I'm considering a weekly post on helpful hints. Stuff I've observed over the week that you may want to take advantage of, or to avoid altogether. Wondering about a name for this new piece, something like "Helpful Hints" or "Just trying to help a brother out."
Anyway, the tip for this week: Don't stop at the gas station on a Friday unless you've got a large tube of Vaseline.
I'm pretty ok with driving on fumes. My wife likes to fill up when it dips below a half tank, but driving on 'E' doesn't bother me. So as I've been driving home the last few days with the needle approaching empty, I continually thought "I'll just fill up tomorrow."
Today I had to stop and have blood drawn in preparation of my doctor playing with my balls next week. He likes to have my lab work in his hands so he can yell at me when I'm there instead of calling and doing it over the phone.
Unfortunately, we've got a lot of road construction going on near where we live and there is no easy way to get to the doctor's office. I knew one of the roads to the south of us was closed, but didn't realize the road to the north was closed as well. It didn't seem that big a deal when I pulled out of the garage because the needle was just above the E.
Sadly, I drove all over the damned city trying to get to the doctor's office and when I finally arrived, the needle was below the E and I wasn't near a station. Leaving the doctor's office was the first time I actually thought I might be pushing my big ass car because the engine cried "no mas."
Luckily, I had a tailwind and used the draft of the car in front of me to find the closest gas station. Not so luckily, the price was some 20 cents higher than yesterday.
I left the gas place $62 lighter, with a throbbing in my backside and a funny walk, not to mention no pride and my butt cherry nowhere to be found.
Heed my advice because I'm just trying to help a brother out-->Do not need gas on Friday unless you're carrying some form of lube. You'll regret it.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Get your insurance from this guy
Some time ago in the 1990s, I was getting paid to do nothing at my first real job ever. One day we were having a routine audit for our liability insurance. Being my first job and my first audit, I was a bit concerned over the term 'auditor' and the bad connotations that always go with it. In one of my accounting classes, I recall a professor explaining that auditors weren't looking to find the things you did wrong, they were confirming that you did things right. No one in the class bought that line, but I never forgot it.
Anyway, the audit went fine, but took the whole day. I've never been a people person and spending the whole day with the auditor wasn't exactly what I'd bargained for. After the audit, I contacted our insurance agent, we'll call him 'Bob,' and I asked him some questions so I'd be better prepared for the next audit. In talking with Bob, he explained that the auditor didn't want to be there any more than I wanted him there and the best way to have a good audit experience is to have everything ready for the auditor. He went on to explain that the more information you can provide and the more organized you appear, the less likely the auditor is to ask questions and spend all day invading your space.
I took Bob's words to heart and over the years became so well versed in handling the various audits, that most times I could simply e-mail an auditor the information I wanted him to have and that was that.
Bob was always a huge help, so much in fact that I eventually turned all my personal insurance needs over to him. Because I was a cheap bastard, I always wanted to turn things into insurance. I recall the garage door finally dying. It was made of some shitty fiberglass and eventually just fell apart. I remember calling Bob and saying, "Bob, my garage door died and I don't feel like paying for a new one." Bob said, "Call me back and tell me your wife backed into it."
I called him back, told him my wife backed through the door, and was told by Bob he'd send me a check. That, my friends, is what you want in an insurance agent.
Bob used to call me every year with new insurance rates. When I'd get a phone call that started with, "Rick, it's Bob, do you have a pencil?" I knew it meant my rates had gone up and that Bob had shopped around and found me new ones. He's tell me how much up one sort of insurance went and how much down a different type went, and then he'd let me know the net effect, which was generally lower than I was previous paying.
Over the years, Bob was trying to get his oldest son going in the industry. Along with working on our accounts at work, Bob turned my personal insurance over to his son, we'll call him 'Andy.'
Andy was like an extension of his dad and my insurance needs never missed a beat as we switched from Bob to Andy. Through the years, Andy and I became friends, even though Andy always seemed to have taken a personal interest in my account. As a matter of fact, my account has been assigned to someone in his office, I think her name is Marilyn. I'm not really sure because I've never talked with her. If I have an issue, I just call Andy on the cell number he once gave me.
Our friendship grew after we both joined Bushwood Country Club (it might have been Oak Meadow, I can't recall the exact details) to play golf. Andy was great to play golf with, always providing funny material to use against him in the future.
Andy would line up about 30 yards right of where he thought he was aimed. Then he'd swing and hit the ball 40 yards left of his intended target. One time Andy was leading his flight of a golf tournament heading into the last hole. He only needed something like a 9 to win but carded a smooth 13 to finish 3rd (again, the details are a bit fuzzy on that one, but I never let the truth get in the way of a good story).
While playing golf, Andy was never afraid to lend a helping hand when others wouldn't. There was a time Andy and I were playing with a couple other friends. After a particularly wayward approach shot by me, my arms suddenly had a spasm and my 3-iron inadvertently got tossed into a tree. Unfortunately, said 3-iron got stuck in the trees on the 11th hole at Oak Meadow and refused to come back down. While 2 of my 'friends' laughed as they walked toward the green, Andy stayed behind and helped me throw my 9-iron into the tree to dislodge my 3-iron. That's what friends are for.
There were other times on the course where Andy would provide good insurance tips. If he'd notice my ball heading towards the water, he'd immediately chime in to let me know not to throw the clubs because they weren't covered by insurance. It's hard to get help like that.
Not quite ten years ago, I upped my life insurance when Hayden was born. One of the insurance companies didn't like the results of my blood work, so they turned me down for an increase (my triglycerides were too high, always have been, always will be, because Psycho Dad loves beer and chips). Not to worry Andy said, "we'll just get you two small policies that total the amount you're looking for." In explaining everything to my wife, she got confused with all the numbers and what to do if I died. Noting her confusion, I asked her if she wanted the details or if she just wanted Andy's cell number so she could call and say, "Rick's dead, now what do I do?"
Andy has since set up a Facebook page for his alter ego, Insurance Dude where he provides answers to every insurance question you could ever think of. For those of you looking for insurance, go to Insurance Dude's Facebook page for information:
http://www.facebook.com/InsuranceDude?fref=ts
If you already have insurance with someone else, drop it and then go to Insurance Dude's Facebook page. You won't be sorry. I've never been.
Anyway, the audit went fine, but took the whole day. I've never been a people person and spending the whole day with the auditor wasn't exactly what I'd bargained for. After the audit, I contacted our insurance agent, we'll call him 'Bob,' and I asked him some questions so I'd be better prepared for the next audit. In talking with Bob, he explained that the auditor didn't want to be there any more than I wanted him there and the best way to have a good audit experience is to have everything ready for the auditor. He went on to explain that the more information you can provide and the more organized you appear, the less likely the auditor is to ask questions and spend all day invading your space.
I took Bob's words to heart and over the years became so well versed in handling the various audits, that most times I could simply e-mail an auditor the information I wanted him to have and that was that.
Bob was always a huge help, so much in fact that I eventually turned all my personal insurance needs over to him. Because I was a cheap bastard, I always wanted to turn things into insurance. I recall the garage door finally dying. It was made of some shitty fiberglass and eventually just fell apart. I remember calling Bob and saying, "Bob, my garage door died and I don't feel like paying for a new one." Bob said, "Call me back and tell me your wife backed into it."
I called him back, told him my wife backed through the door, and was told by Bob he'd send me a check. That, my friends, is what you want in an insurance agent.
Bob used to call me every year with new insurance rates. When I'd get a phone call that started with, "Rick, it's Bob, do you have a pencil?" I knew it meant my rates had gone up and that Bob had shopped around and found me new ones. He's tell me how much up one sort of insurance went and how much down a different type went, and then he'd let me know the net effect, which was generally lower than I was previous paying.
Over the years, Bob was trying to get his oldest son going in the industry. Along with working on our accounts at work, Bob turned my personal insurance over to his son, we'll call him 'Andy.'
Andy was like an extension of his dad and my insurance needs never missed a beat as we switched from Bob to Andy. Through the years, Andy and I became friends, even though Andy always seemed to have taken a personal interest in my account. As a matter of fact, my account has been assigned to someone in his office, I think her name is Marilyn. I'm not really sure because I've never talked with her. If I have an issue, I just call Andy on the cell number he once gave me.
Our friendship grew after we both joined Bushwood Country Club (it might have been Oak Meadow, I can't recall the exact details) to play golf. Andy was great to play golf with, always providing funny material to use against him in the future.
Andy would line up about 30 yards right of where he thought he was aimed. Then he'd swing and hit the ball 40 yards left of his intended target. One time Andy was leading his flight of a golf tournament heading into the last hole. He only needed something like a 9 to win but carded a smooth 13 to finish 3rd (again, the details are a bit fuzzy on that one, but I never let the truth get in the way of a good story).
While playing golf, Andy was never afraid to lend a helping hand when others wouldn't. There was a time Andy and I were playing with a couple other friends. After a particularly wayward approach shot by me, my arms suddenly had a spasm and my 3-iron inadvertently got tossed into a tree. Unfortunately, said 3-iron got stuck in the trees on the 11th hole at Oak Meadow and refused to come back down. While 2 of my 'friends' laughed as they walked toward the green, Andy stayed behind and helped me throw my 9-iron into the tree to dislodge my 3-iron. That's what friends are for.
There were other times on the course where Andy would provide good insurance tips. If he'd notice my ball heading towards the water, he'd immediately chime in to let me know not to throw the clubs because they weren't covered by insurance. It's hard to get help like that.
