The "S" in Summertime is for "Sweating"

At least, this used to always be the case for me.

Confession #1: I hate to sweat! It's really uncomfortable, especially for a neat freak like myself.

Confession #2: I've never revealed this, but my discomfort from sweating is actually one of the major factors for why I claim to hate summer so much. It really is my least favorite season.

So, you see, many years ago when I was a wee lad, I got a summer job working in the produce section of a high-end supermarket in the upper east side of Manhattan. To walk there from the subway, however, took 20 minutes -- part of which was uphill. That summer was also one of the hottest on record. And at that time I still lived at home with my grandmother, which meant no AC whatsoever to come home to after a hard day at work.

I think you get the picture.

David 2.0 -- The Bulkening

Back in December of 2004 I weighed 230 lbs. I had always been a skinny kid in life, staying that way up to and straight through college. The genes were in my family, after all. But then I started working for a living, and that 9-5 lifestyle wreaked havoc on my eating habits. From 1998 to the end of 2004 I had really let myself go.

Then, inevitably, I had a health scare in early 2005 at the age of 28, and completely changed my life around. I was dead serious about it all, too, as chronicled here on the Bimillennial Man in this 5-part series. Many of you already know the story. I lost a total of 62 lbs by September of that same year, weighing in at 168! A weight I had not been since my early years in college.

Recently a family member thought it wise to attempt to school me in proper protein intake. See, I now weigh 188 lbs. But it's not what you think! That there is 20 lbs of muscle I've put on--and relatively recently! As in the past 2 years, recent. And the way I did it was by lots of carefully planned exercises, and of course by properly monitoring my nutritional intake. Key among this was keeping track of my protein intake. I changed my diet for possibly the fifth time in as many years (it's a constantly evolving/revolving engagement, eating healthy) and really made sure I was getting a lot of protein the healthy way. Protein that would fuel those workouts of mine.

You be the judge of the results I achieved (click on the pics for larger versions):

168 pounds, versus ...

... 188 pounds. Fight!

The first pic was taken back in October 2005 when I was only 29; while the one at the waterfall was nearly 8 years later at age 36 (almost 37), taken this past July. Now, even though I am 20 lbs heavier in that second pic -- do I look it? Do I look like I let myself go? No. And yet, I'm 188 lbs there. How? And could I get bigger? The short answer to the last is: no. See, I wasn't trying to bulk up. I didn't want to look like a roid head, or even a bodybuilder or bouncer. No, all I wanted was a lean, healthy look. A slim but powerful build, if you will. I valued running and other aerobic exercises more, after all, than just lifting weights like most guys are obsessed with. But yet, I couldn't deny the health benefits of having more muscle than fat on one's body. The cardiovascular benefits alone were worth it. But in my case, it also provided for a faster metabolism and more efficient sugar absorption by my cells.

And it worked! My blood results when I see the doctor don't lie! But this family member decided to tell me that taking too much protein is not good for you. I told her that I monitor my levels very closely with both a calorie tracker and nutritional index app on my phone, which I use to log every single meal I eat during the day and break down the numbers for me. I know the formula by which a man translates his body weight into the total grams of protein he should be ingesting while keeping to a regular workout routine. I know all these things, and have been taking care of my body for 8 years now.

So when people like my well-meaning family member try to give me advice on something I already know a lot about, and have been doing for years, I say: thanks, but no thanks. I got this. You do you, and I'll do me. I've been my own best advocate for as long as I can remember.

How about you? Do you have any well intentioned nosy bodies in your family? You love them, don't ya? But sometimes you just wish they'd mind their beeswax, amirite?

That Time I Dreamed Of Talking Flowers . . .

©2010-2011 Karin Charlotte

Over at the Economic Disconnect, my good buddy GYSC waxes nostalgic about the joys of taking prescribed painkillers, and cautions why it's perhaps not the best time to perform even basic automotive maintenance while under their, er, spell. In the comments section, I mentioned I have my own cautionary tale to tell--which coincidentally also came about from being prescribed painkillers after surviving a sometimes harrowing, though rudimentary, dental procedure.

It was late January, 2007. I was 30 years old and going in for my first major surgical procedure of my life. Fortunately, it was a routine wisdom tooth extraction. Unfortunately, I had opted to get all 4 removed at once! Pretty much since the age of 12 onward I would experience periodic and quite painful gum swelling at the rear of my mouth, just behind the last molars. One time, even, a small space opened up and got infected back there. I needed penicillin that time, and oh how my pee smelled terrible for the next 2 weeks or so!

There was a brief time during and just after college when I had no medical or dental insurance, so I went a few years longer than I should have without regular checkups. But finally, just as I was starting to take all facets of my health more seriously as I entered my 30s, all this negligence caught up to me right quick! In 2006, I learned that some of my wisdom teeth had not come through the gumline completely, and that in fact one of them was actually impacted. A visit to the oral surgeon confirmed that I would need to have all my wisdom teeth removed at some point, and preferably sooner rather than later.

I agreed to the sooner option, and all at once. I hate when jobs are left incomplete, don't you? It's a pet peeve of mine. So I insisted on this. I also insisted that I not be put under, since this is a rule I live by until it becomes absolutely impossible to maintain. If there is an option, in other words, I will never agree to be put under. I simply cannot abide the thought of losing that kind of control even for a mere second, if I can help it.

For some reason, the surgeon didn't seem to think this would be a problem. I know some of you might be thinking I'm crazy right about now. But I actually have a VERY high pain threshold. And I figured that, plus the novacaine, would be enough for me.

And you know what? I was right! No shit.

Yes, I know you were expecting a different outcome. One filled with blood, curses, and prodigious amounts of screaming, right? Well, sorry to disappoint. The entire procedure, once the surgeon rolled up his sleeves and got to work, only lasted 25 minutes. It would have been faster, in fact, if not for the very last tooth getting caught around a nerve ending. The surgeon had to be more delicate with that situation, obviously, and ended up busting the tooth up into little pieces with a drill first, before gingerly removing each chunk by hand.

The entire time I barely felt a thing. I could feel the tug at my jaw as he wrenched each tooth out with those huge pliers, and the crunching sound that ensued was pretty awesome to my ears as well. But, honestly, I felt not even one moment of piecing pain. To this day, I have no idea what people go on about when they talk about the horror of getting wisdom teeth removed. Especially since so many opt to be put under and wouldn't remember the pain anyway. Go figure on that one.

Anyway, after all was said and done, I was given the drill (not literally) on how to keep rinsing out my mouth at home with slightly salted water, flushing the empty sockets out with this water pic type device, and taking my percocet pills on a regular schedule.

At first I didn't think I would even need the pills. The local hadn't worn off yet and, except for the huge wad of gauze inside my mouth, I felt perfectly fine.

And then I came home, and the anesthetic wore off!

Yeah, I felt true pain then. Enough for me to run for the pills. And oh how it hit me, that blasted percocet! At first I felt nothing. Then gradually over the course of a few minutes the pain began to subside. Pretty soon I was feeling fine. A little too fine, perhaps. Then I got sleepy, so I took a nap.

What happened next is too graphic and surreal for me to adequately describe here. My head was spinning, first off. And somehow that had me spiraling down, Alice In Wonderland-style, through the looking glass of a demented Tim Burton-esque experience. I was floating high, I was floating low. Angry colors assaulted me as if they were real, breathing people, and then the happy colors came and chased them away. I heard voices far and near, echoing as if through canyons.

And then the talking flowers showed up. They had a lot to tell me, the petaled folk. I can't say I remember exactly how the conversation went, but I know it was fairly deep. I was being told secrets of the universe I really should have tried harder to retain.

