Michelle’s door and went in to drop off my first load.  “That’s OK.  I’ve got it all,” I called out, more out of tradition than any vain attempt to guilt or shame.  “OK” she replied from behind the closed bathroom door.  She has long since made it clear that she’s not going to feel guilty for not helping me carry my stuff in.

I headed back out to the car for the second load and noted on the way out that the dog inside the ground floor apartment had lost interest.  The dog upstairs was still watching but had ceased barking at me.  After retrieving my second hamper I crossed the sidewalk in front of the path to Michelle’s building, several feet in front of a young to middle aged Asian couple strolling up the sidewalk.  As I headed up the path, I noticed that the upstairs dog was still watching me, so I watched him…

…And forgot about the two inch step up in the path.  I caught the tip of my right big toe on the edge of the sidewalk.  The velocity of my steps propelled me forward and the weight of my full hamper pulled me down.  People talk about such things and talk about it being like it happened in slow motion…  People lie!  OK, maybe they don’t lie, but that’s not what happened to me.  I went down fast and I went down hard.

Based purely on a damage assessment, after the fact, I know my left knee was the first thing to make contact with the sidewalk, because there was no skin left on it, whatsoever.  My left shin has “road rash” on it and my right knee cap has just a little.

In this picture, note the band-aid on my right big toe.  When my toe hit the step, it went down below the step, and the top of the toe rubbed against the concrete removing the skin from there as well.  So, as if it weren’t bad enough having my pants legs (I can’t wear shorts to work, naturally) rubbing against the leg injuries, every pair of work appropriate shoes I own presses right on that part of my big toe as I walk.

