Buffing it Out
Once upon a time, my readership of eight, I was in amazing shape. No. Really. I was in the gym 4-5 days a week, and I was a crazy cyclist who enjoyed nothing more than riding in big, 30-70-mile circles on the weekends. I had muscle definition out the wazoo. Seriously. I looked pretty good. I needed bandages, cuz I was cut!
Way too long ago, I wound up with a back injury that kept me out of the gym and off the bike. Then I got lazy and just fell out of my old good habits. My waistline grew a bit, and I knew I was sliding back to my former, pre-fit large size. Oh, did I fail to mention that, before I was fit, I was 30 lbs. heavier? Yeah. So not going back to that. With that in mind, for the last year or two, I'd been mouthing off about getting buff again. I started going back to the gym, but I wasn't motivated. Then I'd get motivated, but little things would get in the way of my being able to go to the gym regularly enough to make a difference, not the least of which was the sudden closing of the gym I'd been a member of for ten years. I found a new gym, and my motivation was renewed, but something still wasn't clicking. I wasn't making the progress I wanted. I knew I had to tweak my nutrition, but my old nutrition plan just wasn't working. Enter my brother.
For Chanukah 2010, he gave me a consult with his nutritionist. Ya know, most people would receive a nutritionist consult as a gift and say, "Dude. Seriously? That's insulting. Now give me that Twinkie." But he and I understand each other. He knows I hate Twinkies. Also? He could really come up with better ways to insult me than that. He's a crafty big brother that way.
During my initial consult, the nutritionist and I chatted, she weighed me, and then took out The Calipers of Doom. I was prepared for the results. Look. I know I'm not overweight, but I'm also not fit. I loved my four-pack, and I want it back. Do I care what I weigh? No. I care about body fat percentage, and that's what The Calipers of Doom determine. I also learned about fat pounds. Yeah, fat pounds would be how many pounds of your total weight is fat. For me? Thirty seven. Thirty seven pounds of me is pure, unadulterated, jiggly fat. In the grand scheme of things, it's not much. It's simply a translation of my body fat percentage in more tangible terms. It's also a 37-lb. gauntlet thrown at my feet. Challenge accepted, Sir Fat, Black Knight of the Bulging Belly.
After my first visit, and armed with a large folder of recipes and tips and valuable information, I made some major and minor changes. Bear in mind, this isn't a diet. It's a nutrition plan of healthy foods and sane portions. Lindsey's been on board for everything with regard to the meals we share and my renewed dedication to the gym. We'd already started eating healthier and eating more meals at home, so this wasn't too hard. I am, however, going through more eggs in one week than most families of five, but that's OK. Sugar's enjoying getting a couple of yolks now and then.
I stuck with the plan through my follow-up visit, during which I wasn't expecting to see much change. When the Calipers of Doom came out, I was surprised that most of my measurements had decreased. I lost 2% of body fat (aka 7 fat lbs), and I increased my lean body mass, which translated to an actual weight loss of 4 lbs. Again, I didn't see it. But I see my body daily. With that in mind, I decided to have Lindsey take a photo of me after each appointment so that I can track my progress. I took a cue from every weight loss show on TV, and posed in a pair of cycling shorts and a sports bra. Because, really? I can't think of any items of clothing that are less forgiving about showing flaws. I mean, cycling shorts may as well have blinking arrows and bell signals pointing out each of my trouble spots between the waist and knee.
My visits to the gym have increased, I'm still enjoying the nutrition plan, and with the advent of warm weather, I've gotten back in the saddle and am starting to go cycling again. Next Wednesday, I say bring on the Calipers of Doom and the Cycling Shorts of No Mercy. Me and my egg whites are ready to kick your asses. Grr.
Way too long ago, I wound up with a back injury that kept me out of the gym and off the bike. Then I got lazy and just fell out of my old good habits. My waistline grew a bit, and I knew I was sliding back to my former, pre-fit large size. Oh, did I fail to mention that, before I was fit, I was 30 lbs. heavier? Yeah. So not going back to that. With that in mind, for the last year or two, I'd been mouthing off about getting buff again. I started going back to the gym, but I wasn't motivated. Then I'd get motivated, but little things would get in the way of my being able to go to the gym regularly enough to make a difference, not the least of which was the sudden closing of the gym I'd been a member of for ten years. I found a new gym, and my motivation was renewed, but something still wasn't clicking. I wasn't making the progress I wanted. I knew I had to tweak my nutrition, but my old nutrition plan just wasn't working. Enter my brother.
For Chanukah 2010, he gave me a consult with his nutritionist. Ya know, most people would receive a nutritionist consult as a gift and say, "Dude. Seriously? That's insulting. Now give me that Twinkie." But he and I understand each other. He knows I hate Twinkies. Also? He could really come up with better ways to insult me than that. He's a crafty big brother that way.
During my initial consult, the nutritionist and I chatted, she weighed me, and then took out The Calipers of Doom. I was prepared for the results. Look. I know I'm not overweight, but I'm also not fit. I loved my four-pack, and I want it back. Do I care what I weigh? No. I care about body fat percentage, and that's what The Calipers of Doom determine. I also learned about fat pounds. Yeah, fat pounds would be how many pounds of your total weight is fat. For me? Thirty seven. Thirty seven pounds of me is pure, unadulterated, jiggly fat. In the grand scheme of things, it's not much. It's simply a translation of my body fat percentage in more tangible terms. It's also a 37-lb. gauntlet thrown at my feet. Challenge accepted, Sir Fat, Black Knight of the Bulging Belly.
After my first visit, and armed with a large folder of recipes and tips and valuable information, I made some major and minor changes. Bear in mind, this isn't a diet. It's a nutrition plan of healthy foods and sane portions. Lindsey's been on board for everything with regard to the meals we share and my renewed dedication to the gym. We'd already started eating healthier and eating more meals at home, so this wasn't too hard. I am, however, going through more eggs in one week than most families of five, but that's OK. Sugar's enjoying getting a couple of yolks now and then.
I stuck with the plan through my follow-up visit, during which I wasn't expecting to see much change. When the Calipers of Doom came out, I was surprised that most of my measurements had decreased. I lost 2% of body fat (aka 7 fat lbs), and I increased my lean body mass, which translated to an actual weight loss of 4 lbs. Again, I didn't see it. But I see my body daily. With that in mind, I decided to have Lindsey take a photo of me after each appointment so that I can track my progress. I took a cue from every weight loss show on TV, and posed in a pair of cycling shorts and a sports bra. Because, really? I can't think of any items of clothing that are less forgiving about showing flaws. I mean, cycling shorts may as well have blinking arrows and bell signals pointing out each of my trouble spots between the waist and knee.
My visits to the gym have increased, I'm still enjoying the nutrition plan, and with the advent of warm weather, I've gotten back in the saddle and am starting to go cycling again. Next Wednesday, I say bring on the Calipers of Doom and the Cycling Shorts of No Mercy. Me and my egg whites are ready to kick your asses. Grr.