Anyway, next thing I knew I was waking up three hours later from what was supposed to only be a thirty-minute nap. The fuck?

But the last vestiges of that crazy dream was still there, floating around on a euphoric, rainbow-hued cloud in the back of my head. Quickly, before it all vanished, I ran to my PC and started cranking out the hasty outlines of a brand new short story. The concept was bizarre and unlike anything I had conceived up to that point, but already the effects of the drug-fueled dream were fading fast. I managed to get all the important bits down, and then I took another nap.

It wasn't long after that I switched from percocet to maximum strength Tylenol instead. Yes, it meant that I would have to deal with a little more pain . . . but at least my head stayed clear and free of talking plant matter. Honestly, the freaky dreams were cool in that they provided me with great writing material. But the vertigo and spinning rooms I could do without. I really don't know how people get addicted to this stuff, because it quite frankly scared the shit out me.

Anyway, once I could think clearly I sat down and started to type out the story proper. It turned into a pretty long story, in fact, and was very bizarre. Several critiques and revisions later, I had a final draft that I tried to shop around. It got rejected to hell and back again, and eventually I trunked the behemoth.

But this is what blogs are for: to dredge up old ghosts of stories past. If you would like to read the story that resulted from my brief brush with Rock 'n' Roll fun, click here to get to it. Alternatively, you can also find the story, titled "Ascending the Sending Road," by checking out my Unpublished Short Stories sidebar on the upper right-side portion of this blog.

Give it a read if you feel like it, and then come back here and leave comments. But don't feel obligated to. It's a lengthy read at over 30 pages long, so I'll understand if you take a pass.

And also, remember . . . DON'T DO DRUGS!!!

Weekend Update, Post Mortem

This blog post was to go up last night . . . but I completely dropped the ball. So, you get it a day late. Sorry.

You ever have one of those weekends where you have so much planned, but then so much other crap comes up that you get none of your original plans done? Yeah, that was me. Nothing bad, I must add, but I sure did get a lot of distractions to prevent me from doing what I wanted to do. Of primary suckitude was not getting to continue working on the novel. I had planned to bang out an additional chapter or two, but instead I ended up getting squat done. Oh well, I'm not too stressed about it. Work is coming along nicely on that, and I'm still ahead of the pace I had set a few months back. So, in the long run, I doubt this will be a major setback. As always, you can keep monitoring the word counter at the top of the page to see my progress. I'm about 20,000 words in right now, which I think is roughly 7 chapters or so. Nowhere near the end goal of 120,000 words, or course, but I'm not in a race.

Luckily, I did manage to get in my daily workouts. I almost didn't, because when I get majorly distracted by outside influences it can make it damn nigh impossible to find the motivation. But find it I did. For those wondering, I work out 6 days a week rain or shine. I really don't play around, and never really had a problem with motivation. My schedule is usually:

Mon. and Weds. -- weight training and 3 mile run (1 hour)
Sun., Tues. and Thurs. -- 4 mile run on treadmill with variable incline (35 mins)
Friday -- Rest day.
Saturday -- weight training and calisthenics (45 mins)

Saturday is always my big day since I workout with much heavier weights than I do during the week. So I was glad I forced myself to get that in this weekend. I always get cranky if I miss my Saturday workout.

Additionally, although many of you did not know this, I've been on a juice fast for the past 3 weeks. Yesterday was my last day. This was my first time undertaking such a thing, and I did it primarily as a cleanse. I had no intention of losing weight on it since I'm in very good shape as it is, but in the end I lost 6 pounds anyway. Wow. The "juice" I drank was nothing more than fresh fruits and vegetables put through the grinder. 100% natural, with nothing else added except some wheat grass and spirulina powder for an added energy boost. Still I'm extremely careful with my daily nutrition--I keep charts and everything! So I made it a point to make sure I got a more than adequate dose of protein, too, throughout the day. I'm very particular about my carbs to protein balance since I work out a lot and it's very important to me that I burn fat and build muscle at the same time.

So, yeah, after 3 weeks of eating like a vegetarian hooked up to a tube, I lost a bit of body fat and actually GAINED muscle mass. It's ridiculous, I tell ya! But I feel and look great. Today marks the start of real food, which my body had no problem adjusting to apparently. I guess because I'm still eating healthy anyway. I did have one lapse around a week back when my good buddy GYSC came to visit New York City for his first time. We watched the Jets vs. Pats game at a crazy little Irish pub in Hell's Kitchen, then I introduced him to good ol' NY pizza at this really cool spot I know nearby. But, see, I had already factored in at least one "cheat" day during this juice cleanse--and that happened to be it. So it was actually no big deal. I'm good at not guilt-tripping myself like that. It's how I've managed to keep in sound body and mind all these years. :)

So, at least that didn't get side-railed this weekend. What else?

Oh, yeah, I finished up playing Gears of War 3. You can read all about it in the "Now Playing" sidebar to the right of this page. And just in time for Batman: Arkham City to come out tomorrow! I will most likely pick the game up on Wednesday, however, and won't get around to playing it until this Friday. I have a busy week ahead of me, including catching up on some of the stuff I didn't get to do this weekend, like read and update my iPhone to the newly released iOS 5.0 update. That's going to take me a while to get through since it will erase everything on my phone and I need to make sure I do an adequate backup of all my settings and files first before I commit. Wish me luck!

So, that's all the news that's fit to print in my neck of the woods. How was your weekend?

Nyahhh . . . What's Up, Doc?

Had my annual checkup today. As some of you may recall, around 6 years ago I had a major health scare that had the beneficial effect of whipping me into the best shape I've ever been in my life. You can click this link to read the storied end result of all that hard work.

Anyway, ever since then I feel that my doctor has been expecting for the other shoe to drop. As if, like so many other people in my predicament, I would slip back into my old habits. But as I said to him once: he didn't know me very well. No, truth of the matter is, I completely changed my life around back in 2005. And you know what? I'm still kicking ass on the health front here in 2011!

My blood work came back today, and I'm proud to say that my numbers are still beyond impressive. My doc continues to be astounded by the results I consistently get in terms of blood glucose, blood pressure, and cholesterol--all of which came in at exceptional this time around. Even I was shocked by how good they were. He asked me what my secret was, because he's never seen anyone do what I've done. I told him it was simple: I'm psycho!

Haha, no I'm not. No, really I am.

No I'm not.

Okay, maybe just a tad. What I mean to say is: I'm really stubborn. You can call it a Virgo thing if you want, I don't care. The truth is that I just refuse to be a victim of my own laziness. If all that is required of me to accomplish something is to buckle down and work hard without fail, then I see it as the least I can do to achieve my goals in life. I'm very determined when it comes to getting what I want. And what I wanted more in life than anything back in 2005 was to never ever be dependent on meds. And, to kick this stupid disease in the ass and take its name. Which I did, and then some!

My doc says it really shouldn't be possible, to continue to go so many years with absolutely no medication and yet still keep the disease away with no recurrence. He said he hates using the word "cured", yet this is the only term that applies to my unique situation.

But I don't see why it's a surprise, at least to me. 6 years later, it's obvious I know what I'm doing. Working out six days a week and switching to a more natural and leaner diet has paid dividends. And to be honest, it really doesn't even feel like work anymore. It's just a part of my life now.

I used to always hear older people in the family talk about how important your health is. My grandmother was always telling me to take care of myself now, when I'm young, so that I don't end up paying for it later down the line.

Now, for once in my life, I can honestly say I understand what she meant. It's the best investment for the future you can make.

Oh don't you agree?

Back Into Training Mode . . .