It only took a matter of seconds for me to turn over and stand up again and do you know, that Asian couple didn’t even acknowledge anything had happened.  No offers of assistance (which, granted, I would have declined).  No inquiries as to my well being.  It didn’t even seem as though they had looked my way to see what the commotion had been.  (People suck.)

~~~

Four or five years ago, when I was considering my first tattoo but was afraid of how much it would hurt, I asked K about them.  She told me, “It’s kinda of like having road rash.”  I thought, well that’s not nearly as bad as I feared. (Never mind that I hadn’t had road rash in twenty years.)  I can now attest that K was wrong! This is so much worse than any tattoo “pain” I’ve ever had.  And I had something to show for the tattoo pain!

*Every once in a while, Michelle actually does help bring my stuff in, but not usually.  To be fair, though, she moves her car out of her assigned parking space so that I can park there when I arrive, instead of having to park way far away in an unassigned spot with all my stuff.  There’s a connection however, the few times she has helped me bring my stuff in, it’s been because she hasn’t moved her car yet and wants me to follow her as she parks down the hill and then drive her back to her building.

Here We Go Again

Last Monday marked my final day of Personal Training for a little while.  I’m disappointed for sure.  I liked having the help, and the accountability is more helpful than you can imagine.  With someone waiting for you at a set time and day at the gym, it’s a lot harder to blow it off.  With someone telling you how many of which exercises you’re supposed to do, and not feeling sorry for you when you whine and whimper, it’s harder to slack off once you’re there.

Of course, there were some draw backs as well.  Tawaiin’s measure of my success was my weight and measurements.  There’s a whole elaborate set of measurements that they take every three weeks to track your progress.  I suppose that makes sense from a tracking standpoint, but it didn’t matter to me, weight loss wasn’t my primary reason to be there, and toward the end, I found that I was dreading going on the days that he would take my measurements.  My goal was to get stronger, have more endurance.  I’m not sure about the endurance, just yet, but I definitely got stronger, even just working with him one day a week.

Of course, I see a difference in how I look.  My waist is slimmer, my chest is less “moob”-like (that’s man boobs for anyone who doesn’t know.)  There is the slightest of diagonal lines running from my collar bones to my armpits and slightly less slight diagonal bulges running around the outside of my upper arms.  This is good.  I wouldn’t dare say I’m looking buff, far from it.  But this is good.  Imagine what I could have accomplished with twice a week sessions… or, you know, working out any other day of the week.

I couldn’t afford to see Tawaiin twice a week, and sadly, I never really learned how to work out on my own.  For the last month or so, I only went to the gym on Monday’s.  Not getting my money’s worth and not getting the maximum impact.  Nonetheless, I lost twenty-eight pounds; I don’t know how many inches; and four or five percentage points in “BMI”.  When I started, I was fully entrenched in the ”NOT HEALTHY” section of their chart.  On the last night, he took measurements and I was .01% below the “NOT HEALTHY” section in the “Acceptable” category.  I would have to lose another ten percent to fit into the “Fit” category.  I don’t know if that will ever happen.  I did build some strength and endurance, and for that I am grateful.

A few years ago, I signed up for a program through Men’s Health Magazine called The Abs Diet.  I really liked it because it took all the guesswork out of everything.  Computer generated, but fully customizable, weekly meal plans, daily work-out routines ready and waiting, progress tracking all right there on the website.  It was great.  It is for a fee, but it’s a pretty reasonable fee for what you get (about $15.00 a month.)

One of the new features since I last signed up for the program is a support section, a community of users in a forum and a personal journal which can be kept private or made public… Kinda like a blog.

Anyway, I wrote this, this morning and frankly, I don’t think I can sum things up any better than I did:

Yesterday was my first day of my second go round with this diet.  I did the Abs Diet for several months a few years ago.  I liked it and did fairly well with it without going crazy with every little detail.

I really enjoyed having the meal plan laid out for me without having to put much thought into it.  Each week, I printed out a detailed list of meals and a grocery list to accommodate those meals and, bam!, my thinking was done for me.  The part I struggled with was the exercise.  I never really knew what I was doing and my resources were limited.  I lived in an apartment complex with a gym, (now I live in a duplex) but it was a somewhat limited space and in the evenings it was too crowded to be able to make use of it.  I tried to make it in the mornings, and I did for awhile, but it was tough – I’m not a morning person.

(Full disclosure – I was also drinking pretty heavily and it was tough to make that fit into the plan and get up early enough in the mornings to work out.  Now I don’t drink at all, but I’m still not much of a morning person.)

I went on a two week vacation to visit extended family and didn’t work out a single day while I was away and I just never managed to get back on that horse when I came home.

I started that go round at nearly 290 pounds.  The lowest weight I remember seeing on the scale before I gave up was 254.  My weight climbed slowly – or rather, I thought it was slowly – and I was distressed but never motivated to do anything about it.  For the next three years my weighted fluctuated back and forth always climbing a little higher before coming down again and at my worst I was up to 309 pounds.

Through paying closer attention to what I was eating, eliminating Alcohol from my life and trying to be more active in general, in my daily life, that number came back down to about 288 pounds.

Last year, I decided I wanted to consider a career change and become an Emergency Medical Technician.  The field fascinates me and I’ve got some work experience that lends itself in that direction.  I looked at what they have to do, and I looked at my own condition and knew that physically, I can not do it.  I can’t lift the amount of weight an EMT has to lift and I don’t have the stamina to do a physical job all day long.

In October, I joined 24 hour fitness.  In November, I signed up with a personal trainer.  I worked out with him once a week.  I would have liked to do more, and he wanted me to do more, but it was simply too expensive to do more than once a week.  I’ve gotten own to 265 pounds.  Last week was my final session before the funding ran out.  I couldn’t afford to go back again.  I want to go back as soon as I’m able but it’s insanely expensive and I really don’t know where I’m going to find the funding to pay for it.  And then I remembered the Abs Diet.  I remembered the step by step outlines of what exercises to do and what food to eat and everything.  So I signed up again.

