Day 18 - Comedy As A Crutch

For most of my life, I've been the "funny guy". Mostly observational humour, but always quick with the wit, and graced with a good sense of timing that most people neglect to hone. This developed very early on in my life, as I was picked on in school for various reasons. I wasn't a fat kid, I was actually into sports and remained fairly active. I was a bookworm, was taller than most of my classmates, and was a year (or more) younger than all of them. Quite a dastardly combination for a child. For the lack of a better term, I was a "nerd". I used to go to school early to fiddle around on those newfangled Apple II computers, stay late to hang out in the library, and after I'd finished my homework it was time for video games. Uh, yeah. Nerd alert.

So obviously I was the target for much ridicule in my younger years, and my defense mechanism seemed to be self-depricating humour. If they'd verbally bash me, I'd simply agree with what they had to say and move along. They eventually would tire of it and do the same. Looking back, this may have been a bit of a detriment to my self-esteem, but what can you do? This quickly developed into a very dry and witty observational style of humour, a good mix of Canadian and British influence. By the time the childhood ridicule had subsided, I had become a full-fledged "funny guy".

As grade school, and then high school, faded into memory, could I maintain the same "funny guy" status with new groups of friends? Oh yeah, I was a seasoned pro. Problem being, I was forcing myself to mix in some of that self-deprication again, because my weight was starting to creep in the wrong direction. I would draw attention to my obvious physical shortcomings, perhaps in hopes of putting the group or individual at ease about how "comfortable" I was with my appearance. Of course, the opposite was true. I couldn't stand how I looked, and no matter how often I reminded myself of it, I would never stop to think about how to improve it. Just hit up another party, gathering, or event, and be entertaining, usually at my own expense.

Soon, I was the "funny fat guy". Not necessarily doing the "funny fat guy" routine, you know, wearing clothes that are a few sizes too small, spastic bursts of high energy followed by fits of wheezing, falling over furniture, that sort of thing. I stuck to what I knew (although I think I've fallen over my share of furniture), in an attempt to give the impression that I was a jolly person, a large man with a hearty laugh. In reality, though, I was miserable, and it can be directly related to the size I had achieved. When I had an audience I'd instantly be "on", but when the dust settled, there was no way to cheer up the clown. It took some time, but I realized it didn't have to be this way. I was disguising my true feelings, concealing myself behind a cloak of silliness and laughter.

I was definitely born to entertain. Be it performing music in the studio or on stage, entertaining an audience with stories, jokes and quick wit, or writing and publishing my life's struggles and successes for the world to peruse, I aim to please. The difference now is that I'm not using it as front for my own lack of self-esteem. I entertain because I am able to, and it now compliments my perspective on life, rather than masking it. For the first time in a long time, I now feel I can truly be myself without the emotional discomfort that once accompanied being myself.

Day 17 - Appreciating A Time Of Transition

It is on days like this where I'm reminded how enjoyable life truly can be. A crisp fall day greeted me on the morning of Day 17. That first breath of the slightly chilled fresh air delivered a pleasant burn into my lungs, jolting me fully awake and placing a smile on my face. Autumn invokes many conflicting emotions from people, it's a very misunderstood season. Some take it as a sign of dread for the winter months that are guaranteed to follow. The preparations made to your majestic lawn for it's transformation into snow-covered tundra, winterizing all those items that need winterizing, and the anticipation of dusting off the shovel or snowthrower for another season. For me, the passage from summer to winter is quite enjoyable, as there is so much to enjoy for these few months of transition. The fall brings TV premieres, warm sweaters, and nature walks with my wife (sans-mosquito repellent). It also brings hockey, of the professional and recreational variety, and though I do very much enjoy watching, I can't wait to lace them up and get out there myself.

Playing hockey was a giant boost for my activity and fitness levels over the past few years, and I plan on continuing for this coming winter. Sadly, resigning from my job of 9 years this past spring has left me without a team, but all is not lost. A friend of mine has invited me to join his recreational league at a fraction of the cost, and with consistent game times. I spent many seasons having to play games after 11pm on a weeknight, which made for a very long day to follow. But, I also did have the good fortune of learning many things from competing with highly skilled, truly patient, and hugely accommodating players over the years. I'm now looking to physically get myself back into shape where I'll once again be able to put their teachings into practice. At least to the best of my abilities. That's all they ever asked of me, and hopefully my new teammates will be just as understanding and helpful. So, along with a weekly game or two, once the weather allows for the outdoor rinks to open, I'll be able to vary my cardio workouts even more. It's much easier to get exercise and be active when you're having fun doing it.

The weather was still chilled, but very pleasant when I arrived home. My wife had suggested we head out for a brisk walk before I had to leave for the evening's recoding session. We lightly bundled ourselves and set off. The range of colours to be viewed on an autumn day on the Prairies is truly something to behold. As we made our way through one of the largest urban forests in North America, time seemed to stand still. A group of deer were grazing a few meters from us, and they weren't bothered in the least by our intrusion, it seemed as if they had stopped to pose. A gentle breeze would stir the little piles of leaves scattered amongst the grass, creating a symphony of scratching and rustling that would cause the birds in the overhanging trees to nervously hop from branch to branch, in hopes of obtaining a better vantage point to observe the commotion. We arrived back home after an hour, both in agreement that this mini-adventure should be a regular occurrence until the snow arrived. I then headed out to a wonderful night in the recording studio, and it was an enjoyable experience as always. Everything seemed to go very smoothly, and I left already anticipating my next visit.

By the time I'd arrived back home I was ready to relax a little bit. After a little couch time and having prepared my food for the following day, I went to bed, again a little earlier than the night before. I'm weaning myself off of my customary "late nights" very slowly, and I'm already seeing vast improvements with my energy levels during the day. So, no formal workout for Day 17, but our walk had left me feeling very satisfied. It's amazing what can be experienced if you take a little time to enjoy some of life's little pleasures (and I'm not talking about food).

Day 16 - Weighing Less Just Comes With The Territory

I had my eyes squarely set on the prize at the end of the journey, and could have very well been on my way to derailment and disappointment once again. "Just break it down to the basics. There's no need to stress about this, it'll only make it more difficult than it has to be. Take a breath and think about it.", I told myself, this time with confidence and conviction. I gained a little today? Likely a little water retention from not working out the night before, a normal fluctuation. I'm going to rely less on the scale and more on how I feel. The scale provides valuable information about how my body works and adapts, but a slight increase or decrease in weight will not send me into a tizzy. I've constructed a statement that not only summarizes my plan, but will inspire me to continue beyond my "goal weight".

My only goals are fitness and good health.
Weighing less just comes with the territory.

I feel completely rejuvenated with this new outlook. I had previously mentioned that, early during my initial push from 312, I just woke up one day feeling the need for change. This day felt eerily similar in that my focus is now true and unforced. It's as if a switch has been flipped and it all has become clear. Instead of forcing myself to abstain from the foods I crave, they simply are not as interesting as they once had been. I can feel the icy grip of my food addiction loosening from around my neck. Though it's grasp may never fully leave, I've been given a small amount of breath with which to organize my once obstructed thoughts. Now that mind and body have attained unity, there is no limit to what I could accomplish, and it has put a spring in my step.