Doc: "Faster, Little Mac. Ms. Liberty's watchin!"
Little Mac: "Dammit, Doc -- why'd you have
to buy our training gear at Lady Foot Locker?"

At least, that's what I call it. Now that the holidays are over and done with, and I must return back to the familiar drudgery of my normal work schedule, I'm also mentally shifting back into my super lean, mean, workout mode. I took a little less than 2 weeks off my usual fitness routine, but with all the revelry of Christmas and New Year's Eve behind us now, I can feel my body yearning for a return to discipline.

Yes, you heard me right. I actually *crave* routine, because like most of us I'm a creature of habit.

Unlike most people, however, my workouts are not borne out of guilt of sticking to calendar-based resolutions. I do not do this to look good for swimsuit season, nor to fit into that pair of jeans which has eluded me these past several months. No, I do this for health reasons just to be in great shape. Because I simply cannot abide a body that is not at top physical performance. That's my personal axe to grind with myself.

But, also, recently (over the past month and a half) I've been experimenting with a new diet. And by "diet" I do not intend the more modern misuse of the term, which is as a stand-in for a weight loss regimen. No, my weight is actually fine. Diet in my case simply means a meal course plan to supply my body with the nutrients it needs to survive on a daily basis. My previous diet was already pretty strict, thanks to my own devising. But recently I've begun to explore a new method of distributing calories evenly throughout the day, and not in infrequent lumps that can cause severe sugar spikes and dropoffs.

In other words, rather than eat 3 regular meals a day--and perhaps a late-evening snack when the mood strikes--I've switched to a plan of 6 smaller meals throughout the day and at regularly scheduled intervals. Each meal consists of 150 - 350 calories. None ever exceed more than 400. Each meal is also spaced between 2 and 3 hours apart, with no interval lasting beyond 4 hours.

My ideal intake is 170 calories for my "light" meals, and 320 calories for "normal" meals. In this case, light meals are healthy, high protein snacks in-between normal breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. Sometimes I eat less than these amounts. Sometimes I eat a little more. But in the end, I never exceed my total allotted calories for the day.

And, oh yes, I've resorted to keeping track of my calories. Not because I'm obsessive-compulsive about them (I'm really not), but all because of a cool calorie counter app I keep on my iPhone. Because of this baby, I've become hooked on the concept of keeping record of all that I eat. And there's a reason why this a good idea for everyone to do. When you're forced to log in every single amount of food you consume each day, and gradually get into the habit of studying the numbers and charts as each meal is broken down by nutritional value, you'd be surprised how much healthier you force yourself to eat.

For me, personally, it has resulted in cutting out far more fat and carbs than I thought I was already doing. Using the app, I learned that even my normal health-conscious meals needed to be revised. So nowadays I find myself consuming far more lean protein, and a lot less rice and breads.

What this new diet and mobile app has resulted in is a faster metabolism, one that burns calories more efficiently and yet supplies me with just the right amount of fuel to get through my daily workouts. These days, I can actually *feel* my metabolism at work. No, honestly I can. It's amazing.

And as a surprising side affect of this new way of eating, I've learned recently that over the past 7 weeks I've lost 11 pounds! Now, that might not sound like much to you, but realize that I was already at an ideal weight. The upper level of that ideal, sure, but within healthy BMI range all the same. I think what the more frequent meals and high protein approach has resulted in, however, is my body burning more fat despite no major alterations to my workouts. In this sense, the way I eat alone had a profound affect on the way my body stores calories. Somehow I'm getting fitter and leaner without really breaking a sweat.

Well, any more of a sweat than I usually break, I mean.

I'm not going to sit here and espouse a new weight loss secret, however. As someone who was once in a not very good place health-wise, I don't feel like it's my place to tell other people how to go about attaining the bodies they want. However, what I would suggest is that you give serious thought to keeping a calorie log through programs like the one I linked to above. That link might be for the mobile app, but the site the app is developed for -- Livestrong.com -- is available for PC users to login their results via any Internet connection.

Check it out for yourself and devise your own calorie plan. Like me, perhaps you'll decide to try for six smaller meals a day. Trust me, you'll be amazed by the results if you do. As for me, starting this first week of the new year I will return to my routine and continue to decrease my overall body fat percentage while increasing lean muscle mass. It was fun taking a short break from super lean, mean workout mode to relax some over the end-of-year break. . . but now I'm back with a vengeance!

Besides, I think I've eaten enough triple chocolate fudge brownies over the holidays to last me a whole 'nother year! :)

I'm Gonna Burn That Poison Right Outta My Skin . . .

Had a fun time with my best bud last night getting toasted on aged single malt whiskey, imported beers, and watching old Highlander episodes. Didn't finally get to bed until the sun rose and the birds were already chirping, and woke up only 5 hours later feeling a little dizzy and maybe just a tad hungover.

So what did I do?

Really, the only sensible thing someone should do in such a situation: I went for a 10k run! Oh yeah, did I mention it was 85 degrees out today, too?

Suffice to say, all that poison water got evaporated out of my tired body with the quickness! Wow, I never would've thought that strenuous cardio could clear one's head so quickly. Just minutes into my run I could feel the fog clearing away from my brain and those endorphins starting to pump. By the time I was through, I was wide awake and feeling in tip-top shape!

Hmm, have I discovered the perfect hangover cure? Well, maybe not. Obviously I wasn't falling down, pissing-my-pants drunk. I never would've been able to find my own feet let alone place them before each other in a rhythmic fashion conducive to running laps if I was. But for the mild buzz after a night of drinks? Yeah, maybe.

Now, I know how much most people hate running. Hey, I hate it too. Trust me. I'm definitely not a poster boy for the American runner, or whatever. But damn if it doesn't have all sorts of useful benefits. WOO-HOO!!!

Eating When Depressed?

I never understood this trend. I hear it's more common among women, though, which reveals interesting things about the difference in wiring between men and women. If in fact this is true, which I'm not sure it is.

Do most people, regardless of gender, overeat when they are sad or even depressed?

Now, I'd like to point out right away that -- no, I am not particularly depressed at this moment. I'm perfectly happy on this fine Thursday, in fact. Thanks for asking. But on the morning commute in to work, I started thinking of all the times I have been unhappy in my life, and what my eating habits were like during these moments. Lo and behold, I realized I do the complete opposite of most people. I tend to *under* eat, if anything.

See, food doesn't exactly release happy endorphins in me. I mean, I can enjoy a good meal and be happy in the consuming of it, but that's about all. I like food. I like it a lot, in fact. But for some reason I don't seek out my favorite feel-good snacks when I am down and blue. When I'm at my most troubled, I tend not to be able to taste food. I have no appetite. It's bland and uninteresting, which probably explains why I'm not a binge eater at these times.

I can only imagine how skinny and wasted I would be if I suffered from serious depression. Wow!

Also, I suspect this also explains why I don't have the usual reaction to stimulants as most people. Coffee doesn't keep me awake and tastes horrible to me; cigarettes are gross; and even alcohol doesn't make me happy the way it does other people. It's why I very rarely drink. Even the wine I drink is only one glass a day, if that. And only with meals, so it's more like a food enhancer in that respect.

I always wondered--with hard liquor in particular--what appeal these things have to people. Going out for drinks once in a blue moon is fun, don't get me wrong. But to actually seek the bottle out when you are sad or lonely? Never did quite understand that appeal. Alcohol has the effect of making me feel chilled and mellow, but in the end isn't really a state of being I just can't do without. I'm normally low-strung and relaxed to begin with, anyway.

