Let's jump ahead, shall we?

I'm not sure exactly what was happening with my Internet but it seems things were published on the post with wrong dates attached, and then some weren't posted at all, so there is a little gap between my last post and today. Namely, I just finished my week 3 weigh-in and the result is...............278 pounds. For those keeping track at home, that's 10 pounds. That's like a Maine Coon cat right there.
I am pretty happy. I know 10 pounds in three weeks isn't going to get me a seat on Oprah, and no one wants to see me in a Speedo just yet. But, hey, it's a beginning, and I feel good that I have lost weight every single week.
This is a marathon. I have a goal of losing 70 to 80 pounds. When you put it in that context, 10 pounds aint nothing, but, again, it's a start. More than that, it's confirmation. It's confirmation that I am on the right track, doing the right thing, heading in the right direction. And what I'm doing now, I can keep doing it. It hasn't ruined my life. I don't feel like something wonderful has been ripped from me. Instead, I feel good. I feel good that my muscles hurt after working out. I feel good that I'm thinking about having a different body to go along with warmer weather this summer. I feel good that I'm thinking about doing things like buying a bike and taking trips around my area, or even getting back into some sports.
I just have to keep on keeping on.
The toughest part? When you get that little voice that starts saying "hey, you did well this week, why not grab that large steak and cheese sub on the way home from work," or "you know what, you're working your ass off so why don't you skip the gym tonight."
It is a battle. I find myself talking internally, a lot. Tonight, after the weigh-in, I spent a good part of the day having a conversation about grabbing a Bacon Deluxe extra value meal at Wendys. My logic was that, during the day I hadn't eaten all that much so I could afford a meal that was gonna run me 1200 calories, right? I would still probably be a little under 1800 for the day. But, do I really need a 1200 calorie meal? That was the fight and, as opposed to the past, a small sandwich and some soup later on won out. That's the kinda thing you have to do, go back and forth with yourself, talking yourself outta taking what I call the weight-gain road.
Anyway, I am down 10 pounds in three week. If I am down 13 or so pounds in a month, and can keep that going, I will begin to see it a little more in the coming weeks. It is just about working out and sticking to self-control. I really think what you learn is that, while you have to train your body, you also have to train your mind. You have to train yourself to take the right road, not the wrong road. I am getting better at that. I have had slip ups this week. Stuffed my face with a hot dog at lunch, had a few donuts, but overall, another three pounds down, 10 pounds overall, and things are going good.
Justin, I'm coming for yah, bitch.....

Week One: Not Too Bad

Update: I wrote this post a couple of days ago and it didn't post when I posted it for some reason. Thanks, Internet.....
Anyway, my weigh-in today? I am down to 285 pounds. That's three pounds down. Nothing earth shattering but, hey, I'll take it, right? Baby steps, baby. Baby steps.
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So week one of new me is going pretty well. I am not constantly hungry, nor am I stuffed and feeling like I am cheating myself. I have been to the gym twice this week and skipped a trip because we, here, in the great state of Connecticut, have turned into North Pole 2.0 lately, and another storm dumped about 20 inches of snow on my front lawn. When you are shoveling huge piles of snow for two hours, I count that as a day in the gym.
What's funny about working out is how your body reacts to things. I went to the gym on Monday this week, did 10 minutes of cardio, did about 25-30 minutes of weight training, then finished up with another 15 minutes of cardio. At the end, I felt like I had been through a workout, but I wasn't dead. In fact, I felt pretty darn good.
I took Tuesday off, then, Wednesday, went back.
Half way through essentially the SAME workout (different weight training) I felt like Hulk Hogan had repeatedly body slammed me into the ground. As opposed to Monday, where my 15 minutes of cardio finish had seemed okay, I was dying this time around. I didn't even know if I could make it through all the time that was left.
Simply put, Monday told me I could work out, Wednesday reminded me why I needed to make it a routine.
My plan is to hit the gym again tomorrow (Sat.) for a quick routine. Hopefully, I won't be as winded as I was Wednesday.
As far as eating, I am doing a pretty good job of gauging calories I believe. I think I have been pretty firm on the 1,800 for the day. Might have been a tad over once or twice, but nothing significant. It's hard to judge the calories in some meals. For instance, last night for dinner I had a bowl of noodles, lean chop meat, in cream of mushroom soup. How much could that have been? I am trying to calculate on the high end, so that I leave some wiggle room, so I calculated that as being about 750 calories. Was it that much? Hard to imagine it was, but I want to put myself in a position to be pleasantly surprised.
I have my weigh-in on Sunday. I feel like I have already lost some weight and can see it, a little bit. I guess Sunday will tell the tale.
I am not going in with any set weight goal for the week, I just want to see loss so I know what I am doing is working, mainly because what I am doing is something I believe I can continue to do.
The question is, can I translate this into my weekend?
Usually, I go out with friends after work. That mean some food, some beers, and some laughs. How much that adds up to during the course of the week, I can't tell you, but I am going to try and cut back starting tonight. We will see.