Not quite ten years ago, I upped my life insurance when Hayden was born. One of the insurance companies didn't like the results of my blood work, so they turned me down for an increase (my triglycerides were too high, always have been, always will be, because Psycho Dad loves beer and chips). Not to worry Andy said, "we'll just get you two small policies that total the amount you're looking for." In explaining everything to my wife, she got confused with all the numbers and what to do if I died. Noting her confusion, I asked her if she wanted the details or if she just wanted Andy's cell number so she could call and say, "Rick's dead, now what do I do?"
Andy has since set up a Facebook page for his alter ego, Insurance Dude where he provides answers to every insurance question you could ever think of. For those of you looking for insurance, go to Insurance Dude's Facebook page for information:
http://www.facebook.com/InsuranceDude?fref=ts
If you already have insurance with someone else, drop it and then go to Insurance Dude's Facebook page. You won't be sorry. I've never been.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Any suggestions?
She does funny things; she chases her tail like a dog, she chases shadows, and sometimes she just chases things that simply aren't there. This morning I was relaxing with my thoughts downstairs and could have sworn someone had broken into the house. When I left the latrine, it was just her running all over the house banging into shit and the dog and cat sitting back and watching, trying to figure out what this idiot kitty was doing.
It's gotten worse since Friday, and that's really when I realized what a good cat Sneaky has been. When I put up the Christmas tree when Sneaky was still a kitty, he played with the ornaments and chewed anything he could fit in his mouth. I yelled at him and beat his ass and he never did it again. I expected the same with Porter, but she's had different ideas.
I've got one of those fake trees where the lights are already on the tree. Basically you hook a couple things together and the tree is up and lit in maybe five minutes. Because it's fake, it looks almost perfect--all the branches exactly where they should be.
On Saturday morning, when I got downstairs, I noticed the tree no longer looked perfect. Every branch on the bottom was hanging a little lower than normal and the tree looked like shit. Yesterday morning, Jennifer woke me up much earlier than I wanted to explain to me that she knew why the tree was moving...the damned cat was climbing it.
Later when I woke up, I went downstairs and glanced at my ugly tree. I heard a meow and looked at the floor, only to find nothing. Instead, about 4 feet high, there was a black cat laying on a branch. I wanted to beat her.
Since then, I've managed to put up some barriers to keep her out, but it's not working. She either climbs the barriers or just jumps over or through them. I keep a spray bottle nearby to squirt the little shit, but it does little good. Sneaky catches on after a few splashes and stops doing whatever it is he's been doing, but Porter doesn't seem to care.
She's going in next week to have her front claws removed. While she's there, I'm going to see if they can just remove her front legs while they've got her. Other than that, I'm out of ideas. I've considered tossing her against the wall the next time she does it, but I'm saving that as a final option.
Any suggestions?
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Charlie Brown and turkey
While changing clothes last night, I was in my bedroom listening as Hayden and Jennifer watched the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving show. I wasn't paying much attention until I heard this gravelly sounding guy that I'd guessed had been smoking a few packs a day for the last 30 years. Not recalling many adults in any of the Charlie Brown episodes (seriously, where were the parents), I turned to watch, only to discover it was Pestermint Patty.
It's been some years since I've watched any of the shows I enjoyed as a kid (I believe Frosty the Snowman is on Friday night), but I don't recall Pestermint Patty being so butch. Amazed, I watched for a few more minutes. In watching I discovered that not only was Pestermint Patty extremely butch, but Marcie was her bitch. If you haven't noticed the same thing, I suggest you give the old shows a viewing and see if you agree.
I started wondering if maybe it was a bit too mature for Hayden to be watching, but my worries were put to ease as he only seemed to enjoy the parts where the adults speak in that mumbled 'whah whah whah' noise.
Regardless, Merry Thanksgiving to all.
It's been some years since I've watched any of the shows I enjoyed as a kid (I believe Frosty the Snowman is on Friday night), but I don't recall Pestermint Patty being so butch. Amazed, I watched for a few more minutes. In watching I discovered that not only was Pestermint Patty extremely butch, but Marcie was her bitch. If you haven't noticed the same thing, I suggest you give the old shows a viewing and see if you agree.
I started wondering if maybe it was a bit too mature for Hayden to be watching, but my worries were put to ease as he only seemed to enjoy the parts where the adults speak in that mumbled 'whah whah whah' noise.
Regardless, Merry Thanksgiving to all.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Throwing in the towel
Well, not quite, but I've got the towel in my hand.
Today was beautiful out. 55 degrees and mostly overcast with the sun popping its head out occasionally. Since I don't have to be at work til 12:30 or so today, it was the perfect opportunity to run as long as I pleased. I set my goal at 4 miles, thinking that would allow me to work up a crazy mess of a sweat and drops some unwanted water weight so I could hit my longer term goal of weighing less than 180 by Thanksgiving.
I had a good, long run on Saturday, ran a couple miles Sunday morning and Sunday night, then ran a couple more miles yesterday morning. Originally I wanted to put in a couple more miles last night, but as night approached, I wasn't feeling it and combined with the fact that I had a lot of free time planned for this morning, I just decided to give myself a break.
Slightly refreshed, I headed out today for what I'd hoped was a 4-mile run. However, it didn't take long to realize I didn't have it today. I don't know what 'it' was, but I knew immediately that whatever 'it' was, it was lacking. I could tell I was running at a slower pace than usual, and even at the slower pace it was hard to maintain.
After one mile, I pulled up lame and walked a bit. I made it home to finish the second mile, and again, pulled up lame and walked. At that point, I was starting to get annoyed but then I remembered on Saturday, when I went for my longest run yet, it was after taking a full day off of doing nothing...something I haven't done yet this week.
I made it another half mile before walking, then another half mile before walking, then another half mile, and so on. I hated doing so much walking, but several people have told me it doesn't matter how fast you go it's all about finishing. So, I finished the day at just over 5 and a quarter miles. I was proud of that, given how the day went, but felt pretty indifferent about the experience as a whole.
After peeling off my clothes and hopping in the shower, I topped the scale at 182.2. Given that a small group of us are getting together tomorrow night for a Thansgiving Get-Together, I've got to see 179.9 by tomorrow and that's pretty unlikely at this point.
In looking back as some previous posts, I'd down 8 pounds in 4 weeks. That sounds good to some people, but I should have lost more by now. My cousin, Bryan, hit the nail on the head when he said training for a mini-marathon would be more about maintaining weight than losing it because I'm burning more calories and have no choice but to consume more to provide energy. The same thing happened a few years ago. I ran over 100 miles in one month and didn't lose a pound. I was eating full meals 4-5 times a day.
After the holiday, I'll re-evaluate and consider smaller runs a couple times a day to kick start my metabolism, with a longer run on the weekend. I'll likely set my goal to not only run a mini next summer, but to see 169.9 pounds.
Today was beautiful out. 55 degrees and mostly overcast with the sun popping its head out occasionally. Since I don't have to be at work til 12:30 or so today, it was the perfect opportunity to run as long as I pleased. I set my goal at 4 miles, thinking that would allow me to work up a crazy mess of a sweat and drops some unwanted water weight so I could hit my longer term goal of weighing less than 180 by Thanksgiving.
I had a good, long run on Saturday, ran a couple miles Sunday morning and Sunday night, then ran a couple more miles yesterday morning. Originally I wanted to put in a couple more miles last night, but as night approached, I wasn't feeling it and combined with the fact that I had a lot of free time planned for this morning, I just decided to give myself a break.
Slightly refreshed, I headed out today for what I'd hoped was a 4-mile run. However, it didn't take long to realize I didn't have it today. I don't know what 'it' was, but I knew immediately that whatever 'it' was, it was lacking. I could tell I was running at a slower pace than usual, and even at the slower pace it was hard to maintain.
After one mile, I pulled up lame and walked a bit. I made it home to finish the second mile, and again, pulled up lame and walked. At that point, I was starting to get annoyed but then I remembered on Saturday, when I went for my longest run yet, it was after taking a full day off of doing nothing...something I haven't done yet this week.
I made it another half mile before walking, then another half mile before walking, then another half mile, and so on. I hated doing so much walking, but several people have told me it doesn't matter how fast you go it's all about finishing. So, I finished the day at just over 5 and a quarter miles. I was proud of that, given how the day went, but felt pretty indifferent about the experience as a whole.
After peeling off my clothes and hopping in the shower, I topped the scale at 182.2. Given that a small group of us are getting together tomorrow night for a Thansgiving Get-Together, I've got to see 179.9 by tomorrow and that's pretty unlikely at this point.
In looking back as some previous posts, I'd down 8 pounds in 4 weeks. That sounds good to some people, but I should have lost more by now. My cousin, Bryan, hit the nail on the head when he said training for a mini-marathon would be more about maintaining weight than losing it because I'm burning more calories and have no choice but to consume more to provide energy. The same thing happened a few years ago. I ran over 100 miles in one month and didn't lose a pound. I was eating full meals 4-5 times a day.