So, do I not have an addictive personality? Or are these things severely overrated? I'd really like to hear your opinions on the matter of food and other consumables being euphoric enhancers. Are you the type to curl up on the couch with a gallon of cookie-dough ice-cream when you are feeling unloved or disconnected from the world? Or, like me, does this make you actually avoid food and drink?

Inquiring minds would like to know . . .

Seeing Is Not Believing

I just read the most interesting article in this month's issue of Scientific American concerning "blindsight," a phenomenon by which people suffering from a specific form of visual impairment can still "see" even though they are technically blind. And even though they themselves are not consciously aware that they are "seeing."

Say WHAT???

I know, that was my reaction also. But it's true! The phenomenon has been known and studied since the early 20th century, but only recently are scientists starting to take the claims seriously and have even come a long way in explaining the source of this singular condition.

People who display this ability have had some form of damage to the visual cortex in their brain. Meaning that their eyes are perfectly healthy, but that the region of the brain that processes what the eyes are seeing is either malfunctioning or not working at all. Yet, with varying degrees of accuracy, most cortically blind people are able to still navigate around objects placed in front of them, make out simple shapes, and even recognize facial expressions in others.

But, here's the kicker -- they don't realize they're doing this!

SciAm has a video up on their website which demonstrates a patient performing blindsight. Click on this link to get to the article, and then wait for the embedded video to load up. It's intriguing to say the least!

Reading the full article (which you can only get by subscribing), I started forming my own opinions on how this was possible. I thought it was telling that only people with damage to the VC would display this ability, while people blinded through direct physical or congenital damage to the actual eyes could not.

Turns out my rationale was leading me to right solution after all. By the end of the article, the author proposes that the visual signals being received by the still healthy eyes, but not being processed by the VC, is instead being processed by an older, less-evolved region in the midbrain called the superior colliculus (SC). In mammals, the SC is responsible for less refined functions of vision such as the movement of the eyes and basic object recognition for use in higher brain functions like the "fight or flight" instinct we all share. In other words, the portion of the visual signal that would normally go to the SC is still going there despite damage to the VC that would normally handle the finer processing of the information our eyes transmit to the brain. So while the VC might no longer be operating as normal, the SC is still doing its job.

Fascinating, huh?

And because the SC is used in the processing of mostly unconscious decisions, this also explains why exhibitors of blindsight can perform such uncanny feats and not even realize they are doing it. It's raising a lot of questions--both scientifically as well as philosophically--about just how much of what we see is active cognition. How much of what we used to think we actively processed visually is in fact being handled by a part of the brain connected more with instinct and unconscious brain function?

Food for thought.

So, This Is What Happens When You Live A Healthy Lifestyle?

I stopped by the drive-thru at White Castle last night, and for the first time in what must be 18 months or longer, I helped myself to some wonderful sliders and a sack of chicken rings. Mmmmm -- YUM!!!!

Or so I thought.

Turns out my body was none too happy about the experience. No, I won't disgust you with any tales of indigestion or bathroom hijinks. It was nothing like that at all.

It's just that, I guess after going so many years with very healthy eating and workouts that border almost on the spiritual . . . my body is conditioned to the point that I really cannot enjoy greasy fast foods any more. I wonder how much of it is psychosomatic? Because not more than 30 minutes after I'd finished eating, I could literally *feel* my blood pressure rising and my heart beating faster. It felt the way I feel when I've eaten something far too salty. Which, god only knowing what they put into these burgers and sides, I bet is right on the money of what was really happening.

No worries, though. I drank a liter of water to dilute as much of it as I could. And today is Saturday, which means I'll get to do my really long workout which I can't do during the week due to time constraints.

In other words, all is good in the hood here folks! I just have to remember that my body can no longer abide by me trying to kill it with processed crap. I mean, all in moderation of course. I can eat a hotdog or go to McD's occasionally. Just got to remember that my body *will* react to it when I do now.

Consider this a lesson learned.

Health Update, Or My Very Cool Wife Hacks Into The Hospital And Tells Me My Results

Actually, Lisa runs the Coumadin clinic inside the same hospital where I see my doctor, so she was able to log onto the network and tell me my results of the blood work I get done roughly every six months. I'd probably have gotten the results over the phone from my doc in a few days anyway, but this way is oh so much cooler! :)

Anyway, I kicked ass. Not that I was worried. For those who don't know, click here to read the VERY long story of my journey.

It's been exactly 4 years now that I've been hale, and I'm still kicking ass. Good to know, that.

Cholesterol levels were excellent.

Blood glucose levels, better than excellent.

And everything else reported back normal. But the above two are always the most important. I work hard to keep myself in peak condition, so I'm glad the blood work confirms my efforts.

It's good to be healthy, ain't it?

Run, Forrest, RUN!!!

Bought a new treadmill over the weekend, to replace the old one I had for nearly 10 years. The old NordicTrack was still operational, but it was getting decrepit and saggy in the middle. I had already replaced a couple of parts here and there over the years -- and of course, the motor is still running okay -- but the chassis was getting rickety and unstable. I run on average 24 miles a week on my treadmill, so over the years that kind of wear and tear adds up. Not to mention the fact that Lisa uses it, too; although to a much lesser extent.

Anyway, the new NordicTrack (I really like and trust this brand) arrived in a huge, giant box from Sears. Luckily the deliverers took away the packaging materials and left me with only the parts to assemble. It was fairly easy, although the instructions look very complicated at first. Took maybe 30 to 45 mins, tops.

Anyway, this baby works like a charm! I didn't think there would be that big of a difference, but having something that has a flat, firm running surface and does not rock back and forth as you run really makes a huge improvement in one's game. I ran a quick diagnostic warm-up, then took the machine's built-in fitness age meter. This is a 9-minute test that checks out your heart rate after putting you through various speeds and inclines in that time period. You have to first enter in a set of variables: like your real age, your gender, height, and weight. The program uses this information to judge what comparative age you are, fitness-wise, to your actual age. It was so easy I didn't even break a sweat -- and I'm used to buckets of sweat coming off me when I run, mind you. My heart rate at the end of 9 minutes was only 85! Can you believe that? That's only around 30 beats above my normal resting heart rate! WTF was I doing on that treadmill, sleep walking? (ha, ha)

Anyway, I'm 32 years old. But my test came back with the number: 18. Which means, apparently, that I'm at the same fitness level as an 18 year old. I knew the number would be low, but not that low. Wow!

The treadmill also has an iFit card reader, which means I can purchase pre-programmed iFit cards designed by personal trainers. Jill Michaels has a popular line of them, in fact. I tried out the demo card that came with the machine. iFit cards come in 3 levels. Level 1 is for beginners, and only goes as high as 3 miles per hour for speed. Level 2 is for moderate runners, with a highest speed of 6.5 miles per hour. And Level 3 is for endurance runners, with a highest speed of 8.5 miles per hour.

I went strait to level 3, as 8 mph is my normal jogging pace when I don't want to stress myself out too much. I actually run higher than that, though. Since the card was a demo, it only allowed 20 minutes of programming. The card automatically adjusted the incline and speed for me throughout the session, and at times I admit it was a little challenging. But the challenges never lasted for more than 2 minutes at a pop, and I'm used to running at top speeds for a lot longer stretch. In the end, I only burned around 250 calories in 20 mins. Whereas, on my own runs, I burn 400 in the same time period. Of course, I run for 35 to 45 mins most runs, so I usually end up burning twice that when all is said and done.

I went online and purchased some more challenging iFit cards. I bought an 8-week, 3-step toning one for Lisa; and a high-endurance level 3 card for myself. I'm actually excited because I've been looking for a way to challenge myself more on my runs. Or, at least, to change things up. I also noticed a card for marathon training, which is something I never plan to do. I only run for my health, not to win races and show off. Also, unlike most marathon runners, I have nothing to prove. To myself or to anyone else.

