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Taking The Stairs

“Any manual labor I’ve done was purely by mistake” – J. Buffett

You may have noticed the subtitle of this blog is “… and taking the stairs.”  And you may have said to yourself, “Huh?”  Pardon me for being oblique.

By way of explanation, I should tell you I’ve always been physically lazy.  I don’t like to sweat a lot … and as a native Floridian that presents challenges.  Sometimes I can get away with appearing “restful” and “at peace with a slower pace of life,” but it’s really just a big streak of lazy.

I’ve forced myself to do exercise in the past – back in 2002/03 I was running 12 or 15 miles a week, and I was pretty proud of that.  I did a little high school athletics, and I’ve spent enough time in gyms to be familiar with proper techniques and which machine does what.  But – and I don’t think I’m alone in this – I never liked much of it.  Don’t get me wrong, I always liked having done it, once I was iced and showered, but the actual doing?  That was never fun.

Also, exercise hurts.  I “ran through” shin splints until I learned exactly where and for how long to use ice after a run.  I put up with lower back pain from nearly every exercise I’ve ever attempted.  I limped through hip-pain and ankle pain and foot pain and knee pain.  And there was a certain camaraderie I enjoyed sharing with other exercisers (I won’t call us athletes) while we complained about exercise-specific discomforts.

Eventually my sedentary nature always combined with pain (and a genuine concern about every minute of my day being scheduled and sometimes double-scheduled) and helped phase exercise off my calendar.

Yet here I am facing the inconvenient reality that I won’t live as long as I want if I don’t find a way to build exercise into my day – every day.  Being ever-pragmatic, I ask myself, “How can I maximize exercise opportunities in my day-to-day without committing to contrived ‘exercise’ … yet?”

Lucky for me, I work on the second floor, and I make many trips a day to the first floor and back.  I’ve spent a lot of time in the elevator in the past, but no more.  I’m informed by this handy calculator that I can burn around fifty calories a day, five days a week by just taking the stairs every trip.

What about walking?  Can I build in more covert exercise by parking farther away from my destinations?  Why, yes, yes, I can.  Let’s say I add an extra 10 minutes of fairly brisk walking to my workday (and I can) by choosing parking spaces farther from my destination.  That’s 450 calories a week.

I’m told that a pound of fat equals about 3,500 calories, which means taking only the stairs every work day and building in some extra walking should help me drop an additional pound every five weeks.

That’s too good a deal to pass up.

At some point in the near future I’m going to have to make time for “contrived” exercise.  For now – for today – I’ll count this new commitment to “taking the stairs” as a victory.

I want to add here that NOT taking the stairs – the American suburban obsession with convenience – is almost certainly one of the reasons we’re trending toward obesity as a nation.  In places where the existing infrastructure makes it too costly or just plain impossible to install an elevator, you have to take the stairs.  So you’re used to taking the stairs and it’s never an issue.  Parking our cars in our driveways and garages creates the same conundrum – most of us don’t even half to walk down the block to start the car, and we don’t have to take more than twenty or thirty (level, air-conditioned) steps to bring the groceries into the house.  Don’t get me wrong, I like convenience.  But it’s packing the pounds into our collective national midsection.

Yes, What This Guy Wrote:

I’ve just read this article by Chris Powell at Huffington Post.  He sums up a good overall plan for weight loss.  I’ve got part one down cold, part two in concept, if not entirely in action … and I haven’t even started on part three this time around.  I’ll get to it – because I know I must – but I have to tell you (and many of you will quietly agree) I find exercise for the sake of exercise exceedingly frustrating.  But, yes, Powell is correct.  Losing weight – permanently – requires more exercise than I’m likely to get in my daily routine as a suburban American dude.

Go read Powell.  I’ll catch up with you tomorrow with some thoughts on “passive” exercise, and how I trick myself into exercise that doesn’t look or feel like exercise.

The Insidious Nature of Lemonade

Anybody remember Eddie Murphy’s impersonation of Elvis singing about lemonade? “Lemonade, that cool refreshing drink …”

Yeah. It IS cool. And refreshing. And insidiously subversive.

Allow me to ‘splain: As I’ve mentioned previously, I don’t drink sugary or diet sodas. I DO drink a lot of seltzer/club soda, because I love the “burn and bite” of carbonation. But every now and then I need some, you know, FLAVOR. So some time back I started asking for club soda with a splash of lemonade. And over time that’s become half-club-soda, half-lemonade. And THAT, in turn, has become my default restaurant beverage. And it tastes so good. SO good.