After the holiday, I'll re-evaluate and consider smaller runs a couple times a day to kick start my metabolism, with a longer run on the weekend. I'll likely set my goal to not only run a mini next summer, but to see 169.9 pounds.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Shooting at the walls of heartache, bang, bang
I had a nice run on Thursday morning, just shy of 5 miles. I didn't feel spectacular on Thursday night and Friday I was feeling worse, with a sore throat and achy legs getting the better of me. I did nothing on Friday. I'd mentioned before that because I was still too fat, I was cutting back the beer and chips this weekend and a sore throat and not feeling well made that easier. While I've still got an amazing collection of beer just calling my name at home, I'm down to only two bottles of beer from what's generally considered the best brewery in the world. Since I was going to limit the intake to one bottle a night, I thought I'd make them count by knocking back a bottle of Westvleteren 8 on Friday night and Westvleteren 12 on Saturday night. However, the sore throat prevented me from having much in the way of taste buds (yes, I drink beer for the taste, not to get shit-faced), so I'm holding onto my two remaining Holy Grails.
Just one beer last night and God only knows what I weighed when I got up. Jennifer had been telling me not to run this weekend since I had a sore throat (my sore throats usually turn into strep, so we're both cautious when my throat gets 'scratchy'), but I'm not a great listener. This morning it was nice and sunny and when I got the paper, about 10 degrees warmer than normal (it was a balmy 48). So, I decided to go for it because I'm a warrior.
My previous long run was something like 5.2 miles. There's a stretch of road that I ride my bike on quite frequently and since I've done it so often, I know different landmarks to figure 1.3 miles, 2.0 miles, 3.0 miles, 3.65 miles, etc, all the way up to 7.3 miles. It's a mostly quiet, straight stretch of road that's mostly flat, but has some gentle, easy inclines along the way. I decided to set out for the 3-mile mark and then turn around. It was ambitious, but like I said, I'm a warrior.
The run itself was non-descript, but it was nice to get out of the neighborhood. At two miles in, I saw a dog and thought, "Great, I don't feel well and I'm either going to have to outrun this dog or kick its ass." As I approached the dog stopped and stared. I think he was trying to determine how tasty I'd be, but I noticed a flaw...his tale-tell tail gave him away, he was a lover and not a fighter. His tell was a slight wag. So I started talking to him and telling him what a pretty boy he was...the wag grew in enthusiasm. I continued telling him what a good boy he was til we reached the next house (there are only a handful of houses during the three mile stretch, so he was running with me for a good while), when I told him to go on home and I'd catch him on the return trip.
About a mile later, I saw a bigger, louder dog. Fortunately, this dog was being visited by a friend so he barely gave me a look. At the 3-mile mark I slowed to a walk and checked the GPS thingy. It was right on the money, though it gave me a very slow pace.
By four miles, I was starting to get tired, my throat was starting to feel dry, and I was ready for the recliner. I visited my dog friend again and told him to be a good boy and I'd see him later. During the last couple miles, I did stop for a walk twice, but only for a few paces.
As I climbed the only major hill, I saw a familiar, unexpected sight. Jennifer and Hayden were out to run errands and thought they'd drive by to see if I was lying in a ditch or needed a ride home for any other reason. I declined and they were on their way.
On the last mile, I had a bit of a second wind and thought long and hard about an extra mile. Ultimately, I gave in and decided to save it for later. My run ended up at 6.05 miles, and that's less than 1% off what I expected it to be. The downside is that my average speed sucked. Granted I didn't feel great, but I never felt like I was going slow. I think mostly it just showed that all my previous runs are a bit off (to the high side) in what the GPS tells me is the distance, and since the distance is inflated but the time isn't, the pace is artificially high. Oh well, as of today I know I can run half of a half marathon. I'll worry about speed as soon as I can crack off a 13-mile run.
As expected, I was soaked in sweat when I got home. I peeled off the wet clothes and hopped in the shower. I still have put the clothes in the laundry room because I can't catch the little boogers...my socks, pants and shirts are all running around the house and I don't have the energy to chase them.
I've had little to eat so far, and not much to drink, so all I've done is burn calories and lose water weight. When I got out of the shower, the scale read 182.4 so hitting my goal of seeing 179.9 or less by Thanksgiving is still reachable, but will require a little more will power and since some of us from the class of 1987 will be getting together the night before Thanksgiving, I've got to see that number by Wednesday morning. But, I'm a warrior so I'll keep trying (in case you didn't figure it out, that's what the video at top is all about...being a warrior).
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Not much in the tank today
I was worn out yesterday. Fortunately, Hayden didn't have much homework so we finished in no time and we each decided to relax. I didn't feel bad, but I didn't seem to have much in the tank as far as energy. I've been running a lot lately, the broken foot is doing great, and I haven't really taken any days off to rest since I can't remember when. After sitting in the recliner most of the night and loading up on every vitamin pill I had (I've been trying to remember to take a multi-vitamin every day, something my doctor suggested a year or so ago), I decided a beer and the day off on Thursday would be great.
However, I woke up feeling much better today. While today is a bit warmer than it has been, it's still nipply out and somewhere in the house I knew I had a pair of runner's pants so when I got up I decided to look for them. It only took a few minutes to find them, so I thought, "screw it," and figured I'd try them out.
I recall a friend of mine telling me she liked her runs to be deep and hard (or long and slow, I can't remember), so I went for a run, taking it very easy. It occurred to me while running that my legs don't hurt all that much when I run and my lungs can handle 50+ minutes of jogging, so I decided that even though I was running on empty I wanted to see if I could put 4 miles behind me.
As I headed west, I noticed I was running directly into the wind. When I turned left and headed south for a bit, I noticed, again, that I was running directly into the wind. Eventually I turned and was heading east when I noticed that, once more, I was running directly into the wind. I thought maybe I should have listened to myself last night when I decided to take the day off. Seriously, the freaking wind was in my face unless I ran north.
Though my legs felt a big heavy and my ankles weren't exactly interested in a longish run, I managed 4.6 miles today in just over 45 minutes. I stopped after two miles and dropped my hat and gloves off by our gate (it was 37 degrees when I started, but after two miles, I have sweating like a whore in church). After three miles, I stopped and walked for about 50 feet. Other than that, I piddled along at a 6.1 MPH clip (which I was a bit encouraged by, given how slow it felt).
Even after taking off the gloves and hat, I continued to leak sweat. I wish you could have felt my shirt when I got home. OMG.
After getting off the scale, I wasn't exactly doing a happy dance. The other day I was down as low as 183.2. Yesterday, I weighed myself before running and weighed 186.4 and then 184.2 after running. Today, after the run I was at 184.0. I was hoping to be a bit lower, especially considering that as soon as I start eating I'll be back up to 186 or so tonight.
I'm not giving up on seeing 179.9 or lower by Thanksgiving, but now I have no choice but to limit the damage this weekend, something I didn't want to have to do. I so look forward to the weekends because that's when I allow myself to pop the cork on a $10 bottle of beer. That's not looking likely at this point.
Regardless, I was pleased that I managed 4.6 miles on what I'd planned to be a day off.
However, I woke up feeling much better today. While today is a bit warmer than it has been, it's still nipply out and somewhere in the house I knew I had a pair of runner's pants so when I got up I decided to look for them. It only took a few minutes to find them, so I thought, "screw it," and figured I'd try them out.
I recall a friend of mine telling me she liked her runs to be deep and hard (or long and slow, I can't remember), so I went for a run, taking it very easy. It occurred to me while running that my legs don't hurt all that much when I run and my lungs can handle 50+ minutes of jogging, so I decided that even though I was running on empty I wanted to see if I could put 4 miles behind me.
As I headed west, I noticed I was running directly into the wind. When I turned left and headed south for a bit, I noticed, again, that I was running directly into the wind. Eventually I turned and was heading east when I noticed that, once more, I was running directly into the wind. I thought maybe I should have listened to myself last night when I decided to take the day off. Seriously, the freaking wind was in my face unless I ran north.
Though my legs felt a big heavy and my ankles weren't exactly interested in a longish run, I managed 4.6 miles today in just over 45 minutes. I stopped after two miles and dropped my hat and gloves off by our gate (it was 37 degrees when I started, but after two miles, I have sweating like a whore in church). After three miles, I stopped and walked for about 50 feet. Other than that, I piddled along at a 6.1 MPH clip (which I was a bit encouraged by, given how slow it felt).
Even after taking off the gloves and hat, I continued to leak sweat. I wish you could have felt my shirt when I got home. OMG.
After getting off the scale, I wasn't exactly doing a happy dance. The other day I was down as low as 183.2. Yesterday, I weighed myself before running and weighed 186.4 and then 184.2 after running. Today, after the run I was at 184.0. I was hoping to be a bit lower, especially considering that as soon as I start eating I'll be back up to 186 or so tonight.
I'm not giving up on seeing 179.9 or lower by Thanksgiving, but now I have no choice but to limit the damage this weekend, something I didn't want to have to do. I so look forward to the weekends because that's when I allow myself to pop the cork on a $10 bottle of beer. That's not looking likely at this point.
Regardless, I was pleased that I managed 4.6 miles on what I'd planned to be a day off.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
No beer last night
The football game last night sucked. It was played on a shitty field in shitty weather and one of the teams is shitty and the other is playing shitty. Had I not had a wiener and been obligated to watch it, I probably wouldn't have. I actually fell asleep during the game as it more resembled soccer than real football as it was mostly a field goal fest. As such, I didn't even feel like having a beer last night.