It's About The Weight, Stupid

I am fat. Actually, I am obese. I came to that realization over the last week, after acurately weighing myself for the first time in months and then plugging those rather large numbers into “weight-loss calculators” on the web. Granted, I don't know how accurate those things really are, but considering everyone I tried came back with the same conclusion – obese – I'll assume I have a problem here.
This is a problem for me on any number of levels. One, I knew I was overweight, but not considered technically obese. When you're overweight, you can kinda “wordplay” your way around how you actually look. I was “stocky.” Heck, that almost sounds attractive, right? I was plump. Who doesn't like plump? I can't think of one instance where I have heard the word plump used and thought “ewww.” Even fat can be kind of fun. Fat people are jolly. Fat people, a lot of times, are funny, with a lot of personality, a lot of charm, and attractive in their own way. That was me all over, baby! Fat and fun to be around.
But obese? That makes me part of the problem. That means diabetes and injections into my fat stomach and not being able to move from my car to my apartment without needing oxygen.
The other eye-opening thing for me is that, for the first time in my life, I am pushing up dangerously close to the 300 pound mark. I am 288. I am 6'1”, and I am 32-years old. That means I am 12 pounds away from 300, staring 33-years old smack in the face.
Wow. That will wake you up in the morning.
The truth is I had begun the process of trying to lose weight a while ago because, quite frankly, I haven't felt as good as I would like for a long, long time. There are aches and pains that shouldn't be there. Every time I feel some tightness in or around my chest I wonder whether I am about to keel over from a heart attack in my early 30's, then the pain goes away and I realize it was probably a pulled muscle, no doubt strained under the pressure of supporting my fat ass.
I don't play sports anymore, at all. No more basketball. No more tennis. No more volleyball. Nothing that requires any physical exertion. I know I won't last more than a few minutes, so why subject myself to it? Why embarrass myself, especially around friends who haven't allowed themselves to got to shit?
I also realize that, if I really want to find someone in this life, someone to start a family with, I need to lose weight. Look, I we can all play the game about “loving yourself” and having “confidence.” We can talk about feeling attractive even when you're not model material, but if you have to talk yourself into confidence, or feeling good about how you look, then it aint gonna last, and you're not going to find someone you're truly attracted to, and someone who is truly attracted to you.
I am 32, going to be 33 in a few months. For the first time in my life I care about finding someone with whom I can begin a long-term relationship and, having come to this crossroads in my life, I find myself wandering in the land of the obese.
Sufficit to say, something has to change.
So, a while back, I began changing my eating habits little by little. It has been a slow process but I know I have to actually change my lifestyle if I am going to change my weight and my health.
But, now, it is go time. I want to lose real weight, not just a little here and a little there. I had thought I was about 265 or 270. Being 288, I realize I need to lose serious, serious weight.
Ideally? I want to get down to about 210 pounds. If I work out, add some muscle, I figure that would be a good landing spot. I think 210 pounds puts me in the “I can take my shirt off and not worry about scaring little children” range.
How long is that going to take?
I want to achieve that by this time (January 24) next year. I think 12 months should be enough to lose 78 pounds. But, my short-term goal right now is to be down anywhere between 15 and 20 pounds by March 16. That's when I leave for Vegas with my friends for a few days, and I would like to be at a new level at that point. That means February has to be a real dedication on my part.
I am not going all new-age diet on anyone for this. I am sticking to one principle: less calorie intake and more activity means I'll be losing weight. I am just not going to take in the amount of calories I have. I am just going to try and eat a little healthier, and make sure my meals are smaller. I'm not starving myself, just being smarter, and I am making a commitment to working out at least 3 times a week, hopefully four times.
The biggest thing? I have to teach myself not to eat when I'm bored. I don't know how many times I have found myself eating because, hell, there aint nothing better to do. That adds calories, which adds fat, which makes me obese, which makes me mad........I don't like be mad.
Will it work? It has to. There isn't any excuse this time. This is my 2011 “no excuse” year. No more feeling bad for myself. No more getting down about being fat, being alone, being less than what I could be. It's all there for the taking. I am in control of it all. I don't have to be this way. Simply put, I won't be any more.
It all sounds good now, but how long will it last? I am committed to making sure it lasts from now till the end of my life.
So, why blog?
Mainly because it seems to have helped other people. I have read numerous stories about individuals looking to lose weight, chronicling their efforts online. It seems to provide added motivation. A blog is there. The success and failure is there, for not only you to see but others to see as well.
I also hope that, if people find this blog, they will share their own stories, struggles, and, maybe if I am successful in losing the weight I want, perhaps I can offer people hope that it's possible for them, as well.
Look I don't need the federal government to come in and tell me what I can and cannot eat. I just need myself, my prayers, my willpower. That's all. We'll see what the equals in 2011.
Right now, we start at this number: 288.