My wife and I ambitiously set out for a bike ride in the early evening. It was chilly, but clear, and we didn't want to miss out on what could be one of the final pleasant days for the coming months. After the ride, I settled in for some rehearsal time as the recording session is fast approaching. Much more focused than the previous evening, I'm feeling fully prepared. I closed out the day with a vigorous workout (40:00/2.0miles/15° incline, 200/30/30), and felt fantastic afterwards. Exhausted, but triumphant. I headed up to bed feeling very pleased, and somewhat relieved. I had been trying far too hard to just lose the weight and it was mentally stressing me out. The changes have been made, and the weight will take care of itself. I will look back on Day 16 with great fondness. Some people wait a lifetime for a revelation of this magnitude. It was the day when I truly understood that being healthy and fit has no finish line, it's a permanent part of my life.

Day 15 - A Good Day Goes Wrong...For No Reason

Two weeks in, and my situation was going well. Down 2.4 pounds from last week, and down 6.4 from the beginning. On pace and on track, though I felt mentally clouded. I didn't think much of it. There was no reason to be anything but positive, so I figured whatever it was would iron itself out.

I arrived home from work still in a sort of haze. "Perhaps it's the weather", I thought to myself, as I peered out the window to observe the overcast skies that had lingered for the duration of the day. Dreary, damp, dark, chilly. The weather was indeed reflecting my mood, but was it influencing me? No time to worry about that, I had a busy night ahead. I assembled a delicious supper meal, a sort of "pita pizza". Whole wheat pita, diced tomatoes with spices (essentially a bruschetta topping), mushrooms, red peppers and jalapenos, topped with two thin pieces of cheese. I put that bad boy in the toaster oven until the pita was crispy. Outstanding. Tasty food is normally a guaranteed "pick-me-up", but even that couldn't bust me out of my funk. There I sat, mindlessly flipping through channels as though the answer would magically be broadcast across the airwaves at that precise moment. My wife arrived home and I leaped to my feet to greet her. I opened the door, locked her in an embrace, and instantly felt better. She's a guaranteed emotional restorative for me.

Feeling energized I headed to my office. I've got a full night ahead of me, putting the finishing touches on my preparations for an upcoming recording session. As a true passion of mine, writing and playing music is a wonderful stress release, so I approached it with a positive mindset, trusting that it would bring my body and mind back into harmony. The songwriter was initially going come over to rehearse, but I thought to save him the trip by recording my parts at home and sending them his way for instant review and amendments. Technology certainly is astounding. After he sent the first revision back, I was stressed. I had absolutely no reason to feel that way, being fully capable of providing the changes he'd requested, but my mind just seemed to be unfocused and flooded. Over the next while, we exchanged ideas and thoughts via e-mails, but I was feeling worse by the minute. He's a good friend of mine, so I called him up to discuss the latest group of revisions, to take a break from the undue pressure I seemed to be putting on myself, and to just say "hi". The impersonal nature of our electronic conversations were becoming too much to bear, and in hindsight, I probably should have had him come over. We had a good long talk, I hadn't spoken with him over the phone for a while, and we shared a few good laughs mixed in with analysis of the music and of my current mental state. I couldn't come up with a definitive reason as to "why", I just knew I wasn't feeling well emotionally. I decided to call it a night, and I was looking forward to spending a little time in front of the TV before hitting the workout routine. That usually makes me feel better.

After we watched about 30min of TV, I just couldn't be moved off that couch. Feeling as glum as ever, I wasn't motivated to workout. With my wife snoozing on my shoulder, there I sat, blankly staring as the light emanating from the TV bounced across the walls of the living room and illuminated my face from time to time. I saw the shapes and heard the sounds being transmitted, but my mind wasn't registering them as entertaining or informative. It was time to rest my weary head. I gently brushed the hair from her face which caused her to stir ever so slightly. "Time for bed.", I told her with a smile. We headed to bed much earlier than normal, and though I hadn't physically worked out, I felt completely drained. Perhaps the late nights from the weekend past were catching up with me. Here's hoping that a solid night of rest brings a much healthier, energized and motivated tomorrow.

Day 12, 13 & 14 - A Blast From The Past

The morning of Day 12 arrived far too quickly. Unfocused and slightly bewildered, I head out the door. Why must I deprive myself of sleep in the endless pursuit of fun? The evening before, I had told myself it was so "worth it". I've since grown hours older and wiser. I now know that I had meant, "It was fun, but tomorrow I'm going to pay dearly." Nothing in this world seems to come without a price, so there's no room for protest when the bill arrives. Just pay up and move on. I promise myself an early night on Day 12, but I apparently am not only a glutton for food, but for punishment as well.

The evening of Day 12 looked to be a quiet one. I'd planned to play some cards for a little while, then head home to bed. Shortly before leaving, I received a message from someone that I hadn't seen in far too long. He was visiting from Ottawa for the weekend, and was looking to meet up. It sounded innocent enough. After the card game had ended, I headed out to a local speakeasy to convene with him. I entered to see a gathering of friends from years gone by. A small scale high school reunion had erupted. The planets aligned in our favour that night, as we had people from all over just happen to be visiting at that moment. Someone from Thompson had come in for the weekend, and another from Korea had just arrived back home for the week. Others would be moving away to the West coast within the month. A chance meeting for all involved, and we waxed nostalgic well into the wee hours. My stomach hurt from laughing so intensely, and I was smiling so much that my cheeks ached. Just a fantastic night for all of us. As I drove my friend home we agreed to head out for a lunch date the following day. An uninterrupted sleep awaited me. No alarm to be set, no wake up call required. It was time to rest easy.

Sleeping in is such a treat. The mornings when I'm not being jolted awake by the nattering of an absurdly generic morning radio personality is one of the simple pleasures of life that I truly do appreciate. I rose on my own terms on Day 13, and not long after I headed out for an early lunch. We ate at one my favourite places, dining on one of my favourite dishes. Mongolian stir-fry. Thankfully, it's a delicious, nutritious and generally light meal. We spent most of our time rehashing the events of the evening prior, the memorable as well as the not so much. Having had our fill, I dropped him off, unsure of the next time we would be crossing paths, but very glad we had an abbreviated, but thorough visit.

Having not seen these old friends for such a long while really created an appreciation for the short time we had to relive our pasts. Though it ended as quickly as it had begun, we all had a fantastic time, and it truly felt genuine. We instantly fell into our old routines, and it soon felt as if we hadn't missed a beat. All the inside jokes were still valid, all the little catch phrases still fresh in our minds, as though the sight of each other had rekindled a part of our youths we thought had long expired. Words can't fully describe the joy I felt that evening, and it really inspired me on my journey even more. Someone even told me I looked younger than the last time they saw me, which was likely 8 years before. Whether we keep in touch, or fall back to our regular routines, it's comforting to know that the friendships we had formed so long ago can remain as solid as ever. Time will neither age nor tarnish our memories, they will only make them more enjoyable to reflect on the next time we meet.

Day 14 was quite uneventful; groceries, fill up the car, not too exciting. The weather started out as exceptional, and looked as though a bike ride could take place, but turned soggy by the time all of the errands had been run. The workout routine for the weekend was sporadic, but good (30min/1.5mi/15° incline, 200/30/30). No improvements yet, but I will look to change up the treadmill program shortly. My weight seemed to have been hovering over the weekend, but I hope that the coming week will be marked with another jump in the right direction, maybe even a peek into the 240's. I find it sort of sad to be looking forward to the 240's again, not long ago it was a sign that I was expanding, but it has now been relegated to a benchmark of loss. Unlike those recently revisited teenage memories, once the 250's are a part of my past, I will not be fondly looking back on them.