This morning, I opted against running through the neighborhood (I saw ice and decided I'd prefer the warmer confines of my mancave) and instead ran on the dreadmill. In trying to work within the framework of something my cousin suggested, I started off with a half mile jog before enduring a series of eighth-mile runs at an incline and then slower eighth mile 'runs' at no incline to mimic running up a hill and then back down. He uses it for strength training. For two miles, I alternated between tear-inducing uphill climbs and slower trots to catch my breath. With one stop in the middle for a drink and to blow my nose, I didn't stop. After finishing the uphill-downhill parts, I finished with an easy half mile jog to end the morning with what amounted to a 3-mile run overall.
After dicking around on Facebook and allowing my body temperature to get back below triple digits, I hit the shower. I dryed off, shaved and hopped on the scale. 183.2. (Doing my happy dance now)
Granted, I'm not weighing myself at the ideal time, but I'm weighing under the same conditions everyday. I can't wait to see less than 180 because there's a new buffet place that just opened in Evansville and I'm looking forward to leaving my mark on the place.
This morning, I opted against running through the neighborhood (I saw ice and decided I'd prefer the warmer confines of my mancave) and instead ran on the dreadmill. In trying to work within the framework of something my cousin suggested, I started off with a half mile jog before enduring a series of eighth-mile runs at an incline and then slower eighth mile 'runs' at no incline to mimic running up a hill and then back down. He uses it for strength training. For two miles, I alternated between tear-inducing uphill climbs and slower trots to catch my breath. With one stop in the middle for a drink and to blow my nose, I didn't stop. After finishing the uphill-downhill parts, I finished with an easy half mile jog to end the morning with what amounted to a 3-mile run overall.
After dicking around on Facebook and allowing my body temperature to get back below triple digits, I hit the shower. I dryed off, shaved and hopped on the scale. 183.2. (Doing my happy dance now)
Granted, I'm not weighing myself at the ideal time, but I'm weighing under the same conditions everyday. I can't wait to see less than 180 because there's a new buffet place that just opened in Evansville and I'm looking forward to leaving my mark on the place.
Any questions?
Does anyone not remember this commercial from back in the day? It was a PSA about drugs being bad for you. I think they need to start airing it again.
I'm not sure at what age kids start drinking or doing drugs these days but it's obviously in the 3rd grade or earlier. I'm sure my lawyer cousin will provide a statistic saying otherwise, but I've got proof that kids start hitting the hard stuff far earlier than we believe.
Yesterday afternoon, Hayden and I were working on some homework he had as he learned about Veteran's Day. He had a worksheet where he had to fill out certain words that were missing--words like Armistice, Vietnam, Soldier--and since most 3rd graders aren't familiar with those words, there was a blank dash for each letter and under dash was the letter that came after the intended letter. For example, in Armistice, the first letter was B. So all you had to do was write down the letter that precedes the letter you were given. To make it even easier, Hayden's got a list of all the letters printed and written in cursive taped to the wall in the kitchen, where we do most of the homework.
I read him the directions and asked him which letter came before the letter "B." He replied, "9?"
I first thought he was being funny. He's got a good sense of humor and makes me laugh every day. However, he didn't appear to be joking. I asked again. Again, he replied, "9."
He still had that "I'm not joking" looking on his face, so I said, in a bit of a different, darker tone, "Hayden, which letter in the alphabet comes before the letter B?" Just as calmly as he could, he said, "3?"
My second thought was that I was being Punk'd. I looked around for Ashton Kutcher, but it was only Hayden and me, and the animals around. "Hayden, are you shitting me? What letter in the alphabet comes before the letter B? And don't tell me a fucking number."
It really would make sense if he's been drinking. I've got two rooms full of empty beer bottles and full beer bottles in three different refrigerators and more in the pantry. But I keep a pretty good eye on what I've got an nothing seems to be missing so I'm sure it's not alcohol (plus, he doesn't like the smell of it when he takes a whiff of whatever I'm drinking). So, I'm ruling out alcohol, but I think Holy Rosary might have a drug problem.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Slowly but surely
I felt great on Saturday and had the house to myself for a few hours. It was beautiful out so I grabbed my running shoes and shock absorber socks (along with britches and a shirt) and went for a run. My previous long run was just over 3 miles but I knocked out the 4- and 5-mile walls with a 5.2 mile jog through the neighborhood.
The run went so well I even felt pretty good afterward, enough so that I went for a short bike ride and then later that night took the pup for a walk. Was tired yesterday and could tell I had been running, but looked forward to another week of wearing out my running shoes.
This morning wasn't quite as nice as Saturday, or even yesterday. Storm rolled through last night and brought cold temps and wetness. This morning's run took place in 37 degree, wet, windy weather. It didn't take long to realize today wasn't going to be as much fun, though I did learn a few things. First, my shoes aren't made for the colder temperatures. They're adidas running shoes and they're made out of the same stuff as some of my golf shirts. Not sure what it is, but the shoes breathe to let the nasty, sweaty foot stank out and keep my tender little toe toes cool. That's great when it's hot out, but not so much when it's 37 and wet. I could feel the wind blowing through my shoes and after the first puddle, my big toe started to get numb quick. I made a mental note to either get another pair of shoes or avoid puddles like the plague.
The second learning experience consisted of learning something new and confirming something I was pretty sure I knew. Running into the wind isn't as much as running with the wind. It's obvious, but for some of you who might not be playing with a full deck, I thought I'd mention it again. I'm not sure how long I've been working toward running a mini, but I'm picking up on things that I hadn't before. After riding my bike all summer, I was able to tell which way the wind was blowing by looking at the lakes I'd pass (It may seem silly not to be able to know which way the wind is blowing, but when you're wearing a helmet and pedaling along at 15-20 MPH, you sometimes can't tell, especially in the midwest where it might be blowing in several directions at once). Anyway, I'm not much of a spitter, but I've found I do spit a few times during each run. When I'm running with the wind, my spit travels a good deal in front of me. When I'm running against the wind, I end up wearing my spit. Again, it seems obvious, but your mind wanders when you're out there picking them up and putting them down. I decided that spitting to the side took the guesswork out of the equation.
Between the cold, the wet, the wind, and being a Monday morning, I wasn't out for some marathon of a run. Just a bit more than I've been doing to help push my endurance a bit. I set my goal for three miles. That was out and back once, then back out again half way and back again. I really wanted to stop after a couple miles, but I kept telling myself, "You're a fat bastard...you're a fat bastard...you're a fat bastard" and I kept going.
I was out for just shy of 3.25 miles and just over 30 minutes. I went with the phone app that seems to be the most accurate (though it's a bit shy on the calorie counting), and also because it's got a split time thingy showing time and speed for each mile. My first mile was in 9:51 and a barely upright 6.09 MPH. I expected it to suck because it was into the wind most of the way and I was still trying to wake up. The second mile was downwind, though you can't really tell as it was in 9:46 at 6.15 MPH. I got a bit of a second wind after that second wind and several times had to slow myself down. That third mile was 9:34 and 6.27 and consisted of both into the wind and with the wind. A couple times I actually found myself running instead of jogging. I noticed as I get closer to home and my running is almost done that my legs start running a bit faster than I want them to.
Despite the cold, I was sweating something fierce. I peeled off the layers of clothing and ordered them upstairs to the hamper. After a shower and a shave, I hopped on the scale. Last Monday was a disappointing 187.2 on my way to Friday's 184.8. Today was a mostly good 184.8.
There's Monday Night Football tonight, but it'll suck so I'll keep it to one beer. Also, to make sure I drink a lot of water during the day, I picked up a way fancy 28-ounce water bottle with the impressive 'freezer stick' in it to keep my agua cold. (Thought I'd throw in some Spanglish to impress my Latino contingent)
My goal is still to see 179.X or better by Thanksgiving morning. I'm going to have to move that up a day early because some of us are planning on going to Bar Louie the night before Thansgiving and that'll add a couple pounds probably. To drop 5 pounds in 9 days is likely going to mean I have to cut out the beer this weekend. That'll suck because I've still got some quality brew at home.
Regardless, I'm getting there slowly but surely.
The run went so well I even felt pretty good afterward, enough so that I went for a short bike ride and then later that night took the pup for a walk. Was tired yesterday and could tell I had been running, but looked forward to another week of wearing out my running shoes.
This morning wasn't quite as nice as Saturday, or even yesterday. Storm rolled through last night and brought cold temps and wetness. This morning's run took place in 37 degree, wet, windy weather. It didn't take long to realize today wasn't going to be as much fun, though I did learn a few things. First, my shoes aren't made for the colder temperatures. They're adidas running shoes and they're made out of the same stuff as some of my golf shirts. Not sure what it is, but the shoes breathe to let the nasty, sweaty foot stank out and keep my tender little toe toes cool. That's great when it's hot out, but not so much when it's 37 and wet. I could feel the wind blowing through my shoes and after the first puddle, my big toe started to get numb quick. I made a mental note to either get another pair of shoes or avoid puddles like the plague.
The second learning experience consisted of learning something new and confirming something I was pretty sure I knew. Running into the wind isn't as much as running with the wind. It's obvious, but for some of you who might not be playing with a full deck, I thought I'd mention it again. I'm not sure how long I've been working toward running a mini, but I'm picking up on things that I hadn't before. After riding my bike all summer, I was able to tell which way the wind was blowing by looking at the lakes I'd pass (It may seem silly not to be able to know which way the wind is blowing, but when you're wearing a helmet and pedaling along at 15-20 MPH, you sometimes can't tell, especially in the midwest where it might be blowing in several directions at once). Anyway, I'm not much of a spitter, but I've found I do spit a few times during each run. When I'm running with the wind, my spit travels a good deal in front of me. When I'm running against the wind, I end up wearing my spit. Again, it seems obvious, but your mind wanders when you're out there picking them up and putting them down. I decided that spitting to the side took the guesswork out of the equation.