Goodnight little kitty

My grandmother died in December of 2007 and, at that time, I volunteered to take her two animals - a dog named Ranger and cat named Tiger.
Now, Tiger, affectionately called Tiggy by everyone, was a white and orange cat that my grandmother had found years earlier outside her house. She was tiny, skinny, and probably a few days away from death when my grandmother took her in.
I remember when she first told me about her new pet. “JP, she is beautiful,” my grandmother insisted when my mother and I arrived to see the new addition to the family.
There, curled up on my grandmother’s bed, was the most pathetic looking animal on the face of the earth. She had a watery eye, looked sickly, and her hair was matted down, probably because she was running a fever or had some sort of other illness. Sufficit to say, I didn’t see the “gorgeous” cat my grandmother did.
However, when I laid on the bed next to Tiger, she immediately looked up at me, purred, and nestled her head against my arm. She was affectionate, right from the start.
That beautifully warm nature would never change.
She was a pacular cat. She didn’t want to play with anything. It didn’t matter what kind of “toy” you bought, she would simply sniff it and move on. She also didn’t have any kind of a killer instinct.. My grandmother loved to tell the story of how, one time, in her finished basement, a small mouse came out of one of the vents and walked along the edge of the room. Tiggy noticed the varment, approached it, and simply slapped at the mouse a few times before leaving it alone. The mouse, she determined, was good people.
She also didn’t “meow” like other normal cats. Hers was more of a cackle, even at a young age.
While many cats are indifferent to their name, Tiggy would answer any person who called to her. In fact, you could normally have conversations with her by just repeating her name. She also loved to have her belly rubbed. When you would come over, Tiggy would slowly walk up, look at you, flop down about a foot from where you were sitting, and showed her belly.
When my grandmother died and her life was uprooted, it took Tiggy a while to get used to her new surroundings. She was used to a large home with an upstairs and downstairs, and a lot of room to roam. Suddenly, he stomping grounds were by more than half, but she adapted. She still loved to be pet and would jump on my bed at night to go to sleep.
The year before my grandmother passed, Tiggy was diagnosed with a thyroid condition. The vet suggested that medication was an option, although she couldn’t take the one that would do the most good, or surgery, although, at her advanced age, it was unlikely she would survive.
Eventually, the thyroid made her skinny and weak and, tonight, on my couch, Tiggy passed away. It was peaceful, as peaceful as a death can be, and I am grateful she didn’t suffer and didn’t have to be traumatized by being taken to a vet to be put down.
This morning, when I woke up, Tiggy was there, skinny and ill, but still talking, even with a weaker “meow.” Now, at 11 p.m. she is gone. A part of my life is over.
I have often wondered whether I take the death of an animal too poignantly. But, in truth, the cat that died tonight on my couch next to me has been a part of my life for nearly two decades. She was one of the last connections I had to my grandmother and to a simpler life when death didn’t infiltrate so many aspects of my life.
I am glad my little cat is no longer weak and suffering, and as naïve as it might sound, there is a part of me that believes she is, right now, somewhere right now, running around, fat and happy, answering once again to my grandmother’s call. All I know is that death, whether it be of a person or a beloved animal, takes a little piece out of you. It removes a little bit of happiness and love you have. Tonight, I feel somewhat empty, and I wish my cat would be there tomorrow morning when I wake up.