Day 11 - Temptation, Submission, Restraint, Reality, and Sleep (or the lack thereof)

The scale treated me to good news this morning, still slowly fighting my way to the 240's. Small goals contained within one large voyage. But as I've stated, this documentation of my personal quest will contain all the glorious highs, combined with the miserable lows. Today's chapter will primarily contain the latter.

Let's just skip right to the evening. I had finished visiting with some friends that I hadn't seen in far too long, and the time was around 10:15. My brain and body both told me it was time to go home, bedtime was fast approaching and I still had to hit the mat and treadmill. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option, as I had another engagement to attend. A few old bandmates were performing with their new group tonight, and there was no way I was going to miss the show. I headed over to catch up with another close friend before we walked over to the venue. Sitting down on his now disheveled and tattered couch, many memories came flooding back of past festivities, overindulgence, and general mayhem. We reminisced about the days gone by, he with his beer and I with my water. Temptation. He offers a drink of Southern Comfort. I initially refuse, and we have a brief, but thorough conversation. Submission. I subsequently tip one back. It tastes fantastic, and I don't feel too bad about having it. Restraint. Satisfied with that, we head to the show. Throughout the evening, we discussed many facets of why I haven't been successful with the weight loss issue in the past, and changes I've made to help ensure that this time is the last. Reality. It seems very much an impossible mission to completely eliminate all temptations. So instead of pushing, fighting, and hiding from them, I'm learning to embrace temptation, and with it, moderation.

My primary dilemma with Day 11 was the fact that it bled into Day 12. Since ramping up the amount of physical activity, I'd been in bed at or before 11:30 every night. That's still quite late, but is nothing compared to the lack of sleep I burdened myself with in the past. Late nights were almost mandatory, there's just too much information to be had out there, and I wanted it all. News, books, music, movies, games, research, into the wee hours...and then I would wonder why I felt so awful the following morning. Since I had begun the regular workout routine, my body hadn't allowed me to stay up very late at all, and that had become a problem on the night of Day 11. The main attraction hit the stage as Day 12 began, and I was thoroughly entertained. It was great to finally see them playing on stage again. After catching up with the guys and the many familiar faces in the crowd after the show, Day 12 was already well underway, and I could barely keep my eyes open, still trying to conclude Day 11. We walked back, I hopped in my car, and made my way home. As I pulled into the driveway, I peeked down at the radio to catch a glimpse of the illuminated display staring back at me. The small LED arrays had positioned themselves in a manner that I hadn't seen for some time. They combined their efforts to form "1:47am". Oh boy.

The pillow is soft, and the bed is warm. I snuggle up to my wife, it's good to be home. Sleep.

Day 10 - Motivation From The Past, Present, And Future

Wow, Day 10. Into the double digits. Hopped on the scale to see a little more progress, looks like it wasn't such a bad idea to get some rest after all. I felt much better than on Day 9, completely refreshed and ready to roll, and actually looking forward to the evening's workout.

Motivation can come from many places. A person, a song, a story. Introducing Dr. Dean Schrader, my naturopath. He was instrumental in educating and pushing me during my last big weight loss push. When I came to him initially, I was a mess on all fronts. Addicted to sugars, chronically overeating, depressed. He took what seemed like endless amounts of time to just listen. Not only would he listen, he always seemed to have the answers I needed to hear. Even when I arrived for a session having lapsed in the eating or exercise department, he would always be positive about the progress, the big picture. He taught me about feeding my body, how to treat food as fuel, not as entertainment. How the food I was craving was designed to leave me wanting more. The science behind snack foods was quite alarming, and instead of just saying "Don't eat chips.", he explained why I shouldn't eat them, and what made me want to eat them. I found it much easier to control the addiction when I understood how it grabbed a hold of me. As my weight continued to drop, I arrived at a point where I started to see him less and less. I eventually stopped seeing him altogether, I thought I could handle it on my own. That's around the time I started to introduce those foods that he had educated and warned me about. Soon enough I had packed on the pounds again. You may ask yourself, "Why didn't you just go back and talk to him?". Very good question, but the answer is quite ludicrous. I was embarrassed. Ashamed. I didn't want him to see me like this again. It was even tougher to accept this time over the last, because I was so much more knowledgeable, but still didn't have the strength to go it alone. I should really give him a call soon.

And before that, there was another weight loss movement, completely centered around physical activity. My Mom, brother, and myself hired a personal trainer to try and get us whipped into shape. Quite the motivator, Brian Herosian took on the responsibility of whipping us into shape. When I visited him for the first time, I tipped his scale at 300. He was so great at getting me fired up to be active. The last thing I wanted to do was dissappoint him, so I'd always arrive completely pumped and leave utterly wiped. He welcomed us as a part of his family, utterly engrossed in our well-being, he wanted nothing more than to have us succeed. But again, I slowly started to decline my attendance, thinking I would be able to continue on my own. That was the intent, anyway. The weight crept back on, I stopped being active, and WHAM! Back to the old me. I should have gone back to see him, but again was completely mortified by my appearance. Pretzel logic, isn't it?

Taking all the teachings from these life experiences and now applying them to everyday life has shown that I have to be my biggest motivator. I've got a different attitude towards losing weight and being healthy this time around. It just feels better, different, more official. The weather on Day 10 was simply stunning, so my wife and I went for a 90min bike ride to the Fort Whyte Centre, which is a free-roaming wildlife conservatory, spread over 400 acres. Just beautiful at this time of year. After that, we came home to rest and relax for the evening, taking in a flick with a friend, but I still had an urge to hit the treadmill. Climbed that hill again, and finished with some 1min sprints (40min/2.0miles, 200/30/30). All in all a fantastic day, filled with many reminders as to why I continue to do this. An evening enjoying the great outdoors with my lovely wife, fond memories of inspirational mentors that became my friends, rest, relaxation, and activity. Life sure is grand, and becoming moreso by the day.

Day 9 - Dealing With "Why?" and Too Much Too Soon

The mornings prior were normally met with what can best be described as a "good ache". The feeling that my muscles had been worked over, but were revitalized. Day 9 begins with fatigue, the first time I've really felt tired since I started. Sore, down to the bone. Step on the scale, not much progress, but still in the right direction. Ugh. I shuffle out the door, bleary-eyed and feeling tenderized. I come up with a new short-term goal during the morning commute, "This coming weekend I will not gain weight.". I had seemed to have accepted the increased Monday mass as an unavoidable occurrence, but I now don't believe that is the case.

I had a sort of self-pity attitude milling around me, not rendering me unhappy or depressed, just a kind of "Why me?" question constantly pecking at the back of my head. "Why can I not eat what I want?", "Why is that person able to eat all the tasty foods while I'm stuck with a salad?", "Why do I have to bust my butt every day to lose weight, while some people don't workout and never gain a pound?". The answers were simple. I did eat what I wanted for many years, and I ate lots of it. So much so, that I had put myself in a position where my health was in jeopardy because of it. That person over there eating that gooey cinnamon bun for breakfast may have a very active lifestyle that allows them to eat in that way. They also likely know what it's like to feel full, but sadly I don't have that luxury. I could stuff myself breathless, only to be snooping around the pantry and refrigerator an hour later. Comparing my own situation to others is unfair. Making daily, even hourly, adjustments to suit my needs is crucial to finding the magic balance between the physical and emotional ties to food, eating, and exercise. So what if that person over there is eating a bacon cheeseburger, I've gotten myself into this situation, and it's time to get out of it. It is a constant, never-ending battle between want and need, only this time, need is the one that's conquering.