Between the cold, the wet, the wind, and being a Monday morning, I wasn't out for some marathon of a run. Just a bit more than I've been doing to help push my endurance a bit. I set my goal for three miles. That was out and back once, then back out again half way and back again. I really wanted to stop after a couple miles, but I kept telling myself, "You're a fat bastard...you're a fat bastard...you're a fat bastard" and I kept going.
I was out for just shy of 3.25 miles and just over 30 minutes. I went with the phone app that seems to be the most accurate (though it's a bit shy on the calorie counting), and also because it's got a split time thingy showing time and speed for each mile. My first mile was in 9:51 and a barely upright 6.09 MPH. I expected it to suck because it was into the wind most of the way and I was still trying to wake up. The second mile was downwind, though you can't really tell as it was in 9:46 at 6.15 MPH. I got a bit of a second wind after that second wind and several times had to slow myself down. That third mile was 9:34 and 6.27 and consisted of both into the wind and with the wind. A couple times I actually found myself running instead of jogging. I noticed as I get closer to home and my running is almost done that my legs start running a bit faster than I want them to.
Despite the cold, I was sweating something fierce. I peeled off the layers of clothing and ordered them upstairs to the hamper. After a shower and a shave, I hopped on the scale. Last Monday was a disappointing 187.2 on my way to Friday's 184.8. Today was a mostly good 184.8.
There's Monday Night Football tonight, but it'll suck so I'll keep it to one beer. Also, to make sure I drink a lot of water during the day, I picked up a way fancy 28-ounce water bottle with the impressive 'freezer stick' in it to keep my agua cold. (Thought I'd throw in some Spanglish to impress my Latino contingent)
My goal is still to see 179.X or better by Thanksgiving morning. I'm going to have to move that up a day early because some of us are planning on going to Bar Louie the night before Thansgiving and that'll add a couple pounds probably. To drop 5 pounds in 9 days is likely going to mean I have to cut out the beer this weekend. That'll suck because I've still got some quality brew at home.
Regardless, I'm getting there slowly but surely.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Bad Kitty
I should have seen it coming. Deep down, it just made sense. She's been a bad kitty since we brought her home. She's always knocking shit over, always getting into things she's not supposed to, always sleeps 23 hours a day and that one hour she's awake is from 4:30 AM to 5:30 AM.
She's quite the talker too. Never shuts up. I thought Jennifer and I sounded like a broken record in dealing with Hayden and the thousand times a day we say, 'No,' but now the only thing we seem to say is 'shut up,' because all Porter does it talk. She just never shuts up. She's like a teenage girl on a brand new cell phone...talk, talk, talk, talk, talk.
So, to summarize, she's a royal pain in the ass. Sure, she's cute, and honestly, who wants an animal that doesn't have a little attitude? But jeez, once in a while it would be nice to have a second cat like Sneaky. Sneaky is a great cat, very similar to me--rub our bellies once in a while and leave us alone the rest of the time.
Ok, enough background, onto the story. A couple weeks ago, I took Porter to the vet to have her lady pieces removed. The vet went in and changed her plumbing and said to bring her back in a couple weeks to have the stitches removed. He said to keep her from the other animals for a couple days immediately following the surgery and that he'd take care of the stitches when I brought her back.
Honestly, with the way Porter always starts fights with Sneaky and Memphis (the beagle), I fully expected to have to rush her back after one of the other animals gave her a good kidney punch, but that never happened. Or so I thought.
I took Porter in today. I handed the Kitty Carrier to the lady with the nice hair at the receptionist's desk and she said she'd be back in a few minutes. I sat down and maybe 45 seconds later the lady with the nice hair was bringing back the kitty.
I mentioned how quick that was, and she informed me that the stitches had already been removed. I said, "Well...I didn't do it and you didn't do it, who took them out?" We paused and both looked over at a very guilty looking kitty. Porter just turned her head and started staring out the window.
It very easily could have been Sneaky or Memphis, but knowing Porter I think I have a good idea who the bad kitty is. I asked the lady with the nice hair, "Can I set up an appointment to get her declawed, or have she already removed those too?" I'll probably have another similar story in a month.
She's quite the talker too. Never shuts up. I thought Jennifer and I sounded like a broken record in dealing with Hayden and the thousand times a day we say, 'No,' but now the only thing we seem to say is 'shut up,' because all Porter does it talk. She just never shuts up. She's like a teenage girl on a brand new cell phone...talk, talk, talk, talk, talk.
So, to summarize, she's a royal pain in the ass. Sure, she's cute, and honestly, who wants an animal that doesn't have a little attitude? But jeez, once in a while it would be nice to have a second cat like Sneaky. Sneaky is a great cat, very similar to me--rub our bellies once in a while and leave us alone the rest of the time.
Ok, enough background, onto the story. A couple weeks ago, I took Porter to the vet to have her lady pieces removed. The vet went in and changed her plumbing and said to bring her back in a couple weeks to have the stitches removed. He said to keep her from the other animals for a couple days immediately following the surgery and that he'd take care of the stitches when I brought her back.
Honestly, with the way Porter always starts fights with Sneaky and Memphis (the beagle), I fully expected to have to rush her back after one of the other animals gave her a good kidney punch, but that never happened. Or so I thought.
I took Porter in today. I handed the Kitty Carrier to the lady with the nice hair at the receptionist's desk and she said she'd be back in a few minutes. I sat down and maybe 45 seconds later the lady with the nice hair was bringing back the kitty.
I mentioned how quick that was, and she informed me that the stitches had already been removed. I said, "Well...I didn't do it and you didn't do it, who took them out?" We paused and both looked over at a very guilty looking kitty. Porter just turned her head and started staring out the window.
It very easily could have been Sneaky or Memphis, but knowing Porter I think I have a good idea who the bad kitty is. I asked the lady with the nice hair, "Can I set up an appointment to get her declawed, or have she already removed those too?" I'll probably have another similar story in a month.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Figured it out
I think I might be onto something. I've been thinking about it for a few days now, but I finally did something about it yesterday. Back in the day when I was working full-time (and by working, I mean I was at work), I used to drink a lot of water every day. At work, I'd drink water all day long, easily 6-8 ten ounce glasses, plus a 20-ounce bottle at home with dinner and maybe another 20-ounce bottle if I did any exercising.
Since I stopped working/being at work full-time, I haven't been doing that. For the last few months, I've had maybe 6-8 ten ounce glasses during that whole period of time. On Monday, I was going to start drinking more at work. However, the water dispenser thing on the fridge at work stopped working. I rectified that by filling my own half gallon water bottle, which I promptly forgot and left at home on Tuesday.
Wednesday was different. I remembered the bottle and began my process of drinking water again. Why is this important? Well, in the grand scheme of things, it's really not. But I think it has a lot to do with my being pregnant. As you're well aware, I weigh myself every day and have for years. I can recall different times over the years where one day, for no apparent reason, I'd weigh 3 pounds more than the previous day. I'd bitch about it at work and feel like shit.
However, on the next day, I'd weigh myself and I'd be down 4 pounds. I'd sit around and work and do nothing, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Eventually, I'd come to the same conclusion each time...when I'd recall the previous day's events, it usually included me spending all the in the bathroom meeting with my leetle friend.
So, I've been fat for a few weeks and am not having any success this week ridding myself of this unwanted baby I'm carrying. Yesterday I went through roughly a quart of the water during my few hours at work. When I got home and Hayden and I finished homework (they're now working on division...little shits still can't multiply, and they're being introduced to division...WTF?), I drank a little more and continued hydrating til a few hours before bed.
This morning I woke up and felt good. The construction guys weren't doing anything in the neighborhood, my broken foot felt better, and I'd recently downloaded a couple new apps to take on my runs. When I walked out to get the paper, it felt warmer than usual. I was excited about my run.
I threw on some sweats and a shirt I'd sometimes wear on a long bike ride--one of those thin, breathey ones. I grabbed my sunglasses (gotta look cool when I run) and headed out. I turned around as I got to the gate leading out of the yard and went back inside for a new shirt. It was 48 degrees, and that's a hell of a lot colder than it seemed earlier. Take 1 was a fail.
Take 2 went better. Properly attired (mostly anyway, but I was still cold), I headed out with my new phone app running to track my journey. It was a relatively easy run. My foot never hurt and eventually I worked up a nice sweat. Nothing like a sweaty head and torso and freezing cold hands. The two miles came and went and when I returned home, I grabbed the phone to check the stats.
It read 2.08 miles and 20 minutes and 30 seconds. The problem was I didn't know how to stop the damned thing. There was no pause/stop button like every other program I've seen. When I finally realized I had to slide a button to stop it, it read 2.10 miles and 20:59.
This is the same run I've been doing for the last week and have gotten different results each time. This was the closest to the supposed 2.00 miles, but I'm not sold yet on the app. One nice feature is that it showed split times in the history, something the other app I'd been using is supposed to have but not so much for me.
After taking off my sweat-soaked shirt and chasing it around the room to get it in the hamper, I hopped in the shower and then shaved when I got out (I wanted every last gram of weight removed before I got on the scale). I got an extra bonus when I shaved because I cut off half my chin and the resulting blood loss was much appreciated, as evidenced by the scale showing 184.8. That's down a couple pounds from yesterday, and all week really.