So, yeah, that was my weekend. I know, I know . . . I live the life of high adventure, don't I? *snort*

A Dark Time In My Life . . . (PART 5)

Welcome to the conclusion of my 5-part piece on how I got diagnosed with Type II diabetes (along with a host of other health problems) and fought my way out.

If you're coming to this for the first time, please take the time to start from the beginning of the saga and follow the link at the end of each segment to get back.

Click here to start from the beginning.

By the time June 2005 rolled around, I had noticed drastic results in my new workout and diet routines. I had dropped a total of 40 lbs and weighed only 190 lbs. I looked slimmer, felt very energetic, and had a positive outlook on life. And the best part was replacing my entire wardrobe. Not because I like to shop (I'd rather play Russian roulette than shop), but because nothing is a better indicator of loosing a lot of weight than having your old jeans slip right off your waist and drop to your ankles. I even had to replace all my belts and underwear, too! While this meant a nasty bite taken out of my wallet, I was happy nonetheless.

By the time our Vegas wedding rolled around in early July, I had dropped an additional 10 lbs! This was significant because my original goal back in January had been to hit 185 -- and here I was at a svelte 180 lbs instead! I had not only met my strict expectations, but surpassed them! Combined with a major life-changing event about to take place at this time, I was on Cloud 9! I was actually excited to be getting married, because I had turned over a new leaf in my life and it was only fitting that this should happen right before making another major life-altering commitment: holy matrimony.

The wedding went without a hitch. If you take a look at our wedding photos, you'll notice that I am extremely pale. Like vampire, living in a coffin, pale! Yes, I am half Caucasian, but even I'm not supposed to be *this* WHITE. The reason for it, actually, was the diabetes medication, Metformin, which actually makes your skin paler and very sensitive to sunlight. Luckily for me our wedding was in Las Vegas. Between that and our 2-week honeymoon in Hawaii, I would soon get my color back . . . and then some! :)

After I came back from our Honeymoon, I decided that even 180 lbs was not enough. I wanted to do the impossible and drop down to 170 -- a weight I had not been since freshman year in college! I had one month to go before I went in for major blood work to see how well I was doing on all 3 fronts. Plenty of time.

Sure enough, by the time I went in to see my doc, I was tipping the scale at 168 lbs!!! It was incredible. I was so proud of myself, you wouldn't believe! But I had no idea just how good the news was about to become.

First a recap of all my numbers and what they *should* be for an average healthy person.

Normal person:


Blood sugar (after 8 hour fast): below 90.
A1c: below 7.5, or below 6.5 if you are a diabetic.
BP: below 120/80
Total cholesterol: under 150.
LDL: under 100.
Triglycerides: under 120


These are normal numbers. My numbers when I first walked in to the doctor's office back in Jan. 2000 were:


Blood sugar: 270
A1c: 11.5
BP: 145/90
Total cholesterol: 202
LDL: 169
Triglycerides: 130


After changing my lifestyle and dropping a full 60 lbs, I got the following results back at my six month blood-work check out:


Blood sugar: 82
A1c: 5.2
BP: 109/68
Total cholesterol: 123
LDL: 69
Triglycerides: 50


I mean, HOLY HELLS! That's a drastic difference. My doc was flabbergasted, but it wasn't like he had to double check or anything. I had been going in for periodic blood work every six weeks leading up to this. My charts were showing a steady, but measurable, decline. He had adjusted the medications accordingly throughout this time, and still I continued to drop until I not only reached normal levels, but I far SURPASSED them! I was healthier than most health nuts!

My doctor said I was a miracle patient. That it looked like I was more than just managing my diabetes, but that I might have actually cured myself of it! He told me he was going to take me completely off my meds since I was obviously doing fine. He cautioned me that my numbers would probably not be as good the next time, tho.

Nope, he was wrong. You see, after getting this good news I didn't slack off or anything. I continued working out and dieting exactly the way I had been doing all along. You see, it wasn't enough that I was now off the meds -- I wanted to STAY off them. My blood results six months later were actually *better* than the last time.

My doc was beaming. He told me somehow I proved him wrong and that it looks like my health issues were completely lifestyle and weight related, and not genetic like he had originally thought. I refrained from saying: "I told you so!" :)

But the end results of this year long struggle had some far reaching implications on my life. I felt like I'd been tested, and that I'd met the challenge head on and conquered all the odds. It was a heady feeling, to put it mildly. I sat back and thought to myself: wow, if I could do all this, what else might I be able to do? It had always seem like an impossible dream to get myself in great shape and to stick to healthy eating. Yet I had done just that. What other dreams could I achieve with this new found spirit of determination?

In 2006 I decided that if I could be so stubborn as to turn my health completely around, then maybe I could tackle the biggest dream of them all: to become a professional science-fiction writer!

I'm still working on that dream, obviously. It's an ongoing process, but I'm not daunted. I feel as if I can do anything I set my mind to now. And that kind of attitude goes a long way.

It's my 4-year anniversary since getting the terrible news. I've been having blood work done twice a year since dropping off the meds, and I am happy to say my numbers are still just as impressive, if not more-so actually, than they were in the middle of 2005. I still weigh 170 and still have amazing energy. My workouts are more intense, to the point where I now do 150 pushups, 300 situps, bench 200 lbs (the highest my bench will go), and curl 100 lbs. I run 5 miles 3 days a week, and 6 - 7 miles on Sundays.

I do not give up. Ever. Fear keeps me going. I will never let the diabetes come back.

I'm still with the same doctor, and he continues to shake his head whenever he sees me. He constantly tells me I'm an inspiration to his other patients, and that he wishes I was his last patient of every day, so that he could go home with good news. :)

So there you have it. The story of how I changed my life around forever. I'm a much different person now than I was in 2004. Not just physically, but mentally as well. I have a toughness that I always suspected was there, but never fully realized until now.

Just for some perspective (and self torture), I've decided to release some pictures of my progress. The "heavy" pics of me have never been seen by the public before. Even my friends have not seen them, although they certainly remember what I looked like back then:



Lisa and I on Thanksgiving, 2004. I can't even bear to look at this pic.


This was taken Christmas day, 2004. I'm 230 lbs here. By now I had an inkling something was wrong with me. I wouldn't get the news until 12 days later, tho.


April 2005, my Aunt's wedding. I was 205 lbs here. Good, but not good enough for me.

July 2005, our honeymoon in Hawaii. I'm 180 lbs here -- and wearing a terrible shirt! So terrible that it forced the camera lens into soft focus! :)

September 2005. I'd just received the great news and taken off all meds. I'm 168 lbs here.

Recent photo of me. I'm 170 lbs and feeling great!

Thanks for following me on this journey. This is my first time writing out the entire ordeal, and I feel a lot better for it. Hope you enjoyed!

A Dark Time In My Life . . . (PART 4)

If you need to catch up, check out the earlier sections of this long story:

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

So, as I was saying at the end of Part 3, it was time for me to meet the challenge of my life. To eat extremely healthy, and to exercise regularly. My ultimate goal was to drop down to 185 lbs by the time of our wedding 6 months later. But first, I set a more reachable goal of 205 lbs -- just 25 lbs from where I currently was in early 2005. Once I made it to that point, I would re-evaluate my routine and diet, and adjust accordingly to make the long haul down to 185.