The evening of Day 9 was full of errands, running around, and a general need to get things done. My exhaustion only worsened as the evening grew late, and as we arrived home, I was completely spent. The guilt of not working out that night was quickly eradicated the moment I fell into the bed. Perhaps I had been pushing myself too hard and it was catching up with me. I was overcome by my own eagerness to propel myself to the limits. Hopefully the rest would do me good, as there's a lot more ground to cover, and it's not going to happen overnight. Though, sometimes I wish it would.

Day 8 - Six Steps Forward, Two Steps Back

I have been told that weighing myself on a daily basis isn't a good idea. To some, it can be akin to standing motionless and staring blankly as you wait for that first bubble in the pot of water you are attempting to boil. I personally find it interesting to see how my body will fluctuate from day to day, and it will be fascinating when this story has reached it's pinnacle, to be able to analyze my progress with precision. So onto the scale I stepped, a week to the day from the beginning of my quest, hoping that the weekend's exploits wouldn't hang a dark cloud over the start of Day 8.

I never did like Mondays all that much. It's not the standard "Somebody's got a case of the Mondays" type of thing. I enjoy my job, and I really don't mind getting up in the morning and heading there any one weekday over another. No, Monday usually meant that when I stepped on the scale, I'd see a higher number than I saw on Saturday. As sure as the sun would rise, that number would be higher, sometimes by a good 6-8 pounds in a matter of two days. That's some serious damage. This morning felt similar, but not quite as bad. Saturday was 6 pounds lighter than last Monday, meaning that the old me could have easily eradicated the week's efforts. I stepped on the scale and stared at the display as the numbers climbed. Saturday's benchmark shot by as quick as a blink, continuing upward, I expected the worst. It mellowed at 256.4, and I calculated the damage. Two pounds up from Saturday, and down four from the previous Monday. My initial expectations were to drop the weight at a slow, constant rate of 2-3 pounds per week, hopefully increasing the chances of it never returning. I gave myself a well-deserved, but cautious, pat on the back.

I had planned to take a few photographs of myself for the sake of comparison, but I kept delaying the inevitable. It was time to suck it up and get it over with. I've never really had the most self-esteem, for obvious reasons, and taking this series of photographs was an eye-opening experience. Most pictures are brutally unforgiving, but these photos told a story of someone that had truly lost control. Thankfully, they also painted a portrait of someone that had turned their life around for the better. (Perhaps when my voyage is complete I will share these "before" photos with the world, but for now, they will remain tucked away for my own motivation. Breathe easy, loyal reader.) My point to you is that, no matter what people tell you, how kind or cruel they may be, I've found it's generally about making the outside match the inside. These photos had shown me that my outer appearance didn't accurately reflect me as a person, and I was thrilled that the time for permanent change was underway.

Crisis is something that had always triggered an eating and drinking binge from me. Food and drink always seemed to comfort and numb any emotional pain that I may have been going through. "Seemed" is the operative word. The food never actually helped the problem, it would just temporarily divert my attention. The issues would normally resolve themselves after some thought, communication, and hard work. And after the dust settled, I had consumed thousands of calories doomed to sit at my ever-expanding waistline, compounding yet another looming disaster. But "The Case of the Expanding Pants" was never thought of as a crisis worth addressing. And if it was, it would ironically trigger a craving for, and subsequent eating of, "comfort food". Comfort food is something that had to be eliminated from my vocabulary. It's again comparable to a drug. Just a little of this and a little of that would make me feel SO much better. No, it didn't. It made me feel good temporarily, but I needed to keep feeding that addiction to keep that "high" going. It's a sad cycle that is very difficult to control because these comfort foods are so easily accessible. Soon that "high" was completely gone, and I was depressed and still eating terribly, trying to attain happiness through consumption. I had to convince myself that I was doing more harm than good with these foods that were intended to make me feel better, but were actually dragging me down emotionally and physically. I've learned to associate food with fueling and energizing my body. Snacking while watching TV seemed so commonplace, and I asked myself, "Was I hungry?". No, I was eating for recreational purposes.

On the evening of Day 8, I turned to the treadmill, not the popcorn bowl, to bring peace to my body and mind. Though my weight had increased, the general trend was still heading in the right direction, and that encouraged me to climb that hill once again, (1.5 miles/30min, 15° incline), and hit the mat (200/30/30). I imagined myself climbing to the tea house at Lake Louise, an accomplishment that seemed so distant but wasn't all that long ago. I was in the prime of my initial weight-loss kick, a trim 225. My wife and I made our annual trip to Lake Louise a memorable one by finally making the legendary trek up the mountain for some tea. A rugged 6km trail, 370m in elevation from bottom to top, all at 1700m above sea level. Not recommended for rookies, we struggled, clawed, and fought our way to victory. It nearly brought tears to my eyes for the sole reason that one year prior, at 295 pounds, I had made it precisely 20 steps up the first section before having to stop, wheezing and light-headed, to accept defeat. One of my proudest moments is now something I strive to replicate. The exception this time, is that the reward will simply be the accomplishment of this feat. The last time, we went for pizza.

Day 6 & 7 - Moderation Is A Dish Best Served Warm

I awoke on Day 6 knowing what awaited me. I hopped on the scale to see the best weigh-in of the week. Shortly, we were leaving on a trip to a place where delicious consumables know no end. It was my Father-In-Law's 70th birthday, so I knew in advance that there would be many foods available that I would usually thrust towards my gaping maw as if someone was going to take them from me. I knew what to expect, but I was thoroughly terrified. How will I handle myself? What did I do to deserve this torture? Will I revert back to the monster I once was? I comfort myself with the thoughts and teachings of someone who has lived through this before and failed. Me. The last time I had a big weight loss push, I was successful, albeit temporarily, and yearning for all the foods that I was depriving myself of. This yearning gave way to the inevitable "cheat day" that graces many diet plans.

The "cheat day", "free day", or even "treat meal". To someone that has put themselves on a strict diet, those are the sweetest words in existence. To me, however, those words signified the beginning of the end. This time around, I won't be indulging in such sinful activity. During the first attempt, I had completely deprived myself of the foods I craved, thinking I was doing myself a favour. In the long run, this backfired severely. Christmas came and went without me ingesting a single sweet. No rum and eggnog, no gingerbread, no cake, no cookies, not anything. I felt pretty darned good about myself. Then came the gallstone incident. After that, I was easily persuaded to try and incorporate those treats I'd been lacking in the form of "treat meal". One meal a week where I would have whatever I wanted. Started out harmless enough, then one meal became one day. One day became two. Two became three. Snowflake became blizzard. This time around, I'm going at it with a different attitude. I'm not fully depriving myself of that which I crave, but I am limiting the amount that I have. Early on, I already feel better than the first time. No headaches, no mood swings, generally much happier. But this day will be a true test. Mountains of mashed potatoes, copious amounts of cookies and cakes, stacks upon stacks of shortbread. Off we go.