I was very excited and then it occurred to me that maybe the scale was wrong and I should try again. The next weighing was even better--184.6. I thought maybe I should weigh myself a few more times and see if I could crack a 183, but decided I didn't want to push my luck.
Tonight is a Thursday Night Football and tomorrow starts the weekend, so I'm not expecting good things but it's nice to know that I don't have to tell Hayden he's going to be a big brother.
Since I stopped working/being at work full-time, I haven't been doing that. For the last few months, I've had maybe 6-8 ten ounce glasses during that whole period of time. On Monday, I was going to start drinking more at work. However, the water dispenser thing on the fridge at work stopped working. I rectified that by filling my own half gallon water bottle, which I promptly forgot and left at home on Tuesday.
Wednesday was different. I remembered the bottle and began my process of drinking water again. Why is this important? Well, in the grand scheme of things, it's really not. But I think it has a lot to do with my being pregnant. As you're well aware, I weigh myself every day and have for years. I can recall different times over the years where one day, for no apparent reason, I'd weigh 3 pounds more than the previous day. I'd bitch about it at work and feel like shit.
However, on the next day, I'd weigh myself and I'd be down 4 pounds. I'd sit around and work and do nothing, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Eventually, I'd come to the same conclusion each time...when I'd recall the previous day's events, it usually included me spending all the in the bathroom meeting with my leetle friend.
So, I've been fat for a few weeks and am not having any success this week ridding myself of this unwanted baby I'm carrying. Yesterday I went through roughly a quart of the water during my few hours at work. When I got home and Hayden and I finished homework (they're now working on division...little shits still can't multiply, and they're being introduced to division...WTF?), I drank a little more and continued hydrating til a few hours before bed.
This morning I woke up and felt good. The construction guys weren't doing anything in the neighborhood, my broken foot felt better, and I'd recently downloaded a couple new apps to take on my runs. When I walked out to get the paper, it felt warmer than usual. I was excited about my run.
I threw on some sweats and a shirt I'd sometimes wear on a long bike ride--one of those thin, breathey ones. I grabbed my sunglasses (gotta look cool when I run) and headed out. I turned around as I got to the gate leading out of the yard and went back inside for a new shirt. It was 48 degrees, and that's a hell of a lot colder than it seemed earlier. Take 1 was a fail.
Take 2 went better. Properly attired (mostly anyway, but I was still cold), I headed out with my new phone app running to track my journey. It was a relatively easy run. My foot never hurt and eventually I worked up a nice sweat. Nothing like a sweaty head and torso and freezing cold hands. The two miles came and went and when I returned home, I grabbed the phone to check the stats.
It read 2.08 miles and 20 minutes and 30 seconds. The problem was I didn't know how to stop the damned thing. There was no pause/stop button like every other program I've seen. When I finally realized I had to slide a button to stop it, it read 2.10 miles and 20:59.
This is the same run I've been doing for the last week and have gotten different results each time. This was the closest to the supposed 2.00 miles, but I'm not sold yet on the app. One nice feature is that it showed split times in the history, something the other app I'd been using is supposed to have but not so much for me.
After taking off my sweat-soaked shirt and chasing it around the room to get it in the hamper, I hopped in the shower and then shaved when I got out (I wanted every last gram of weight removed before I got on the scale). I got an extra bonus when I shaved because I cut off half my chin and the resulting blood loss was much appreciated, as evidenced by the scale showing 184.8. That's down a couple pounds from yesterday, and all week really.
I was very excited and then it occurred to me that maybe the scale was wrong and I should try again. The next weighing was even better--184.6. I thought maybe I should weigh myself a few more times and see if I could crack a 183, but decided I didn't want to push my luck.
Tonight is a Thursday Night Football and tomorrow starts the weekend, so I'm not expecting good things but it's nice to know that I don't have to tell Hayden he's going to be a big brother.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Nothing to see here
187.2 again today (he says, shaking his head in disgust, and wiping away tears).
I don't ever recall weighing the same thing three days in a row, especially when I've not been lazy and I'm eating well. I'm going to call a gynecologist to see when I'm due.
I don't ever recall weighing the same thing three days in a row, especially when I've not been lazy and I'm eating well. I'm going to call a gynecologist to see when I'm due.
Addtraction and Subdition
Working with Hayden on his math is becoming more and more entertaining. I've noticed they skip around in what they do, which doesn't make sense to me, but whatever. We've managed to make math somewhat fun at home and he's becoming more and more enthused about working on it. We've got a whiteboard on the wall in his room and almost every night, we work on some multiplication. He still doesn't know the tables (they just starting to move on from 0s, 1s, and 2s), but he knows the basics of how to multiply two-digit numbers times two-digit numbers (well, the basics as I've taught him, not the shit he learns in school).
Once in a while, the teacher throws in some sort of review material, consisting of little more than a worksheet with addition and subtraction problems. Hayden does mostly OK with this, but he still doesn't pay enough attention to detail.
For example, he likes to consolidate the two disciplines of addition and subtraction. Sometimes he'll take
76 or 76
- 23 + 23
93 59
He'll subtract the one's column and add the ten's column, or vice-versa. When I mention he might need to look at those again, he'll argue that he's right, because when you add or subtract the given numbers, you do indeed come up with what he's got...at least in his world.
I'm reminded on one of Hayden's favorite cartoons, the one where Bugs Bunny is in Transylvania and he keeps casting spells of 'Hocuscadabra' and 'Abracapocus.' I like to call this new math 'Addtraction' and/or 'Subdition' and it's extremely enteraining to work on. You should give it a try.
Once in a while, the teacher throws in some sort of review material, consisting of little more than a worksheet with addition and subtraction problems. Hayden does mostly OK with this, but he still doesn't pay enough attention to detail.
For example, he likes to consolidate the two disciplines of addition and subtraction. Sometimes he'll take
76 or 76
- 23 + 23
93 59
He'll subtract the one's column and add the ten's column, or vice-versa. When I mention he might need to look at those again, he'll argue that he's right, because when you add or subtract the given numbers, you do indeed come up with what he's got...at least in his world.
I'm reminded on one of Hayden's favorite cartoons, the one where Bugs Bunny is in Transylvania and he keeps casting spells of 'Hocuscadabra' and 'Abracapocus.' I like to call this new math 'Addtraction' and/or 'Subdition' and it's extremely enteraining to work on. You should give it a try.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Still at rock bottom
I did a good job of managing what I ate last night. Had very little fat and calories for dinner, only had one beer and a few potato chips during the football game. When I got up this morning, I took a huge heater and went for a jog. Came home sweating like a pig despite the 41 degree weather, grabbed a sip of water and took a shower. I shaved and blew my nose to remove all excess weight.
Keeping in mind that I typically weigh more on Mondays than any other time of the week (as I've mentioned, weekends are bad for me), I was anxious to see how much I had dropped from yesterday's 187.2 showing (my weight changes are pretty extreme, me gaining or losing 3-4 pounds in a day is nothing out of the ordinary). After the scale got through its calculations, it showed a staggering net loss of exactly 0.0 pounds.
I called the scale a few dirty names and kicked it to the side of the bathroom in disgust. I weighed the same as yesterday, a rarity as I generally lose chunks of weight from Monday to Tuesday, Tuesday to Wednesday, etc, before packing it on again over the weekend. I dropped a few more F-bombs as I went downstairs to grab a bite before heading into work.
While eating I read the latest car magazine and kept telling myself all the bullshit excuses that people tell fat bastards...it's probably just water weight, it's probably just muscle, blah, blah, blah. I almost started to believe it.
I suffered the ultimate embarrassment while getting dressed. Convinced the weight gain was nothing more than muscle or the like, I grabbed a pair of jeans that I normally wear on Tuesdays (Hayden and I go see Father Bernie at church on Tuesday nights for a very laid back service. People dress in shorts, sweats, whatever, so jeans at church isn't as bad as it sounds.). The damned things felt tight the second I 'slid' the on. And by 'slid,' I mean I tugged the shit out of them. I finally got them on, and while there was no need for a belt, there really wasn't a reason for the button either. It just wasn't going to happen. Talk about the indignity of getting kicked when you're down. I'm starting to think I've got a tumor in my stomach. A very large tumor.
I've decided I'm going back to exercising twice a day like I used to. Work up a nice sweat first thing in the morning, and then another when I get home from work. The bad foot is just going to have to man up and deal with it. I'm sick of being the butt of my own jokes. I don't like fat people, so now I'm forced to not like my favorite person...another humility.
As I mentioned, I did go for another jog this morning. Despite being a few degrees warmer (and dryer) than yesterday, I froze my cherries off. I wore gloves but my hands were cold the whole trip. Taking the exact same route as yesterday, I somehow managed to do it in 0.06 miles less than yesterday. Apparently, I'm getting bigger but the neighborhood is getting smaller.
I did use a different phone app to track my jog, but it's from the same place as the one I used yesterday. I believe the route to be 2.00 miles, meaning yesterday was off 9% and today was off 6%. Kind of begs the question, how much is it going to be off tomorrow and in which direction?