In the beginning, it was very tough going. Somehow over the 7 - 8 years since college, I had atrophied considerably. The first time I got on my treadmill, I could only run for 3 minutes straight before feeling like I was going to pass out. It was such a disappointment for me. But I was stubborn. Mainly fear was driving me at this point. I knew that unlike failed attempts in the past, this time I COULD NOT give up. Because giving up meant a life dependent on medication and doctor's visits. I could not abide the thought of being on meds. It was against everything I believed in.

So, I stuck with it. I forced myself to stay on the treadmill no matter what. When I couldn't run, I walked really, really fast. I lived by the calorie burner counter on the machine. When the speed-walking became too much, I lowered the speed a little, but increased the incline. Every now and then I would break out into another 3-minute run before slowing down again. Rinse and repeat. I did this for 2o mins in a typical session, burning somewhere around 175 to 230 calories. I knew that was not enough. I had to keep working on my stamina to increase my run time.

Meanwhile, on the muscle training portion of my routine, I was running into problems. I tried to do some pushups and collapsed after just 5. I could only bench press 115 lbs, and curl only 50 lbs combined. But I didn't give up. I knew that if I just kept at it, doing a circuit of three 15-rep segments per exercise, I would eventually get stronger. Soon, after a week of this, I was doing 20 pushups with no problem, benching 130 lbs, and curling 60 lbs combined.

On the treadmill, I had increased my run segments to 5 minutes a pop, switching to speed-walking and incline in-between. I kept this up for 25 minutes, burning somewhere around 300 calories per session. Things were looking good. The workouts were killing me, but I found myself retreating into a familiar mentality that had served me well in high school and college. I called it: The Warrior Zone.

Basically, it works by me psyching myself up. By telling myself that I'm a warrior and that I can fight through the pain. Pain is nothing to me. Fear is nothing to me. The world is nothing to me. The only thing that matters is me and this workout. The workout will not defeat me. I am better than this workout. I am better than this disease.

This was my mantra.

I know it sounds psycho writing it down now, but honestly it really helped me a lot. I was able to endure through all the monstrous pain I was in and just keep going. Failure was NOT an option anymore.

So, things were looking good after the first week. I was sticking to my diet (the easiest part, actually) and my workouts, while killers, were going smoothly and without interruption. I found myself looking forward so much to Fridays, my rest day. I also refused to look at the scale until at least three weeks into my new lifestyle. I knew I would not see results right away, and so I didn't want to be discouraged. I knew that going by the scale would lead to madness, so I didn't look at it until it was absolutely necessary.

Somewhere after the first week, however, I came across an obstacle. Shin splints. This was a blinding, awful pain that would shoot up my shin bones on each leg every time I started a run. The pain would go away after 5 minutes of forced running, but then after the session was over it would come back with a vengeance and leave me in horrible pain for the rest of the night and all of the next day. I bought new sneakers, and started binding my legs during runs. But it only got worse. Finally I had to just sideline myself for 3 full weeks to recover. I applied heat compresses and ace bandages liberally throughout those 3 weeks, slowly strengthening my legs back to form.

In the meanwhile I continued eating all the healthy stuff I outlined in Part 3 of this tale, and working with weights. By the third week, I was doing 30 pushups, 60 situps, benching 150, and curling 70. I didn't notice any major differences yet in my body, except a hardness to my arms. But when I weighed myself on the scale, I had gone from 230 lbs to 219 lbs!!! I was stoked! 11 pounds might not seem like much, but I was more happy that there was at least some evidence of my efforts paying off. That my routines were working! With my legs back in order, this only made me redouble my resolve to loose even more weight.

To make sure I would not repeat the shin splints, I took things slow on the treadmill this time. And I developed specialized stretches to strengthen my calf and support muscles around the shins. This helped dramatically.

Before long, I was running 10 minutes straight, then 15. I had increased my session time to 30 minutes, and was burning around 450 calories at each go. The weight continued to pour off at roughly 2.5 lbs each week. And each new week I would tweak both forms of my workout just slightly. Adding more weights in the weight room, and increasing the speed and incline on my treadmill just a tad. I also started counting calories, discovering that I was eating only 1,600 a day. Simply by the fact that I was eating many smaller meals throughout the day now, I can't say that I really experienced any terrible hunger. I allowed myself a "cheat" day every now and then -- usually my off day on Friday, but every other week -- in which I would eat whatever bad habit food I had been missing and secretly craving. Chinese food, pizza, etc. I had cut out fast food completely, though. I rarely ever cheated with that type of food.

It just so happens my Aunt was getting married the same year as Lisa and I. Her wedding was in April, while ours was in July. By the time of her wedding, I was 3 months into my new lifestyle. And I had reached my first goal -- I had dropped 25 lbs, and now weighed 205.

I felt great! You can't believe how happy this made me. And yet, I was not satisfied. I said to myself: okay, then this was not a fluke. You CAN loose the weight after all. In that case, let's try for 185 by July now. Whereas this number seemed impossible at the beginning of the year, it now was very attainable. I had my doubts, though. I hadn't been below the 200 lb mark since 2000.

But I set to work, increasing both routines yet again. By now I was doing 60 pushups, 100 situps, benching 160, and curling 80. I was also running 3 miles straight through, on a slight incline, and at a speed of roughly 1 mile every 8.5 minutes. I was burning 580 calories a go on the treadmill.

I was sailing. With the onset of Spring, my spirits were looking up. My doc was very happy with my progress, and shocked by how far my blood sugar, cholesterol, and blood pressure levels had dropped. He halved my medications in June and told me that I might eventually come off it all together. I walked out of the doc's office that morning in a daze.

I was doing it!

Somehow, despite the darkest hour of my despair, I was turning things around and taking control of my destiny. The news from the doc only made me that more determined to see this through. I continued motivating myself and making sure through hell or high water to ALWAYS commit to my workouts and diet, despite how tired I might be on a particular day after work. I allowed no excuses and never missed a day unless due to a family emergency or something equally important. But at least 98% of the time, I stuck to the 6 days a week workouts, burning roughly 580 to 850 calories per day.

There was a light at the end of that tunnel after all, and as I neared the time of my own wedding, I now knew that I would make it.

Little did I know just how well I would actually do . . .

TO BE CONCLUDED IN PART 5.

A Dark Time In My Life . . . (PART 3)

And so the saga continues. If you need a refresher, please refer to Part 1 and Part 2 before reading on.

All caught up? Good.

So where was I? Oh yeah, that's right . . . before I could get myself into shape, I had some bad habits to break.

First and foremost, I had to figure out my time management. I've mentioned once before on this blog that I'm NOT a morning person. I cannot do anything in the morning but barely get up, shower, and head to work. I would never, EVER, wake up an hour earlier to exercise when I can sleep. So this left me with only the time I have when I come home from work, but before dinner. Roughly 6 to 7:30. Say an hour of actual exercise, since the other half would be taken up doing stretches and warmup/warmdown.

You see I was on my own here, but I wasn't completely clueless. There had been a time when I was in excellent shape. Although it had been 8 years, my body still knew what it had to do.

I started on a basic schedule of jogging on the treadmill 6 days a week, and doing free weights and calisthenics 3 days a week. I allowed myself one free day of NO workouts (typically, Friday). Where the two routines overlapped, I would do 30 mins of one, and 30 mins of the other. Usually weights before treadmill, as jogging left me way too exhausted to do anything afterwards but pass out on the couch and cry.

Next, I changed my diet. I cut out ALL sodas, juices, iced teas, and other harmful (read: high caloric) beverages. Instead, I drank nothing but water -- 3 liters a day, to be precise. Because I didn't want to loose calcium or Vitamin D, I switched to skim milk instead of my usual whole or 2%. Eventually I allowed myself 8 ounces of diet Pepsi with dinner because drinking so much water--and especially at dinner--was just too depressing after a while. I needed at least SOME kind of zip, jeez!