My friend Brad is saddened but supportive of my endeavours. You see, he is the proprietor of our local baked goods boutique, so he won't be seeing too much of me in his shop for the coming months. We stopped in to pick up some sweet treats for the man of the day, and the old me would have picked up a dozen "Mini-Imperials" (two little shortbread cookies with jam in the middle and icing on top); six or so for the 45min drive, and the remainder when we arrived. Not this time. I did have one, and I took my time with it. I used to have a "pack" mentality toward food. Eat lots, and eat fast. Taking the time to savour this solitary, bite-size cookie taught me a valuable lesson. Food tastes just as good when you take your time. Another customary stop on the way to the In-Laws' is for a Slurpee. Usually an unspoken and unconscious decision, but not today. I had a giant bottle of water to sip on. As we arrived I avoided making eye-contact with the cookie jar or candy dishes. I could instantly locate a Scotch mint or macaroon in that house while blindfolded. As I slowly raised my line of sight to meet their saccharine gaze, I realized that I didn't desire a sugary treat. The thought of all the sweat and effort put forth the past week had really put a damper on my desire for a quick sugar fix. That, and I could still taste the cookie from nearly an hour ago.

All facets of the birthday supper were available in seemingly limitless quantities, but I did not stuff myself to bursting. Moderation is a beautiful thing, and I seemed to be understanding that more by the second. I'd had mashed potatoes, breaded chicken, bread stuffing, and boiled veggies, and I felt somewhat satiated. My body was telling me to hit everything up for another round. Time to kick the brain into action. I crossed my cutlery on the plate and gingerly pushed it away from me. "I'm done", I told myself, quite matter-of-fact. It wasn't an easy task, but it is a satisfying moment. Same goes for dessert. I had a small portion, my body told me it wanted more, my mind then took charge and I excused myself from the table. I did it. I allowed some indulgence without allowing it to control me. However, I was unable to perform any of my physical training. I'd have to make up for it tomorrow.

Day 7. I was out of my regular routine and unable to weigh myself, but it wasn't a big deal, I don't miss it. After spending the evening on a very firm mattress, I was ready to head home. Shuffling to the kitchen, I found that my Mother-In-Law had already made breakfast. Her famous "scrambled eggs". Please note the quotation marks around those words. These aren't scrambled eggs in the conventional sense of "eggs that have been scrambled". Oh no. It's a customary Mennonite dish, and it likens itself more to "scrambled pancakes". "It's too early to be dealing with this.", I thought to myself. But I had better get used to it. Again, I would normally eat the entire pan myself. I showed some restraint, but to be honest, it wasn't a proud moment. I went for seconds, and regretted it shortly afterward. This is what happens in real life, folks. There will be lapses, I am human, and though this story is meant to be inspirational, it will also document the setbacks in all of their grotesque splendor. Feeling pretty negative about myself at this point, we headed home.

The weather was absolute perfection for this time of year. Autumn is one of my favourite seasons, though it always seems to leave as quickly as it has begun. Knowing we must take advantage, my wife and I decided to head out for a bike ride. I'm not sure how much ground we covered, but we hit a wide variety of trails ranging from paved to gravel to backwoods over the course of the next 90 minutes. Intense, hard-pedaling, and superb fun with my lovely wife; really feeling great about myself again. We got home fairly spent, that was a fierce ride. As we settled in for a quiet evening, I knew I still had some exercises to catch up on. I was completely exhausted from the ride, but after about 30 minutes, I felt the need to hop on the treadmill. My wife thought I'd completely lost it, but the dough fiesta from the morning still weighed heavily on my mind. Instead of a run, however, I changed it to a steep climb. I went 1.5 miles in 25:00 on a 15° incline. Finished that, and dropped in a heap on the mat. Somehow, I powered through my mat workout (200/30/30), and once again was feeling pretty darned good, but ready for a well-earned sit. After a brief, but relaxing, couch session, it was time to turn in for the night.

Lots of highs and lows peppered my weekend, large strides were made, mentally and physically, and I feel much better equipped to handle the adversity as it comes. Let it be known that I survived the first weekend Slurpee-free, and I'm not ashamed to say that I ate what I wanted. Just not as much of it.

Day 5 - The Weekend Begins and Late Night Phantasmagoria

Friday. If I had to choose a day over any other, I may choose Friday. Sure you've got to go to work, but usually the people there are at their happiest. Regardless of season, Friday brings a sort of emotional inebriation that is highly contagious and briskly distributed. You may now be asking yourself, "What about Saturday?", and to that, I give you this. Long lines and lack of service at your local home improvement depot, yard work in the stifling summer heat, fixing that leaky faucet that's costing you 4 litres of water per day, finishing the deck before the snow hits, shoulder to shoulder crowds at the big discount store, and screaming kids throwing tantrums as their parent(s) try on clothes that are two sizes too small. Don't get me wrong, my Saturday's can also consist of beautiful long walks, bike rides, and general tomfoolery, but you get the idea. That could be the summary of the average person's Saturday, and I'm sure you have experienced one or more of those mind-numbing incidents on a Saturday afternoon. But we're talking about Friday, here. The scale was once again kind to me this morning, still heading in the right direction, and it has me feeling good. Though I realize that by weighing myself on a daily basis, I'm setting myself up for a bit of a let down in the future. The plateau is coming, but I'm ready for it this time. My weight has been known to fluctuate quite a lot over a short period of time, especially over the weekend.

Ah the weekend. Contrary to my previous statements, I really do enjoy it. Most of those negative situations are easily avoided, anyway, but how could I call my story "entertaining" without some entertainment? Each Friday brings so many possibilities for adventure and enjoyment, but up to now it would likely involve me quaffing ungodly amounts of gin with my friends. Alcohol has been major player my life, and I've had to exorcise many personal demons because of it. In my earlier years I would definitely state that my use was habitual, easily explained away by the fact that I was young, inexperienced, and rather dim. As I've grown older and wiser, the gin was always something that remained a constant player, but it's volatile nature would sometimes remind me to cool it every so often. For this personal challenge, I'm cutting gin out completely. I would be foolish to say that I'll never enjoy another ever again, but this is one of the components of my diet I will be much better off without for the months to come. Regardless of how focused and diligent I would have been with my eating and exercise during the week, by the time Friday rolled around and I've had 1 or 2 gin and juice beverages, it would be late in the evening and I'd be hungry again. Of course I'd be hungry. By this time during the week I'd be fast asleep, but it's Friday, I'm up late, and I want food. And of course, having my inhibitions lowered, I would succumb to my urges. Ruining all of my hard work in one moment of weakness. Not this time.

On the evening of Day 5, my wife, brother and I took in a concert. Afterwards, we all headed back to our house, where my brother had said he wouldn't mind coming in for a bit, and my wife was heading off to bed. My bro and I playing video games late into the evening is something I certainly cherish from our childhood together, and I'm very glad when we're able to get together and keep the legacy alive. He requests a stop at the local convenience store for supplies. This is again where I must show some restraint. Normally, our evenings together would require an over-saturation of sugar. It is an unspoken requirement that Slurpees are consumed at the very least, however, tonight I've got a different plan. So he emerges from the aluminum-framed, brazenly over-lit gates with his standard booty, but a lack of Slurpee is noticeable. I can only assume, as he is a man of very few words, that he didn't want to escalate the temptation for me in these early days of my quest. And I love him for it. As we get back home, I kiss my wife goodnight, and giddily head to the basement. Ah yes, my plan. I had yet to perform my daily training, so I looked to incorporate it into our video game evening. It worked out quite well, wireless controllers are just a fantastic innovation. Though I did have quite a surreal moment while bouncing around on the treadmill. And I'm not picking on my brother in this instance, it was just an uncanny moment. We were both playing games together, just like it always was, but it was as though I was watching MYSELF sitting on the couch ingesting these unearthly amounts of sugar. Almost a revelation within a revelation. Two huge "energy" drinks, a fistful of Bottle Caps candy, and icing-filled licorice, "They're called Livewire", he tells me. It really puts into perspective what it is I'm trying to accomplish. Not just to lose weight, but to change how I approach food, and food-shaped items. Everything that's being sold as "food" is not so much so, and I, as a problematic over-eater, have to recognize what is fuel for my body, and what is just flat out rubbish. I'm going Slurpee-free this weekend. Another step in the right direction.