On a hot day (this is Florida, you know) I can put away three or four big glasses of the stuff without thinking about it. To the tune of (and I’m estimating conservatively here) 2-300 calories. Entirely disposable, useless, yet cool and refreshing, calories.

So. Lemonade, my cool, refreshing, insidiously hateful old friend, it’s me or you. And I’m not going anywhere, so this is where you exit gracefully. And take that sugar packet with you.

Things That Would Be Easier If I Were Independently Wealthy

Yes, I know money doesn’t solve everything, but if I were crazy-rich, the following things, at a minimum, would be easier:

– Eating a healthy, yet tasty and fulfilling diet. Because I’d have, you know, a staff of personal chefs.
– Exercising. Because I’d feel better about taking off three hours in the middle of the day.
– Transportation. Because I’d get a driver instead of spending my own time behind the wheel.

Stalled

It was bound to happen. My run of consecutive weeks losing at least one pound has stalled. Two weeks in a row at 271.

My first inclination, having claimed and lost this ground many times over, is to look for something I ate at some point during the week that slowed me down. I did have two pralines Wednesday night. I did eat more than I knew I needed several times during the week. I did clean the (white flour) pasta bowl at Venice Cafe last night.

But it really wasn’t any one thing (although that pasta sauce last night was salty – tasty – enough to throw off the weigh-in). It was lack of focus. I was feeling my oats a bit after so many consecutive “losing” weeks and ate too much too many times over the course of the week. Time to focus. Eat intentionally.

Back on track for next week. Why am I eating? Half the plat is clean. Am I still honestly hungry or do I just want to chew more food? What’s the alternative to the white-flour pasta on the menu?

I’m still ahead of schedule, if you’re counting: Eleven weeks, sixteen pounds.

Social Eating

The two things that are most difficult to manage (for me) in the weight-loss process are the internal voice that says, “hey, you’ve had a hard day, reward yourself with a third or fourth helping,” and interaction with other people.  Which is why actually LOSING weight is so hard to do.  Because not only do I LIKE to interact with other people, it’s kind of necessary professionally.

I should be clear that when I say “other people” I don’t mean my lovely wife, who is completely supportive and “gets” the process.  What I mean is, for instance, when I sit down to eat lunch with colleagues and it’s somebody’s birthday, there will inevitably be cake.  Moist, tasty cake with delicious buttercream icing.  I politely decline, but people don’t like to take no for an answer when they offer you a slice of birthday cake.  I have to nearly argue to avoid eating a slice of cake.

It’s darn-near impossible to explain to well-meaning friends who say things like, “oh, it’s just one slice, and you’re doing so well, you deserve it,” that I have no problem meaning it when I say no to the first slice, but that after that first slice all I’ll be able to think about is MORE SLICES OF CAKE for the next several hours.  And then my stomach will hurt and I’ll be annoyed with myself and all the “no’s” I’ve said will have been for nothing.

That’s just not a fun conversation to have.  And it makes the person with whom I have it feel guilty and awkward for having brought it up.  I’ve been on both sides of this one over the years.

Maybe we could all learn that it’s not an implied insult when someone says, “no thanks,” when you offer them food.  We’ll avoid some uncomfortable conversations if we do.

Setting a Proper Tone

As serious as I am about fixing my weight, I haven’t talked much about the process (or my progress) to friends and colleagues, if at all. Why?

Two reasons: First, there are few things more pathetic than a grown man “on a diet.” I don’t want anyone misreading me and thinking I am. I’m not “on a diet.” I’m making permanent changes to the way I think about and consume food and drink. Which is easier to talk about (convincingly) once those changes are firmly in effect.

Second, I don’t want the people around me to be uncomfortable eating or talking about food around me, and that’s exactly what happens when someone starts talking about their weight-loss measures. It nearly always comes across as preachy, no matter how it’s intended.

I don’t want to preach to friends, family, colleagues – anyone – about health and wellness. I DO want to talk/write about it, which is why I publish this blog. I like thinking about the process, the strategy. And my thinking is best done with a keyboard.

So this is my disclaimer: If you’re reading this and you think I’m preaching to you or lecturing you about your lifestyle, you’re wrong. This blog isn’t about you. It’s about me taking some really obvious steps to living longer and happier than I will if I keep lugging around the equivalent of a supermodel with every step. If you read something here that helps you live healthier and happier that’s a bonus. But I’m writing to help keep ME away from the “Hot Donuts Now” at Krispy Kreme, not you.