I stopped eating: white bread, pasta, most cereals, and pretty much any other harmful carbohydrate I could think of. Wherever I could I brought the low-sugar, low-sodium, and low-fat versions of the products I normally ate. When no such alternative existed, I simply eliminated it completely from my cupboards.

I switched to whole grain everything. Whole grain bread, cereals, brown rice, fiber-rich crackers like Triscuit, and so forth. I also started eating oatmeal for breakfast EVERY. SINGLE. MORNING. Whether it was 10 below or 90 degrees outdoors, I didn't care. Oatmeal was my way of life as far as I was concerned. I started eating breakfast in general, in fact. Something I used to never do before this traumatic health scare.

I learned a valuable lesson: eating breakfast is perhaps the most important thing you can do in this world to make yourself healthy and loose weight. The trick is to eat sensible breakfasts. My typical breakfast during this time period (and indeed, it still is to this day, 4 years later) was simply: one small bowl of oatmeal, and two egg whites on whole wheat toast. And water. That's it. For a between meal snack, either fresh fruit or almonds, if not both (at separate times, of course).

For lunch, I had a home made sandwich made with whole wheat bread and low-fat/low-sodium turkey or ham. Plus an apple. I made it a choice to ALWAYS eat at least one apple a day. Red Delicious variety (my favorite).

For dinner, I always made a variation of the following dish: half cup of brown rice, two big servings of leafy green vegetables (favorite being spinach), and a very small portion of grilled chicken breast. Sometimes I would substitute the chicken with a fresh turkey patty, or with salmon. Basically something low fat but full of protein.

In between these meals, I would eat LOTS of fruit. I mean, A LOT. My greatest discovery was freshly cut pineapple. Lisa brought some home one day, and it was like my body SANG to me when I ate some. Something inside me told me: Hey, dude -- EAT MORE OF THIS THING! Stat!!!! :)

And so I did. I eat lots of different fruit now, but to this day fresh pineapple is my absolute favorite. I love it to death! I could not live without it. And you know what? Secretly I think it helped a lot with my diabetes. I'm serious. I honestly think now that pineapple saved my life. I don't know the science behind it, but my body reacts so strongly to it that I can literally feel myself getting healthy each time I eat a cup of cut pineapple, or better yet the slices off the whole fruit itself. I should write a book about its curative properties!

Now, it's important to know that I did not come by all this over night. A lot of trial and error went into developing my own special diet to suit my personal tastes and preferences, while maintaining the new health guidelines I had to stick to for a diabetic diet. Since I also had to worry about cholesterol and blood pressure, this was triply difficult. You can't imagine just how hard it is to change so drastically at almost a drop of a hat.

It was a trying time for me, but I was so motivated. I mean, really motivated. It was like someone lit a fire under my ass. I was determined not to be a victim and just let life take me out of the running.

Armed with all of the above in place, I was ready to take back control of my life and not be a victim to bad health.

I was ready to make the commitment. And oh what a glorious battle it would become . . .

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 4.

A Dark Time In My Life . . . (PART 2)

(Continued from PART 1)

Things went from bad to worse in a jiffy. The following week I got the results back from my A1c test. For someone healthy, a normal A1c range is between 4.0 and 7.5. Anything higher is hyperglycemia; anything lower, hypoglycemia.

My doctor called me and told me that my number came in at 11.5!!!

"You have diabetes," he said, just like that. My heart basically skipped a beat. I was devastated. But it got better -- I also had unusually high cholesterol, too. He said I had the trifecta -- a disorder known as Metabolic Syndrome, where one disorder (usually diabetes) goes hand in hand with two others . . . high blood pressure and bad cholesterol.

He wanted to see me in person and discuss medications. He also wanted me to see a nutritionist. I never felt so low (and scared) in my life.

The next day I went in and he told me the whole news. I had Type II diabetes, and that while some people could manage to get it under control, very few actually get rid of it completely. He told me that I probably had the genes for it, and in which case I would have it for life. I told him that no one in my family had Type II diabetes, except a really old Uncle on my father's side. And he only got it at the onset of old age. Still, my doctor didn't want to hear it and just assumed that everything was genetic. I tried to tell him I didn't think so, but eventually I just gave up. He was the doctor after all.

He also told me my bad cholesterol was genetic. That someone my age shouldn't be producing as much cholesterol as I was just from bad eating habits alone. Cholesterol is broken down into 3 components:

LDL -- also known as "bad" cholesterol.
HDL -- also known as "good" cholesterol.
Triglycerides -- a fatty substance extremely bad for your heart.

Add these all up using a particular formula (I know it by heart now) and you get a patient's "total" cholesterol. The total is what most people, and some doctors, go by, but really it is the LDL number that is most important. Normal total cholesterol is below 150.

My total was 202.

Normal LDL is below 100. Mine was 169. You get the picture?

So, basically, I was fucked!

My doctor told me that he was going to prescribe me Metformin for the Type II diabetes. I would have to take 2 pills every morning, and prick my finger to check my blood glucose level at least twice a day (morning and night). I would keep a log of my numbers to show him each time I went in for a visit. This was my definition of pure hell.

As for the cholesterol and the high blood pressure: he gave me some medication for the blood pressure, but said that he wanted to hold off on cholesterol-lowering drugs to see how well it went down on its own with diet and exercise. Cholesterol drugs, it turns out, have some very nasty side-effects, most dangerously liver damage. He was a good doctor in that he didn't want to just arbitrarily hook me up with meds just to make money. He actually had my well-being in mind.

Did I mention I've since grown to love this man? It bears mentioning now, in case I come across as some ingrate. :)

But anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. Because, ultimately, my road to salvation would come almost completely at my own hands.

So, oh yeah, I was going to have to start a workout routine to loose the weight, in addition to dieting. Two things I did NOT want to hear! I'd been beating myself up for years after college to do just that, but to no avail. Work was too stressful and tiring for me to do anything but drag myself home and zone out on the couch.

But first things first, the doc wanted me to see the nutritional nurse who would hand me literature on how to eat a diabetic diet. After which, I would have to find a nutritionist and really map out a diet plan.

The literature was a bust. I hated it. None of the food appealed to me because I just didn't have access to most of it in the little rinky-dink bullshit ghetto supermarket in my neighborhood. The whole of the Bronx, I would soon find out, has this weird anti-health kick going on. Despite having the highest concentration of diabetics and heart disease sufferers, it has almost no healthy food selections in the supermarket. No low sugar choices, and very few low-fat and low-sodium ones.

So, I decided to do what always worked best for me: do everything on my own! I owned a treadmill at home. We bought it five years earlier back when I thought it would motivate me to jog. Instead it collected dust for those years, just one big hunk of wasted money. I also had a room full of free weights and a pneumatic workout bench (also collecting dust).

I knew it was going to kick my ass and that I would most likely give up, but I thought I'd try it my way and see what I could do on my own. I was 230 lbs, and I thought it would be nice to eventually get down to 185 lbs like I was in college. I had been an extremely skinny kid all throughout childhood and the first 3 years of college. I only bulked up to 185 my senior year there, and even that was a nice weight to be.

But to be realistic, I set the bar a little lower first. I thought, if I could at least get down to 205 lbs, that would be awesome. Also, since my wedding was in six months, I figured that would give me time to look trim when I walked down the aisle.

I was about to endure the greatest challenge of my life. If I knew at that moment just how difficult it was going to be, I never would have made it. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

What I also didn't know was that the experience would change me forever, and that there was indeed a bright light at the end of this dark tunnel.