Nothing monumental on the workout front for Day 5, (2.5miles/36:00, 200/30/30), an extra minute on the run isn't a big deal, I seemed to be sweating a lot more this time as it is. The first third of the weekend can be deemed a success, unfortunately there's two thirds yet to come. And the next segment will take place at my beloved In-Laws, where edibles are always in endless supply. What follows will be hopefully be a testament to portion control and pure will. "Have strength.", I tell myself.

Day 4 - Perogy Soup and An Uphill Struggle

It is yet another day on my road to recovery. Down 2 pounds, that's interesting. Won't get too excited though, one day of many yet to come, it's about the long term here. A substantial loss like that would have put me in a mindset of, "I can let up just a little today", but that attitude is long dead. The new me wants more, to push myself to the limits. Now that Day 4 is underway, what hazards and temptations could possibly await me?

Perogy Soup. It's exactly as good as you think it may be. Cream of potato soup, celery, onions, carrots, and a few perogies tossed in for good measure. These cafeteria workers are either guided by the hand of God, or the trident of the Devil. Not long ago, I'd have chosen the former, but today...today it is the latter. I snared the initial bouquet as I walked in to fill my water bottle for the morning. "Whew, something smells good." I thought that was an internal comment, in spite of the fact that it was met with an external response. "That's perogy soup. Hope you're hungry!" Was I ever. Not that I've been starving myself, far from it. It's just that food has this ability to make me desire it, even if I've stuffed myself to the limits. This is where I must fight temptation. I arrive back at my desk with the aroma still lodged squarely in my olfactory senses. There it remained for the hours to follow, slowing the clock to a snail's pace as lunchtime approached. 10:30. Come on. 10:31. I'm considering cryogenically freezing myself for 89 minutes at this point. No, have patience. I've determined if I don't have a bowl of that soup, I may actually die on the spot, so let's find a way to make it happen. Normally, I'd have one to accompany my sandwich for lunch, and then another at around 2:30pm for a "late dessert". Yes, it's true, soup for dessert. A compromise is struck. I will not deprive myself of what I crave, but I will control how much I have. Noontime arrives. I have half a bowl with one perogy in it. Please understand that I've reduced my usual intake for this item by 75%. Someday I will hopefully cease these intense cravings for what I know I should not have, but today is not the day. I feel quite good about having a little taste and leaving it at that. I'm actually proud of myself. To avoid having to go through the temptation all over again, I bring my afternoon snack to my desk, thereby eliminating the need to go to the cafeteria again later. Completely eliminating the foods you love may work for some, I've tried it before, and here I stand. Wiser, and satisfied with a small amount. Much better than being miserable and waiting to hit my "interim goal" so I can hammer back two bowls and have the wheels come off yet again. Not this time. Never again.

I got home feeling pretty good about my day. Usually I watch TV while running, but today I thought to try playing some Wii Sports. I do a quick warm up walk, pick up the pace, and start the match. It's making the time pass quite quickly, but I'm getting beat rather soundly. That and I'm really getting exhausted. "Come on, I'm not doing THAT much more work, just waving my arm around while running." I'm having trouble seeing the finer details on the screen that will usually give you the edge for victory, so after losing two matches, I switch to boxing. It's even harder. I actually had to walk for a little bit, I was getting so tired. Sweating up a storm, I couldn't figure out what was going on. "I guess I'm just working harder." I press on through the pain and start my trot once again. On to bowling. This is much easier to control while bouncing around, but I'm having a much harder time than yesterday's run. I look down at the time and notice a strange number out of the corner of my right eye. Five. "The number five isn't normally over there, is it?", I think to myself as I brush beads of sweat off my furrowed brow. "Oh. Oh my." When I do my warm up walk, I put the treadmill on an incline, and then when it's time to pick it up to more of a scuttle, I level it off. Not this time. I had been bustling up a 5° incline for nearly the entire 30 minutes. I figure that I was so excited to try some Wii Sports on the treadmill, I forgot to take care of the basics first. Nice.

I still finished with a better result than the day before, and I forsee my treadmill progress improving through next week, (2.5miles/35:00, 200 crunches, 30 push-ups, 25 dips). I may have found the limits for the "mat" portion of my daily training for the time being. By the time I'd finished my 2nd set of 100 crunches, I was really feeling it. I'll hang around the (200/30/30) mark until I'm not feeling pushed to the absolute brink.

This is already making a vast difference in my life. I'm more alert during the day, sleeping much better in the evenings, not craving those late-night snacks as much. It sure feels good, and soon I'll be presented with the toughest test yet. The weekend. The first weekend will present many more challenges than I've faced for this entire week. I know it's coming, and I can't do anything about it, except be prepared. Let's get through Day 5 and then attack the weekend.

Day 3 - Revelation, Inspiration, and Inner Demons

Day 3 began similarly to the few that have preceded it. Get up, get clean, step on scale. Still heading in the right direction. Every day seems to provide a new story to tell, and this day is no different.

Around 9am, my wife sends me an e-mail, entitled "Good Morning, or is it?", and my heart sank a little. She always seems to be afflicted with more aches and pains than the average person should be known to bear, and I assumed that she was again in her own personal agony. Poor girl. Well, I open the message, and I discover that she's feeling fine. Well, sort of. She had stepped on the scale shortly after I left for work, and was none too pleased with the number staring back at her. Another milestone was reached in our home, one that couldn't have come at a better time, at least in my opinion. It appears my own personal revelations, coupled with her new personal benchmark, have put her gears in motion. I finish the e-mail with a broad smile on my face. Actions apparently DO speak louder than words, and I'm completely pumped about it. Chest-puffed, shoulders back, standing proud. We're going to do this together, for both of us.

Let's go back a few days. While I was at the store buying my latest pair of pants, I stopped to chat with someone I hadn't seen in some time. All the while, I was holding said pants in my hands. Now I don't need to tell you that these pants were big. Big brown pants. I was fully participating in the conversation, but at the back of my mind was lingering doubts and pangs of self-consciousness. Without getting deep into an internal monologue here, I was analyzing if he noticed how much weight I'd packed on since our last encounter, how truly mammoth these pants were, and constantly checking his line of sight to see if he's taking a mental note of any of my physical features that may be offensive. Man-boobs come to mind. Moobs. I've got them, and it's not pleasant. They are perkier than most, not quite as womanly as some, but they are there, and I know it. He knows it. I also know that he could truly care less about my physical appearance at this moment, we're busy catching up on years gone by. But I still think about it. We part ways, exchange e-mails, all is well for the moment. Oh no. Someone else is approaching me with an outstretched hand and warm smile. What do I do? I could run, but that would only draw attention. Conversation initiated, no backing out now. Lather, rinse, repeat. "Hey, hey! I'm up here, buddy. Eyes forward."