My bum foot remains sore-ish after each run, but if I give it some decent rest at night, it seems to be handling it. We'll see how well it handles the uptick in activity. I think the new shock absorber socks will shine. Speaking of which, here's a picture:
Pretty sweet, huh? Two pairs have the gray shock absorbers and one pair has a red shock absorber (can't wait to see how bitchin' the red ones are). It was a pretty stellar purchase if you ask me. They're very comfy because they stretch a little, and while they're fairly thin, they have the shock absorber part on the bottom. Don't be jealous.
Keeping in mind that I typically weigh more on Mondays than any other time of the week (as I've mentioned, weekends are bad for me), I was anxious to see how much I had dropped from yesterday's 187.2 showing (my weight changes are pretty extreme, me gaining or losing 3-4 pounds in a day is nothing out of the ordinary). After the scale got through its calculations, it showed a staggering net loss of exactly 0.0 pounds.
I called the scale a few dirty names and kicked it to the side of the bathroom in disgust. I weighed the same as yesterday, a rarity as I generally lose chunks of weight from Monday to Tuesday, Tuesday to Wednesday, etc, before packing it on again over the weekend. I dropped a few more F-bombs as I went downstairs to grab a bite before heading into work.
While eating I read the latest car magazine and kept telling myself all the bullshit excuses that people tell fat bastards...it's probably just water weight, it's probably just muscle, blah, blah, blah. I almost started to believe it.
I suffered the ultimate embarrassment while getting dressed. Convinced the weight gain was nothing more than muscle or the like, I grabbed a pair of jeans that I normally wear on Tuesdays (Hayden and I go see Father Bernie at church on Tuesday nights for a very laid back service. People dress in shorts, sweats, whatever, so jeans at church isn't as bad as it sounds.). The damned things felt tight the second I 'slid' the on. And by 'slid,' I mean I tugged the shit out of them. I finally got them on, and while there was no need for a belt, there really wasn't a reason for the button either. It just wasn't going to happen. Talk about the indignity of getting kicked when you're down. I'm starting to think I've got a tumor in my stomach. A very large tumor.
I've decided I'm going back to exercising twice a day like I used to. Work up a nice sweat first thing in the morning, and then another when I get home from work. The bad foot is just going to have to man up and deal with it. I'm sick of being the butt of my own jokes. I don't like fat people, so now I'm forced to not like my favorite person...another humility.
As I mentioned, I did go for another jog this morning. Despite being a few degrees warmer (and dryer) than yesterday, I froze my cherries off. I wore gloves but my hands were cold the whole trip. Taking the exact same route as yesterday, I somehow managed to do it in 0.06 miles less than yesterday. Apparently, I'm getting bigger but the neighborhood is getting smaller.
I did use a different phone app to track my jog, but it's from the same place as the one I used yesterday. I believe the route to be 2.00 miles, meaning yesterday was off 9% and today was off 6%. Kind of begs the question, how much is it going to be off tomorrow and in which direction?
My bum foot remains sore-ish after each run, but if I give it some decent rest at night, it seems to be handling it. We'll see how well it handles the uptick in activity. I think the new shock absorber socks will shine. Speaking of which, here's a picture:
Pretty sweet, huh? Two pairs have the gray shock absorbers and one pair has a red shock absorber (can't wait to see how bitchin' the red ones are). It was a pretty stellar purchase if you ask me. They're very comfy because they stretch a little, and while they're fairly thin, they have the shock absorber part on the bottom. Don't be jealous.
Monday, November 5, 2012
I'm still fat
Because I'm pretty sure I fractured my foot a week and a half ago, I took it fairly easy last week. I rode my recumbent bike in the mancave mostly, while giving my foot some time off. I tried to eat a little better, and by that I mean I cut back on potato chips and tried my best to only drink one beer a night. That sounds easy enough, but I just went to the beer store last week and brought home some choice swill (Goose Island Bourbon County Stout for the win. 15% ABV. Can't wait.)
There are a couple ways of looking at the results. Last Monday I was 'down' to 190.2. I saw as low as 184.8 on Friday morning but the weekend killed me again somehow. I really did make it a point to eat better, but the scale suggested it was all for naught this morning with a 187.2 showing. So, depending on how you want to look at it, I gained another 2.4 pounds over the weekend or I lost 3 pounds from the previous Monday. I'm a pessimist, so I choose to look at the 2.4 pound gain.
Giving my foot some rest was a big help. I'd been talking with my cousin, Bryan, about his training to run in a marathon and he forwarded to me a training program for speed training. In going over what he sent, I thought it made good sense to use a dreadmill, since it's more or less just running up a hill at race pace. He confirmed that he used a dreadmill sometimes, so that's what I went with.
Bryan told me the workout was brutal and that I'd hate him. He was correct on both assertions. I even toned it down because I'm not like the other crazies who can run forever. I started off with a nice little half mile run, then started the hill part. I went for an eighth of a mile at a incline of 9 at what I thought was my race pace, then slowed way down for the next eighth of a mile at no incline to catch my breath. Then did it again, and again, and once more after that. I took a couple minutes to get a drink and went 'up the hill' two more times. I was completely worn out. But if felt so good, though it was still brutal and I still hate my cousin for it.
On Saturday, I had the house to myself so I thought I'd run on the dreadmill again, this time just to burn some calories and avoid the pounding of the pavement outside. At no incline, I jogged a mile, walked a quarter and repeated that three more times. I stopped once in the middle to get a drink, but that was my only stop. 5 miles and I was completely soaked in sweat but again, it felt so good.
Yesterday I went to Wally World to pick up some groceries. It turned out to be quite entertaining (as it usually is). As soon as I got out of my car, I heard some guy screaming. It's not uncommon for me to get accosted at Wally World (I've been lectured on my parenting by one lady, and another lady actually followed my into the parking lot to tell me my driving sucked), but this was the first time I can recall the yelling hasn't been directed at me. I looked around and finally spotted a Mexican looking dude just ripping someone a new one. I tried not to look, but this was just too good. I never saw who was the beneficiary of this fatherly advice, but apparently it was one of his children, and I'm guessing a child who isn't exactly an angel, as evidenced by him screaming, 'What did you steal this time?"
Most of the rest of my Wally World trip was uneventful, except I did happen to find some running socks that have cushioning on the bottom. Given my broken foot, I felt it would have been irresponsible of me not to run around the neighborhood with shock absorber socks on, so I picked up the three pack.
This morning I went out to get the paper and it was chilly. I did some P90X leg exercises yesterday, but wanted to go ahead and get in a short run today. Armed with my shock absorber socks, I left the house in the 37 degree weather and headed out on what I'd measured to be a two-mile round trip run. The socks did ok and I came home in the still-37 degree weather, albeit in a slight drizzle, and only a hint of a sore foot.
My stupid GPS registered that I'd run 2.18 miles, so something is off to the extent of almost 10%. My bike computer says the round trip should have been 2.00 and for some reason I believe that to be correct. Another thing that leads me to believe the running GPS thing is wrong is because it tells me I'm going a bit faster than I think I am. I went out reasonably slow today and it said I averaged 6.3 MPH. However, on the dreadmill, I can't keep up even at 6 MPH for much more than a half mile. When I adjusted the distance down to 2.0 miles for 20 minutes and 46 seconds it tells me I ran 5.8 MPH which seems more reasonable. I'm going to try another GPS thing next time and see what it says.
Regardless, it's disappointing because I'm still fat. I'd like to think I ate too much salt yesterday and I'm retaining fluids. Jennifer and Hayden made potato soup yesterday and any kind of soup usually packs on pounds to my frame. Normally it's just water weight and I lose it pretty quickly. Sadly I don't think that's the case this time. I think I'm just still fat. Based on the scale, I need to drop 7 pounds by Thanksgiving because I'm going to put on at least that much over the holiday weekend.
There are a couple ways of looking at the results. Last Monday I was 'down' to 190.2. I saw as low as 184.8 on Friday morning but the weekend killed me again somehow. I really did make it a point to eat better, but the scale suggested it was all for naught this morning with a 187.2 showing. So, depending on how you want to look at it, I gained another 2.4 pounds over the weekend or I lost 3 pounds from the previous Monday. I'm a pessimist, so I choose to look at the 2.4 pound gain.
Giving my foot some rest was a big help. I'd been talking with my cousin, Bryan, about his training to run in a marathon and he forwarded to me a training program for speed training. In going over what he sent, I thought it made good sense to use a dreadmill, since it's more or less just running up a hill at race pace. He confirmed that he used a dreadmill sometimes, so that's what I went with.
Bryan told me the workout was brutal and that I'd hate him. He was correct on both assertions. I even toned it down because I'm not like the other crazies who can run forever. I started off with a nice little half mile run, then started the hill part. I went for an eighth of a mile at a incline of 9 at what I thought was my race pace, then slowed way down for the next eighth of a mile at no incline to catch my breath. Then did it again, and again, and once more after that. I took a couple minutes to get a drink and went 'up the hill' two more times. I was completely worn out. But if felt so good, though it was still brutal and I still hate my cousin for it.
On Saturday, I had the house to myself so I thought I'd run on the dreadmill again, this time just to burn some calories and avoid the pounding of the pavement outside. At no incline, I jogged a mile, walked a quarter and repeated that three more times. I stopped once in the middle to get a drink, but that was my only stop. 5 miles and I was completely soaked in sweat but again, it felt so good.