Ten Weeks, Sixteen Pounds

271. That’s where I was this past Friday, May 20. A little more than ten weeks after getting started. My years of starting and stopping this journey tell me the first few pounds are tough, and that was true through March this time as well.

I also know once the snowball starts rolling downhill there will be some easy weeks. Accordingly,in April seven, eight pounds melted right off. Since then I’ve been on a pound-a-week pace. Which is exactly what I’m looking for. Only 64 weeks to go.

Did I forget to tell you about the overall goal? Yeah, I intend to drop 80 pounds. By, roughly, my 45th birthday.

Of course, LOSING twenty-eight percent of my starting body weight – more than a quarter of my pre-Lenten self – is the easy part. Not gaining it back … that’s the tricky part. But we’ll cross that rickety mental suspension bridge when we get there.

You know what makes the biggest difference? Eating intentionally: Do I really NEED to clean my plate? No. I just want to.

Can I get whole-wheat pasta at that restaurant? No? How ’bout we eat somewhere else then?

I’d like to tell you I always make the right decision when the bread bowl comes by my place at the table, but there’s no point in lying. The scales, they never lie to me, so I’ll be passing along the unvarnished truth to you.

The really good news is that even with backsliding – the things I eat that I know will put the brakes on my downhill ride – I’m still ahead of schedule. Which means when I hit the first plateau I have that trick up my sleeve.

You’ve Missed A Lot. Read This to Catch Up.

287. That’s where this started.

Or 290. Or back in the 260’s. Once or twice at about 250. Several times around 245 or so, lots of times in the 220’s. But this time at 287.

I’m talking about pounds. On my belly. And my butt. My chin(s), etc.

I was a skinny kid … and then I turned 10. I’ve been carrying a belly around since then. That’s made it hard to fit a lot of clothes I’d like to wear. And hard to feel good about going to the beach or the pool. Since I was about eighteen (25 short years ago) I’ve played at a variety of “diets” and “exercise programs” and done A LOT of reading about how excess weight finds its way to the human body, how it impacts life and the best ways to banish it. In my twenties I had some success eating a nearly-no-fat diet for a short time. Then I decided I missed flavor and the pounds miraculously found me again.

My 2002 New-Year’s Resolution was to make whatever lifestyle changes I neeeded to lose 60 pounds. I was 286 that New Year’s Day, and by the summer of 2003 I was consistently weighing-in at around 220. I called that good enough – and it was. My cholesterol was good, clothes I wanted to fit did and I didn’t think twice about hitting the pool.

I was also single and childless … which meant that even after fifty hours of work a week and many more hours of volunteer work I still had plenty of time left for the gym and for running. Then I met the lovely and brilliant woman who would eventually (and inexplicably) agree to marry me. I cut my workout time way back. In 2005 she gave birth to our first child. And I gained every pound of baby weight she did. And then when our second daughter was born in 2007 I did the same thing. And that, dear reader, is more or less the story of how I found myself at nearly 290 pounds at Christmas of 2010.

—-

A little before Christmas I decided to give up diet soda and fast-food. I’ve become convinced any “food” or drink that has a long list of ingredients I (as a reasonably well-educated middle-aged man) can’t pronounce can’t possibly be good for me. I’d been drinking prodigious quantities of Diet Coke for decades (haven’t been a regular soda drinker since about 1991), and while I don’t necessarily believe every email I read about how Aspartame is killing me, I can’t say – with a straight face – that it’s GOOD for me in any way. Why fast-food? Come on. None of us really believe it’s smart to eat those tasty, tasty Big Macs.

You know what though? I didn’t lose a pound. Gained a couple, as a matter of fact. I thought about going back to both, particularly Diet Coke. I LOVED Diet Coke.

But the reality that my pants with the 44-inch waist were too tight really pissed me off. And an inconvenient fact started moving closer to the front of my mind: I know a lot of men in their eighties. None of them are fat. Which told me (and reminds me) if I want to live another forty-plus years (and I do – I LIKE my kids and my wife) I have to get serious about this belly.

I started by giving up sweets for Lent. So on the morning of Ash Wednesday, March 9, 2011, I weighed-in at 287 ponds and walked away from sweets. Over the space of a couple of weeks I made a few other changes to what I eat, consistent with things I’ve read over the years that make sense and haven’t been repudiated by further study.

For several weeks, very little happened. Then I started to see changes every Friday (I weigh myself every Friday morning). And now I’m encouraged. I’m going forward.

And you get to read all about it right here.

Congratulations.