Now that may seem a little extreme, but that's how my mind can work, and I doubt I'm the only one. I see it all the time. Larger people wearing larger clothes that still cling to every bump, curve and nook. Blousing out the bottom of your shirt every 5 minutes to get that fabric off of your skin, providing a split-second of relief from the self-consciousness stemming from being this monstrous. I know the feelings, they are some with which I am far too familiar.

The remainder of Day 3 was very pleasant indeed. Training went well, improving yet again over the previous days numbers (2miles/30:00, 150 crunches, 30 push-ups, 20 dips). I also stayed honest with myself and kept the eating under control. It truly is a daily struggle. Temptation is a foul beast with which I will forever battle. Each day, each moment, can be a skirmish unto itself, but it is the WAR with which I strive to emerge the victor. Day 3 is complete; well-fought and victorious I stand. But the challenges of Day 4 are mere hours away...

Day 2 - Pants And My Struggles With Them

The alarm didn't stand a chance. My wife had stirred at around 5:30am, and in my semi-conscious state, I determined that the wake-up call I had set for myself was no longer a priority. I bumped it ahead 30mins and went back to sleep. So much for being pumped to get this underway. As I awoke, the guilt set in. "What am I doing? Why must I cheat myself?" And then I realized that maybe, just maybe, this isn't that big of a deal. One morning out of hundreds more to come will not likely be the catalyst of my undoing for this, the final round of the ebb and flow that is my weight.

The lasagna is now a distant memory, heartburn subsided, ready to take on Day 2. The scale was kind to me this morning, especially considering the damage that could have been done. Down a few pounds from yesterday morning, and feeling OK. On go my pants, one leg at a time, just like anyone else, but there's a problem here. They're tight, and quite filth-ridden. My wife notifies me that my new pants are in the dryer. As I fill the tattered basket with all of our freshly laundered...laundry, I think about all of the unworn clothes that have hung in the closet for what feels like an eternity.

The vast majority of my current wardrobe was purchased back when the scale read 225. Back then I thought, "There's no way I'll ever let myself get bigger, so lets start replacing all of my 'big guy' clothes". This was against the sage-like advice of my wife, who had mentioned that I should hang on to the old stuff "just in case". At the time I thought she was being a little mean, but it turns out she knows me much better than I do. I usually had three to four pairs of pants on hand (a mix of denim, khaki, and dressy), and as I began to expand, the converse was happening to the choices of clothing available to me. One day, none of my jeans fit. "That's OK, the dress pants were a little bigger. Those will work until I drop the weight back down." Not long after, the dress pants weren't an option. "Oh well, the cargo pants used to need a belt to stay on, but now they fit just fine on their own." What the...? Shouldn't THAT be enough of a sign to smarten up? Of course not. I'll just head out and get a new pair of pants to hold me over until I fit back into the old ones. Just one. Within weeks, I would be known as "the guy in the grey pants", because they were the only pants that fit me, therefore, the only ones I would wear. Just this past weekend, I finally broke down and got another pair of pants to compliment the "grey big boy pants" I purchased so long ago as a temporary fix. Want to know something? Those big boy pants were getting a little tight, so I went up one more size for these new ones. This was one alarm I could no longer continue to set 30min ahead.

Day 2 was better than Day 1 in that, my intake was much more balanced. No gorging, great portion control, all that stuff. I even resisted an offer of a Slurpee during the day, one of my favourite treats that I'll gladly save for the weekend. On my way home from work, I stopped in at the store to get the final ingredients for my "egg-bake", my own classic concoction that is delicious, healthy, and light. Without getting into too much detail: eggs, dry whole wheat pasta, mushrooms, bell peppers, jalapeños, red onion, cottage cheese, Frank's Xtra Hot Sauce, Montréal Steak Spice, oregano, basil. The majority of the dish is the veggies, the pasta is added just for a little extra bulk. My wife had the ingenious idea to substitute the pasta with some hash browns, so I put a few of those in this time as well. When I finally got home I was a little hungry so I had a classic snack while I began the food prep for the egg-bake. Cheese on a bun. Likely something else I should cut out, but hey, we're on Day 2 here. Everything in moderation, I only had one. We had planned to take in a movie, but because this dish requires a lot of food preparation and bake time, we postponed the movie for Day 3. That's how important food is in our house.

I hit the treadmill at around 10pm. I felt much better than Day 1, having to take it down to a brisk walk every few minutes was a must, but I hammered through it. I wonder how long it will take to finally feel comfortable running again? Baby steps. Don't want to burn out. By the end, I had doubled my production from Day 1; 2miles/30min. (I wish the display had a Metric option, what the heck is a mile?) I then dropped to the mat to finish the day properly, by doing the little workout I'd missed this morning. I'm not looking to set any records here, just getting started. 100 crunches, 20 push-ups, and 20 tricep dips. I'm done, and now I don't feel so bad for sleeping in. Hit the couch for some light TV, and then off to bed. I make sure to turn off my 6:30 alarm in advance, there's got to be some re-tooling in that department. Another day done, and I now feel that this is officially underway. My brain has switched over to "determined", and I'll be damned if anyone's going stop me. Namely myself. Or those grey pants.

Day 1 - Mom's Lasagna is NOT an option

Sunday night (day before Day 1), my wife and I went to my parents' house for supper. My mother had prepared one of my most favourite childhood meals, meat lasagna. A few of her friends also joined us for the meal, and had made one of my most favourite desserts, lemon pie. Homemade pie crust and all. Now, I should have known going in to this feast that my belt would expand a notch. And it didn't bother me, I didn't think about it for a moment. Before Day 1, I had lost all concept of eating to fuel my body, and had fully resorted to eating because I had to fill myself. So I ate until I was content, but it never lasts. My mother knows me far too well, because as we were leaving for the evening, she presents me with a parting gift. She had baked me my own lasagna to take with me. It was a beautiful sight to behold, a dream almost. My very own "Mom's lasagna" to eat at my leisure! My family always acts with the best intentions in mind, and this may have been the greatest indirect wake-up call I could have hoped for.

The morning of Day 1, I stepped on the scale. I covered the majority of that incident in the Introduction, but I should touch on WHY I stepped on the scale. Throughout my re-weight gain period, I've stepped on the scale at least once a day. I believe it was intended to inspire me to stop the madness, but all it seemed to do was discourage and frustrate me. The old cliché of "I eat because I'm sad, and I'm sad because I eat" surely applied to me and my situation. When I saw 240, I thought "No biggie.", and didn't skip a beat. 250 was very heartbreaking, I think I went right to 7-11 for some Slurpee goodness. But, for some reason, seeing 260 again was truly maddening. I don't know why it took so long to realize that I was approaching maximum density, or why it took so long for me to officially put a stop to it. I guess what matters is that I DID realize it. Ironically enough, there was a program on TLC last night about morbidly obese people, and one person's story in particular hit me the hardest. His name escapes me at the moment, but he weighed 800, and got down to 190 in 10 years. Monumental, right? Inspirational? Absolutely! However, over the next 7 years he gained back enough weight to put him near 1000. That's when it REALLY hit me. There's no letting up on this. I'm in a very similar situation (though on a smaller scale), and all of his comments truly made me think. That could very well have been me. Our thought process towards the function of food was eerily similar, and reinforced why this needs to happen immediately.