Yesterday was the first day.  I printed out my meal plan and my work out plan and set about making it work.  It was a little tough. I’m a big brother and I spend Sunday afternoons with my Little.  We went to a miniature golf/go kart/arcade/etc center.  Fortunately, food never entered the equation yesterday, but it was five hours out of the middle of my day and I didn’t manage to fit my afternoon “snack #2” into the day.  I went to the gym in the morning, later than I had wanted to.  I thought if I could get there early enough, the weight room wouldn’t be terribly packed and I could figure it out.  I realized, only after I got there and started reviewing the paperwork, that I really didn’t have a clue what I was doing.  The machines all look like medieval torture devices and there are limited, if any, instructions.  I ended up faking most of the exercises using the Nautilus type equipment at the other end of the gym that no one wants to use.

I know that I was better off using that equipment than not doing anything at all.  I also know that a leg press is not the same as a squat and that I won’t get the same results by doing different exercises than what the program prescribes.

I like today’s prescription.  Walk for 45 minutes?  I can do that.  That was always my favorite part from the last go round too…  I’m hoping that tomorrow, I can get into the gym super-early before work and fumble around like an idiot with some of the torture devices– er, weight machines and figure out what the hell I’m doing.

I walked in there yesterday telling myself not to worry about the other people and what they might think looking at me as I screwed everything up, but apparently, I didn’t listen.  I know that if I can just acclimate myself to how it all works, I’ll be fine.  It’s just the acclimating that’s proving to be difficult.  Here’s hoping for a better outcome tomorrow.

Moving Melodies: Welcome To Wherever You Are

I got home late from work today.  It was late because I was writing, not because I was working, but somehow I don’t really think I needed to tell you that.  Anyway, I was in the kitchen making a peanut butter and honey sandwich for dinner, feeling a little bummed because I live alone and don’t have a special someone to make dinner and have it ready and waiting for me when I get home late.  Nor do I have a special someone to make it worthwhile to make a full fledged dinner when I get home late.

While I was spreading and squishing, the iPod was on and played this song by Bon Jovi:

Welcome To Wherever You Are lyrics

Maybe we’re all different, but we’re still the same
We all got the blood of Eden, running through our veins
I know sometimes it’s hard for you to see
You come between just who you are and who you wanna be

If you feel alone, and lost and need a friend
Remember every new beginning, is some beginning’s end

Welcome to wherever you are
This is your life, you made it this far
Welcome, you gotta believe
That right here right now, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be
Welcome, to wherever you are

When everybody’s in, and you’re left out
And you feel your drowning, in a shadow of a doubt
Everyone’s a miracle in their own way
Just listen to yourself, not what other people say

When it seems you’re lost, alone and feeling down
Remember everybody’s different
Just take a look around

Welcome to wherever you are
This is your life, you made it this far
Welcome, you gotta believe
That right here right now, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be
Welcome, to wherever you are

Be who you want to be, be who you are
Everyone’s a hero, everyone’s a star

When you wanna give up, and your hearts about to break
Remember that you’re perfect, God makes no mistakes

Welcome to wherever you are
This is your life, you made it this far
Welcome, you gotta believe
That right here right now, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be
Welcome, to wherever you are

I’m not going to make any big flowery statements about what this song means to me or how it makes me feel.  I have mixed feelings about it (what’s new).  The lyrics are good food for thought, though,  even if it’s sometimes hard to remember.  Let’s just say this was topical, somewhat well timed.

Musical Confusion

I’m standing at the Quizno’s waiting to place my order and the music playing overhead is an assault on my sensibilities as the music is crashing and the lyrics aren’t so much singing as some sort of screeching shout. I have to assume we’re listening to the likes of Korn, or maybe Ozzy and Black Sabbath. I don’t like it and the former retail manager in me thinks this is inappropriate music for public consumption.

As if reading my mind however, the song finishes, and the next one begins… Elton John, Benny and the Jets.

The thought that went through my mind when I walked in the door, resurfaces. “What the hell are we listening to?!?” Such a strange combination of songs!

K is Evil

A year or so ago, she decided that she wanted to become a coffee connoisseur and open her own coffee shop.  I suspect that desire has fallen a bit by the wayside, which I can not judge because I too have a tendency to latch onto an idea, only to burn myself out on it, or determine, sometimes prematurely, that I can’t make it work and give up before I ever even get started.

K became a coffee snob, determining that the free coffee we have hear at work, though available in more flavors and varieties than the average non-coffee nerd could think of, was no longer acceptable for her to drink.  We have a machine that makes one individual cup of coffee at a time so the coffee is always fresh brewed and she’s in control of the ordering so she could have any variety she wanted, but it simply was beneath her sensibilities… suddenly.  More power to her.  If she wants to go across the street and pay $4.00 for a latté a couple times a day, great!

At one point, she wanted to learn how to roast her own beans and learn the intricacies involved in bringing out various flavors depending on what kind of beans you’re using and how long they’re roasted and possibly a bunch of other criterion I couldn’t even begin to guess.  She started following coffee nerds on Twitter and found coffee Nazi forums on-line.  Along the way she managed to connect with coffee people and won a contest to get some free coffee of various types and flavors which leads us to her evilness.

See, some of the coffee that K won was flavored, odiferous coffee.  Things like Chocolate Fudge, Chocolate Mint and Caramel Apple.  She got her hands on a whole portable set up and brought her coffee and accoutrement to work and has stored it in the cupboard under the counter on which our unsuitable coffee maker sits.  So now, every time I go back to get a cup of coffee from our perfectly lovely, one cup at a time, always hot and fresh coffee maker, I get a whiff of her delicious smelling coffee beans in the cupboard.  My mouth starts to water and I lick my lips in anticipation of the wonderful flavors my mind tricks itself into believing I’ll enjoy.  I mean, I’m making a cup of coffee and I smell a delicious smelling kind of coffee, it only stands to reason that the coffee I’ll be drinking will taste like what I smell, right?  I bring my hot, fresh coffee back to my office and take the first sip and—Ho hum.  Booorrrriiiinnngggg.

K is evil!