A break from my life to talk about LOST

The one thing I know about myself is that I am a pretty cool person.
No, seriously, I am. People have told me this.
However, I have a lot of dork in me. I love the Star Wars films, the Lord of the Rings films, and like Star Trek. It doesn't get much dorkier than that.
It stands to reason, then, that the ABC television series LOST would be right up my ally. It appeals to all the things I love about the other movies I mentioned. I can't think of another show in TV history that did, or even attempted to do what LOST did. How many times has a television drama been appropriately described as "epic"?
Well, this show was epic, no question about it. The pilot episode was one of the most original, thrilling pieces of television I had ever seen and I was hooked right from the start.
So, as a LOST fan, what did I think of the final episode?
I loved it.
Now, let me say this: I wish the final episode had done more to give hints as to what, exactly, the island was and what the "light" that must be protected is. It seems like the creators went out of their way to explain the "flash-sideways" portion of the show but left everything up to interpretation as to what the island actually is. Considering the island was the centerpiece of 6 years of television watching, I would have liked at least a few more hints as to what it could be.
Having said that, the ending was a surprisingly emotional and satisfying end to the entire series because it really did focus on the characters we have grown to enjoy. I didn't realize how attached I was to all of them. I didn't realize how emotionally involved I would be watching them reconnect. By the end of the episode I was equally interested in watching all the characters "find" each other in the alternate universe as I was in watching whether the island was destroyed or saved. Each time one of them connected, the raw emotions seemed genuine, and the fact that the connection came at the end, literally, seemed even more poignant.
The beauty of this final episode, to me, was that it was so well crafted, so well done, at the end you didn't even care all that much about the "answers." While each LOST fan came into the final episode (well, the final few episodes) with a laudry list of questions they would have liked seen answered, mid-way through all you wanted to see was Jack kill the Locke monster and save the island, while everyone in the alternate universe connected again. I wanted to see Sawyer and Juliette connect, Claire and Charlie, and even Kate and Jack, the relationship that always seemed the most right, the one that had been left for dead, that had been beaten and battered, finally came together at the end.
I loved the semi-redemption of Ben, loved that Hurley was left to guard the island for who knows how long after Jack died, loved that all the characters made a comeback for that final hello/goodbye, and what I especially loved was the fact that they all seemed to be moving on in a new adventure together.
So, what is the island?
My feeling, the island is exactly what Jacob described it as to to Richard: the cork that keeps evil from explanding and overtaking good. The light is that good, that righteousness, what can be seen by the eye in the spirit world when it comes to that good and evil. Without the island, evil would be allowed to spread, and since it has no limits in terms of time and space, everything that has been or will be would be ultimately changed.
The protectors are those who take it within their heart to defend the light no matter what. They choose to, even if they believed it is forced upon them. Jacob chooses to drink from the cup, even though he is reluctant, just like Hurley. Jack is the least reluctant, rightfully believeing that protecting the island is his destiny. Hurley, like Jacob, takes it on reluctantly but, again, willingly. No one, not even Jacob, if forced into service for the island, which is a metaphor for good and righteousness. It is a choice, albeit a hard one and one that generates a multitude of problems for the person who takes on the responsibility.
Also, the fact that the island, and the light, can only be explained or thought of in very abstract terms also represents spiritual belief. No one on the island REALLY knows what it is or what the island is. The woman who raises Jacob and the Man in Black only knows that the light must be protected. She explains nothing else, only that if it goes out on the island it goes out everywhere else. Does she simply fail to divulge all that she knows or, rather, does she divulge all that she does know? I think what we learn is that for all of them, from the mother to Jacob to Locke to Jack to Hurley, it simply comes down to faith. They don't have all the answers. They don't know EXACTLY what they are protecting. They simply have faith that it must be protected.