But first I had to break some truly bad habits . . .

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 3.

A Dark Time In My Life . . . (PART 1)

On one of the many message boards I visit, I was just asked today about a particular event that happened to me 4 years ago. This event would change my life forever, in a positive way. But at the time I thought it was the end of my life. I was going to write this on the anniversary of this event a couple of weeks back, and then I nixed the idea. But since I seemed to have been asked about this by two different people on two different message boards within the span of 24 hours, I'm taking it as a cue to get the story out now for the whole world to read.

So, here it goes (warning, this will be LONG!):

4 years ago around Christmas time, Lisa was in grad school. Due to something completely the professor's fault and totally f'd up, she ended up failing a class that by all rights she had passed. She was getting her masters in nursing to become a Nurse Practitioner, a course of study that requires stringent grading criteria. At this particular university, you were not allowed to fail more than one class. When this happened, it was extremely stressful for us both. Mostly at the thought of failure for something that was not her fault at all, but also due to all the time and money we had already poured into her graduate education.

This put me in a LOT of stress, because we had gone seriously into debt over this and, to top it off, we were planning for our wedding in 7 months.

Sometime over my habitual 2-week holiday break at the end of 2004, I started feeling really bad. Depressed even. I thought it was because of all the stress. But I was thirsty all the time, and started drinking massive quantities of iced tea. I thought it was because the heat in our apartment was too high (which it was). I started going to the bathroom a lot, too. But I didn't think anything of it since I was drinking so much fluids.

I started to know something was off, however, when we went to see Meet The Parents at the movies and I ended up ordering the large soda for us both. We *never* get the large soda. Within 45 mins, I'd drunk the whole thing. I felt so parched, and the soda felt like heaven entering my body. Yet it was like I could not get enough. I was still so damned THIRSTY!

I went to the bathroom, then got a free refill of the soda. 15 minutes later, I needed to go to the bathroom again. When I came back, I was so worried something was wrong with me. I watched the remainder of the movie, then immediately needed to go to the bathroom AGAIN when it was over.

That was it, something was definitely wrong. Later that night, while in bed, I noticed that I could not feel an area on the tip of my right big toe. I played and played at it, but nothing I did could bring any feeling to it. It was literally a dead patch of toe. I knew this had to do with the nerve endings in my toe. That freaked me out like you wouldn't believe! I laid in bed the entire night, so worried that I broke out into a cold sweat the ran like a river down my back and drenched my clothes. I was having a mild panic attack!

The next day I really felt like crap. I was thirstier than ever, and I was pissing every 30 to 45 minutes. Problem was, it was New Year's eve. My best friend, Tarrell, was visiting from Florida and staying on my couch, and I could not muster up the energy to be entertaining. It wasn't that I was lethargic, but that I was depressed. I was depressed over this issue with Lisa's grad school, and the thought of organizing a wedding, and most importantly with the thought of something being wrong with my health. As everyone who knew me could attest, I NEVER got sick. I didn't get colds, fevers, or anything. I'd been this way since forever. So to have a serious medical issue was very distressing to me.

Everyone I knew told me it was diabetes. Lisa was an RN at the time, so she knew best. My grandmother had also been a nurse, and it was her first diagnosis as well. I was SO scared!

The next day, despite it being a holiday, I went to the doctor's office. No one was there save for the secretary. She told me that the only time available was two days later, unless I had an emergency and then I should go to the emergency room in another building. Stupidly, I said it wasn't an emergency. So, for the two days following, I was in a state of panic suffering attacks every night. I pretty much left Tarrell to his own devices in my living room while I slept all day long in a state of acute depression.

Finally, the day of my appointment came. I was seeing a new doctor who I'd never seen. Before I could see him, the nurse took all my vitals to make up a patient history. This included a "finger stick" to test by blood-sugar level at that given moment.

Then I went in to see the doctor.

I told him my troubles, and he nodded and listened. Then he weighed me (again), and took my blood pressure (again). I was in worse shape than I thought! I weighed 230 lbs, and my blood pressure was 145 over 90. Normal should be around 120/80.

Worse yet was the results of my finger stick. Normal blood sugar level is supposed to be below 100. Preferably under 90 if you are fasting, but above 60.

My blood sugar level was 270!!!

The doctor was not happy. He told me that I very likely had Type II diabetes, but that more tests would need to be run in order to confirm this. In particular, he wanted to run a test called an A1c, which basically tests the amount of sugar that has been in your hemoglobin for the past 3 months. He told me that this was the most accurate test because it showed what your average blood-glucose levels have been in that time. He wanted me to get the tests done that day, and then he would call me the following week with the results (I came to him on a Friday, you see).

I never told him about the numbness in my big toe, because I was too afraid of what that would mean (amputation). I don't know why I kept this a secret, but I did. I think at the time I was just too overwhelmed by all the bad news that I didn't want to add to it. Stupid, I know.

In the meantime, my doctor told me I seriously needed to lose weight and get my blood pressure under control. I was on the border for having hypertension. Basically, I was in bad shape, and would need to drastically alter my lifestyle and diet.

I headed to the lab with a heavy heart (literally, it seems). I was so scared about what all this meant, and angry for having let myself get so bad. The only hope I had was that the test would come back negative, and that my high blood sugar was just a temporary thing and the result of stress. Which *does* happen, according to my doctor.

But little did I know the darkest days were soon to come . . .

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2.

It's All About Distance For Me

I recently increased my daily jog from 3 miles to 4 miles during weekdays, and from 5 miles to 6 miles on Sundays. Just because I wanted to see if I could do it. So far it's not so bad, but it got me to thinking about how people seem to be more obsessed with speed rather than longevity when it comes to running.

I jog 1 mile in 7 minutes. This is my pace. It might sound fast to some, or slow to others. But for me, it's just right. You see, I could run MUCH faster than this. But I'm not trying to break records or prove anything to anyone. I jog to be healthy. And this means jogging for as long as possible. Jog too fast, and you'll run out of juice long before your body reaches the point where it is burning calories (usually starts after the 20-minute mark). Jog too slow, and you don't burn enough calories as you should. I've found that my pace allows me to run the longest and at a high enough intensity to burn calories effectively. Throw in the incline resistance I set my treadmill to, and this counts for a serious workout.

So, using this philosophy, it's not so much how fast you jog, but how long you maintain it. I've found that most beginner joggers don't take this into account. They seem to be obsessed with getting their speeds up. But I would focus more on stamina instead. Lasting longer on the treadmill, or on the track or trail, is not only more impressive, but more beneficial for your body. Unless you're training for the Olympics, speed should not be so important.

For instance, I wasn't so impressed with Usain Bolt's performance at the Olympics. Fastest man? Yeah, but only at the 100m and 200m. He wouldn't hold out for long on the 400m, and let's not even talk about the 1,500m. But you see, the longer distance runs are different disciplines. It takes a whole other strategy to not only run fast, but run FAR. It's no surprise, then, that I respect the longer distance runners more than the fastest.

And it also goes without saying that I'm in awe of marathon runners. I have no idea how they do it, but god bless them! Personally, I have no desire to ever run a marathon. Because I really don't see the health benefit. And that's the only reason I run. Yeah, it makes me feel good when I get my jog in for the day, but that's a side-effect. It's not the reason I do it. Running a marathon, for me at least, would be all about ego. To prove that, yeah, I got what it takes. Look at me world.

Bleh! I have as much use for stupid ego trips as I do for a third foot. It won't make me feel like a better human being, and I could really care less that others know I ran 26 miles in one stretch. It's impressive, don't get me wrong, but ultimately vain.

And I don't do vain well.