Anyway, let's get to Day 1, shall we? Not a big deal, really. I usually don't have a problem eating properly through the day. I bring fresh fruits and veggies, and the cafeteria has (somewhat) healthy options, though I think I may start cooking at home more often. I DID, however, realize where my main issues are situated. Firstly, I tend to snack late into the evening. Secondly, I am extremely inactive. At my old job of 9 years, it was a sit-down type of thing, with quite a bit of walking to other departments and standing and such. Not at all physically demanding, but I'd log a lot of steps in a day. At my current job, I'm seated for nearly the entire day. I thought it would be great to finally be able to sit for the majority of my day, but it's not all it's cracked up to be, even for someone as lazy as me.

So food intake for the day was fine until supper time. I got home around 4:30 and decided to eat supper early. That lasagna was in the fridge, so why not? Again, I must preface this next segment with some back story. I'm not much of a beef eater. Not vegetarian (though I'm pretty close), just kind of lost interest in beef during my first big weight loss push. A few weeks back, I had my friend Pat come over to help with plumbing issues. As payment, he only required burgers and beer (what a pal), and I joined in for a burger. Chicken and turkey burgers are very rarely accepted as a form of currency, so I served classic beef burgers. Shortly after the feast was over, I felt winded, tight in the chest. Perhaps just being out of shape was a factor, but this felt different. "Could be the beef", I thought to myself. After the lasagna meal at my parents' I felt similarly lousy, but not so bad. After the second lasagna day in a row, however, it wasn't so good. Heartburn, trouble breathing, general exhaustion. I didn't overeat or anything, just enough. I'm going to send the lasagna to my brother, he'll put it to good use. Myself, I'm back to chicken and turkey. We'll see how things improve after removing the beef from my intake list again. But, for this meal, I had two helpings of Mom's lasagna. Isn't this supposed to be Day 1 of the NEW me?

I've determined that I should do two light workouts a day, morning and night, to help balance my gross physical inactivity throughout the day. So my first workout was to be on the evening of Day 1. I made it 15 minutes and 1 mile into my walk/run before nearly vomiting. It doesn't take very long to fall horribly out of shape. Not that I was really IN shape recently. For the half-marathon (I had originally signed up for the full marathon, but cut it down just before the day), I was barely fit enough to participate. I had severely slacked on my training through the spring, and it showed. I've tended to perform most tasks in this manner, cramming as much as possible before the big test, staying up all night writing charts for a gig or recording session the following day, but this is not something you can "cram" for. I finished the run in 2:40 (about a 12min 15sec mile), which actually is quite a good time for someone of my size and (lack of) ability. I was unable to walk for 36-48 hours afterward, and got a horrible chest infection that lasted 10 days. I learned my lesson. Don't "cram" for physical challenges, it will not end well.

In the most recent case, however, I'll have to blame lasagna, not completely, but at least 51% at fault. 5 hours after my final lasagna banquet, there was still rampant heartburn and general unpleasantness arising from my insides. Completely skipping the additional calisthenics I had planned to accompany the "run", I flopped on the couch, defeated, if only for the moment. Up to bed I trudged, setting my alarm for 6:30am. Tomorrow is the day that this will truly begin, though my body tells me that it's already fully underway.

An Introduction

260. Just a number, yes. But when I stared down at the scale this morning, that's the number that stared back at me. I hadn't seen that number in about 18 months, and the last time I did, I had felt a sense of accomplishment, of pride. Today this number signifies terror, sadness, and disappointment.

Let's preface this with a story...
Not too long ago, the number displayed on that little LCD window was 312. One morning, not unlike this morning, I decided I'd had enough. Enough shopping around from store to store trying to find pants to fit me. Enough wearing baggy jerseys and muumuu-esque shirts to attempt to cover and hide my girth. "No more.", I said. Something in my brain just fired up, telling me it was time to change. So I did. I immediately changed the way I approached food and became a more active person. The first few weeks were absolutely horrendous, the cravings and headaches, my body yearned for junk food and sugar. My loving wife stood by helpless as I deteriorated into a sobbing infant that wanted nothing more than a taste of Dr.Pepper Slurpee. But I stuck to my guns, and with great discipline and will power, overcame my addiction, or so I thought. Life was good. Better than it had ever been. The years of self-inflicted abuse and sloth-like inactivity were becoming a distant memory, melting off of me like a delicious ice-cream cone in the hot summer sun. I was walking, then jogging, then even running. I had laced up the skates and started playing hockey again. In matter of 8 months I had dropped a staggering 87 pounds and felt as though I could climb the Matterhorn. Then came the pain.

Indescribable, blinding pain. Right side, under my ribs. Never before had I felt a pain so intense, so acute, so fierce. Let's back up a few minutes. After having lost all that weight, I felt I was ready to sample a food I had deprived my body of for so long. I deserved it. A reward. Cheese. I had been restricting myself to veggies, fruits, and lean proteins for so long, a simple 100g piece of New Bothwell Cheddar Cheese was the equivalent of a steak dinner at that moment. Before the taste of that Manitoba medium-aged had even begun to wane from my palette, the pain struck. Welling up inside me like a firey torrent from the depths of Hell, it knocked me to my knees, and then to the floor. For what felt like an eternity, it lasted for 60 mins. Each second was excruciating. Without drawing out this dramatic tale, I'll cut right to the chase. It was my gall bladder.

Because I had been depriving myself of all fats (not a good idea), my gall bladder was as inactive and sloth-like as I was not too long before. This led to the bile that was being stored to crystallize and form gall stones. This was fine and dandy until the cheese I treated myself to kicked the gall bladder into action, out of it's previously comatose state. Imagine, if you will, passing thousands of miniscule glass shards through a highly sensitive duct no larger than the eye of a needle. The pain of kidney stones actually pale in comparison because the ducts they pass through are larger, and those are still akin to pissing out porcupine quills. I don't remember how many attacks I had over the course of the next two weeks, but to summarize, I took a natural route to recovery instead of having the gall bladder removed. My wife had hers removed and she didn't recommend it too highly. So rather than spend days in a hospital bed, I drank olive oil and lemon juice and spent days on the toilet.

Skipping ahead to being fully recovered, I began treating myself to the foods that I had deprived myself of more often. Now that the pains had subsided, I felt the need to taste these foods again. And again and again. Heck, I was 225 and almost at my goal weight, as if I didn't deserve it! When I had to buy a new pair of pants because I'd gained 10 pounds, it was no big deal. I'll just cut back on the treats. My shirts aren't fitting anymore, must be shrinking in the wash. Nope. You're getting fat again, champ. I signed up (in January) to run a half marathon in June to kick start my butt back into shape. I still managed to run the race and finish while weighing around 240. That was three months ago.

Back when I had my initial push to start losing the weight, I realized how difficult this truly is. Going into the lunchroom at work became the most horrible experience, and was one that was repeated at least 3 times a day, everyday. As I go to retrieve my fruit and veggies from the fridge, someone's heating up their snack or lunch. Pizza, fries, fried chicken, pasta. No big deal, right? Imagine being addicted to something much more maligned and socially unacceptable; cigarettes, alcohol, heroin, cocaine. Now imagine again, that you had to pass through a room a minimum of three times a day, filled with people enjoying that which you cannot have. Even going so far as OFFERING you a smoke, drink, or hit. That's what it's like being a food addict. However, most other addictions have the distinct advantage of not being essential to existence, and can be avoided if need be. You can go through a lifetime having never smoked, drank, snorted, or shot up. But you have to eat. Back to the top of the page we go.

260. Just a number, yes. But when I stared down at the scale this morning, that's the number that stared back at me. Today this number signifies strength, determination, and will power. It's also the last time I'll ever see that number again.