Yesterday I went to Wally World to pick up some groceries. It turned out to be quite entertaining (as it usually is). As soon as I got out of my car, I heard some guy screaming. It's not uncommon for me to get accosted at Wally World (I've been lectured on my parenting by one lady, and another lady actually followed my into the parking lot to tell me my driving sucked), but this was the first time I can recall the yelling hasn't been directed at me. I looked around and finally spotted a Mexican looking dude just ripping someone a new one. I tried not to look, but this was just too good. I never saw who was the beneficiary of this fatherly advice, but apparently it was one of his children, and I'm guessing a child who isn't exactly an angel, as evidenced by him screaming, 'What did you steal this time?"
Most of the rest of my Wally World trip was uneventful, except I did happen to find some running socks that have cushioning on the bottom. Given my broken foot, I felt it would have been irresponsible of me not to run around the neighborhood with shock absorber socks on, so I picked up the three pack.
This morning I went out to get the paper and it was chilly. I did some P90X leg exercises yesterday, but wanted to go ahead and get in a short run today. Armed with my shock absorber socks, I left the house in the 37 degree weather and headed out on what I'd measured to be a two-mile round trip run. The socks did ok and I came home in the still-37 degree weather, albeit in a slight drizzle, and only a hint of a sore foot.
My stupid GPS registered that I'd run 2.18 miles, so something is off to the extent of almost 10%. My bike computer says the round trip should have been 2.00 and for some reason I believe that to be correct. Another thing that leads me to believe the running GPS thing is wrong is because it tells me I'm going a bit faster than I think I am. I went out reasonably slow today and it said I averaged 6.3 MPH. However, on the dreadmill, I can't keep up even at 6 MPH for much more than a half mile. When I adjusted the distance down to 2.0 miles for 20 minutes and 46 seconds it tells me I ran 5.8 MPH which seems more reasonable. I'm going to try another GPS thing next time and see what it says.
Regardless, it's disappointing because I'm still fat. I'd like to think I ate too much salt yesterday and I'm retaining fluids. Jennifer and Hayden made potato soup yesterday and any kind of soup usually packs on pounds to my frame. Normally it's just water weight and I lose it pretty quickly. Sadly I don't think that's the case this time. I think I'm just still fat. Based on the scale, I need to drop 7 pounds by Thanksgiving because I'm going to put on at least that much over the holiday weekend.
Thanks guys
I want to take this opportunity to thank all the construction guys that have been working in our neighborhood over the past few weeks. They've been there replacing a good portion of the 3.5 linear miles of concrete that make up our subdivision.
Because of their diligence over those weeks, they've ensured that I haven't overslept once, making it a point to start making noise just before the sun starts to shine every morning. Granted, I don't get into the office until 10:30 two days a week and 12:30 on two other days so I don't need an alarm, but I'm damn happy they've been looking out for me just in case I try to oversleep.
They're very kind in many other kinds of ways, notably the way they've been showering me with gifts. As I walk out to get the paper, I notice the guys leave me their cigarette butts almost every day. I'm not a smoker, but it's nice to know the guys are taking care of me in case I want to start.
On Sunday I finally got my lawn mower started. It's been a couple weeks since I cut the front yard and the grass was getting long and the leaves were growing deep. I appreciate the empty Coke can that had been hiding under the leaves. My lawn mower made a really neat sound when the empty can was discovered. I don't consume much caffeine, but again, I appreciate that the guys were looking out for me in case I needed that late morning pick-me-up.
Finally, I want to thank the guy who left the empty pack of cigarettes in my mailbox. That was truly kind of you to show me which brand was your favorite, just in case I want to boil up a nice batch of lung cancer.
I'm sure all the households that make up Green River Estates III is equally pleased. Each time I walk the dog, ride bikes with Hayden, or go for a run, I see remnants of the construction team in everyone's yard and drive way. Guys, keep up the good work.
Because of their diligence over those weeks, they've ensured that I haven't overslept once, making it a point to start making noise just before the sun starts to shine every morning. Granted, I don't get into the office until 10:30 two days a week and 12:30 on two other days so I don't need an alarm, but I'm damn happy they've been looking out for me just in case I try to oversleep.
They're very kind in many other kinds of ways, notably the way they've been showering me with gifts. As I walk out to get the paper, I notice the guys leave me their cigarette butts almost every day. I'm not a smoker, but it's nice to know the guys are taking care of me in case I want to start.
On Sunday I finally got my lawn mower started. It's been a couple weeks since I cut the front yard and the grass was getting long and the leaves were growing deep. I appreciate the empty Coke can that had been hiding under the leaves. My lawn mower made a really neat sound when the empty can was discovered. I don't consume much caffeine, but again, I appreciate that the guys were looking out for me in case I needed that late morning pick-me-up.
Finally, I want to thank the guy who left the empty pack of cigarettes in my mailbox. That was truly kind of you to show me which brand was your favorite, just in case I want to boil up a nice batch of lung cancer.
I'm sure all the households that make up Green River Estates III is equally pleased. Each time I walk the dog, ride bikes with Hayden, or go for a run, I see remnants of the construction team in everyone's yard and drive way. Guys, keep up the good work.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Annoyed twice before noon
I left the office at 11 this morning and stopped at the bank on the way home. I hate going to the bank because it's like being on trial with all the questions they ask (in addition to all the old people that congregate there). After answering how my day is going I don't want to talk again until I say 'thanks' and start walking towards the door. While I try not to look grumpy, I don't think I've ever had a talkative look on my face.
Anyway, I handed the bank lady a few checks and a deposit slip. My A.D.D. kicked in and I started thinking about other things when she asked if I was aware of their new programs. For whatever reason, I shook my head and said 'no.' Big mistake.
She spent several minutes explaining to me all the new shit they've got and how much I could save by not paying bank fees (which I already don't pay), on top of all the extra cash I could receive by earning 0.35% interest instead of 0.25% interest on my checking account. I explained I already one of their new savings account type things and that I'd just transfer some extra funds from my checking to my savings account. But that wasn't good enough. She wanted to let me know that I would be earning extra on my checking account too. After doing some quick math in my head, I'd make an additional $1.67 a month in interest.
I calmly declined because I just wanted to get out of there. But the bank lady kept going...explaining that my account number wouldn't change and that they were trying to get customers to switch over because eventually they were going to automatically convert everyone's account anyway. I asked, in as nice a tone as I could muster, 'if you're going to do it automatically, why is this an issue right this moment?' She paused, flashed me that 'God, you're really good looking but not very pleasant' look (I get that a lot), and asked if there was anything else she could do for me today. I thanked her and said 'no.'
When I got home, I decided I was going to cut the grass. It's been a while and it's a nice warm day and will likely be the last time of the year. I went out and put on my grass-cuttin' shoes and pulled out the mower from our detached garage. I pulled the pull cable thing and nothing happened. I pulled again and got only a slightly better response from the mower.
At this point, I was starting to get pissed. Earlier in the year, I bought a new mower. It's some special turbo supercharged propelled mower that is supposed to start on the first pull every time. As such, there is no choke, no primer button or anything to help when it won't start. Since the mower has been in the outside garage for the last few weeks in the mostly cold weather, a choke would make perfect sense. But, since I've got the special mower that starts on the first pull every time, there is no choke.
I pulled a few more times and it tried to fire, but each time it gave up early. A few times, it spit out some dark smoke. I laughed and took it as a lawn mower fart, thinking surely that would make it feel better and it would now want to start. No dice. So glad I bought the special lawn mower that always starts on the first try. #(do I even have to say it)
Anyway, I handed the bank lady a few checks and a deposit slip. My A.D.D. kicked in and I started thinking about other things when she asked if I was aware of their new programs. For whatever reason, I shook my head and said 'no.' Big mistake.
She spent several minutes explaining to me all the new shit they've got and how much I could save by not paying bank fees (which I already don't pay), on top of all the extra cash I could receive by earning 0.35% interest instead of 0.25% interest on my checking account. I explained I already one of their new savings account type things and that I'd just transfer some extra funds from my checking to my savings account. But that wasn't good enough. She wanted to let me know that I would be earning extra on my checking account too. After doing some quick math in my head, I'd make an additional $1.67 a month in interest.
I calmly declined because I just wanted to get out of there. But the bank lady kept going...explaining that my account number wouldn't change and that they were trying to get customers to switch over because eventually they were going to automatically convert everyone's account anyway. I asked, in as nice a tone as I could muster, 'if you're going to do it automatically, why is this an issue right this moment?' She paused, flashed me that 'God, you're really good looking but not very pleasant' look (I get that a lot), and asked if there was anything else she could do for me today. I thanked her and said 'no.'
When I got home, I decided I was going to cut the grass. It's been a while and it's a nice warm day and will likely be the last time of the year. I went out and put on my grass-cuttin' shoes and pulled out the mower from our detached garage. I pulled the pull cable thing and nothing happened. I pulled again and got only a slightly better response from the mower.
At this point, I was starting to get pissed. Earlier in the year, I bought a new mower. It's some special turbo supercharged propelled mower that is supposed to start on the first pull every time. As such, there is no choke, no primer button or anything to help when it won't start. Since the mower has been in the outside garage for the last few weeks in the mostly cold weather, a choke would make perfect sense. But, since I've got the special mower that starts on the first pull every time, there is no choke.
I pulled a few more times and it tried to fire, but each time it gave up early. A few times, it spit out some dark smoke. I laughed and took it as a lawn mower fart, thinking surely that would make it feel better and it would now want to start. No dice. So glad I bought the special lawn mower that always starts on the first try. #(do I even have to say it)
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