They are pushing that button, like Desmond and Locke, because they BELIEVE they must.
The redemption comes in death, when all of their willingness to do for that cause, to take those leaps of faith, no matter how small or how great, ultimately lead them back together and on a path towards whatever concept of heaven you might have. Even their purgatory offers a level of redemption, as Sawyer gets to live life as a officer on the right side of the law, Kate professes her innocence to a crime she most assuredly committed in real life, Claire finds a family in the Shepards and gets to keep Aaron, Hurley becomes a man of extreme good luck, and Jack has a son.
In the end, in my opinion, they were rewarded for their committment to each other and their dedication to helping the island. It didn't come easy or painlessly, and it certainly didn't come without doubts or missteps, but it did come and, for that, they were carried over into the afterlife together.
As a fan, I came to a conclusion a while back about LOST: I could enjoy this show and the entertainment it brings, or I could nitpick it to death, demand it meet my expectations, demand it answer my questions, and allow those high (and ultimately unfullfillable) expectations ruin the whole situation.
In reality, how many shows do you get to enjoy for a full six years? How many continue to fascinate and challenge you? How many ask that you be more than just an audience, but an almost active participant in the story?
Why ruin that with some laundry list of what the show SHOULD do or SHOULD be? It was what it was, and that is pretty darn good and pretty darn amazing.
When people talk about disappointing endings for highly popular dramas, the first mentioned is always The Sopranos. Count me in the category of those who felt cheated by The Sopranos last scene.
Why? Am I being hypocritical in my love for LOST and criticism for Sopranos?
Nope. Here's why. First, LOST has been a consistently wonderful show, whereas The Sopranos had been mediocre at best for two seasons before the final year. There was a sense, in my mind, that the final season, and final episode, had to "save" the final part of the story for me. That wasn't the case for LOST.
Second, and most importantly, LOST did NOTHING in the final episode that deviated from the series in any way. Each season of LOST ended with questions, so why not end the series entirely with questions remaining? The series revolved around fans conjuring up their own interpretation of what was happening. The series ended as it started. The series delivered what it always had delivered.
The Sopranos? That show wasn't built on cliffhangers or questions about this or that, it was built on character development and mafia family narrative. Creating a scenario where Tony Soprano might be killed and then leaving that question unanswered was, in my mind, the ultimately cop-out. There was no need to end it that way. The only reasoning behind it was that Chase didn't want to completely answer whether Tony Soprano is killed or not, yet the show never hinged on that question. It was manufactured and then left unanswered.
In thinking about LOST, what I truly appreciate about the final episode is this: for so long, fans like myself believed that the attraction to the show was the unanswered questions and the cliff hangers. What is the island? Is everyone already dead? Who is Jacob? Who is the smoke monster? That is what made the show so unique and so fascinating.
However, what the final episode showed me, and I think a lot of fans, is that what really kept us coming back were the characters. Last night was about the characters we have gotten to know for six years finding redemption. It was about their ability to find each other and, in that, find peace and even love. By the end, I cared more about what was happening at that concert, and who would have the awakoning next, than I did whether Jack could save the island or not. That's because, by the end, I wanted to see this group together and happy. I wanted these characters to be together in a way that was impossible on that island. What, exactly, the island was, the light, the reasoning behind killing evil Locke, was secondary suddenly because something bigger was happening. I was realizing for the first time that I actually cared, really cared, about a group of fictional characters.
Maybe that is the true legacy of LOST. That it was so well done, so well crafted, it allowed the fans of the show to discover something about themselves theye didn't even know. Like Jack and Locke and Kate and Sawyer, the fans realized that, while they believed they loved this show for its sci-fi elements and constant twists, what we all really loved were the people. And, in the end, when Jack walks out into that Church, what matters isn't what the island is or what the light is, it is the people he befriended and came to love.
Well done, LOST, well done.

Sunday night

You ever feel absolutely shocked on a Sunday night that Monday is just a few hours away? As if it is utterly impossible that life would actually demand you that thing you did last week all over again?
I feel like that tonight.
Stupidly, I set up assignments for the morning and afternoon tomorrow, meaning I can't call out because, if I didn't have those things, I would be working on my best "sore throat" voice. Actually, at 32, I think I am going to start to pull out some different fake ailments to get me outta work when I absolutely have to head home. A guy in our office last week played the gout card. He is in his 50s, maybe even early 60s, so I don't know if I could pull that off, but maybe reoccuring migraines, or perhaps some sort of stomach condition, something where I don't have to resort to an 8-year-old coughing voice to call in.
I do think that, at some point this week, I am going to have to take some time, whether that be a full day off at the end of the week or a half day. I thought I was going to be able to make it to Memorial Day (that Monday off) but I don't think I can. I think I am going to have to take some time now.
Speaking of taking time, I watched the last episode of The Pacific tonight. If you're unfamilar, it is the HBO miniseries about the WWII battles in, well, the Pacific theater. Great series. Not as good as Band of Brothers but it might have actually been more powerful and certainly more somber.
Anyway, to my point: the last episode showed how all these guys came home and had a hard time adjusting. I can only imagine. You spend 3-4 years in combat, thinking you are going to die, watching friends get shot and killed, and killing as many of the enemy as possible. Then, within a few months of all of that, you are home and looking to get a job at the local factory? Wow, can't imagine.
But, I can't help but think to myself, whenever I watch these types of shows, of how these experiences are terrible but also noble and refining in a way. I have a hard time because in no way do I find war exciting or needed, but I do believe that there is a maturation that comes from that experience that is probably unattainable in any other circumstances. I think it probably gives you a purpose, a confidence, and a desire to live life more fully and truly because you have faced down death.
It also seems to leave a lot of nightmares in its wake, so I don't think I would like to go and join any time soon (and you only grow and mature if you actually survive).
However, there is no question these men who served did something grander than anything I ever have, and that has to be worthwhile in some way, right?

Its good to have goals

So far, this blog is going at about the same pace as my John Rook life-rehab project — hardly moving.

It is difficult when you have a job and you feel sapped of energy everyday at 5 p.m. It is also hard to know exactly how to begin. What is that first paragraph of the book of the rest of your life suppose to say?

I guess, in my case, it is the constant desire to have desire. Actually, I should correct that: I have desire, I just don't have motivation. My desire stays bottled up, ready to burst out, but never seemingly finding the right crease from which to begin the escape.

I have to get something moving now, though, right? Okay, my set goal is for June 18. That's a Friday. The goal: lose 15 pounds (daunting, yes, but doeable), go on at least one date with someone, and write at least three columns/short stories to be sent out. I have more than a month to accomplish these tasks. That should be enough time, right?