Time to lose...

I've struggled with weight pretty much my whole life.  I've been up, I've been down.  Looked good, looked not so good - you get it.

I want to be healthy; give my children/wife a strong, healthy dad/husband, and more importantly:  to feel great.  I want to wake up some morning, feel like I could take on the world, and then actually feel like giving myself the "Buddy Christ" thumbs up when I look in the mirror.  I want to live that day, perfectly fueled and feeling great all day long…and then repeat that day after day for all the ones that come after that.

This is a lifestyle change.  It's not a diet, it's not a fad, it's not a trend.  It's my desire to change, little by little, bit by bit.

I've gotten fed up in the past, tried to do something, then failed.  But today, I'm doing two things I've never done before.

1 - I'm making myself accountable to you all.  I'm putting it all out there and exposing myself to the encouragement of forward progress, and the motivation to do better when it's not so forward.  

2 - and this is the fun part - I'm personifying my weight.  I'm a mathematician working in a quasi-financial role - I deal with numbers all day.  Their meaningless to me - plain rice/white bread/4 door sedan - boring.  Today I personify it.  I'm at 210 pounds currently; I want to lose 50 (yes - ambitious, but not rubbish).  I'm naming all 50 pounds.  When I'm running/lifting/eating well/playing with my kids, I want to know who I'm up against at that time…I don't want to think "ok, I'm at 35, going for 36" - I want to think "this week, I'm taking on Iris, Nadine, and Angelina."  Then it's a vendetta, then it's tangible, then it's personal.  And when I see that they're gone, up comes a new list of foes…not just a predictable number.  Game on.

You've likely noticed by now that I chose girl names…that is unless you happen to have dude friends named Iris, Nadine, or Angelina I guess.  I chose them for a reason, for meaning - and none of the names on the list were intended to be anyone I know - not even Tina :).  In fact, I didn't write the list - I got it from somewhere.  I'm betting the first person to pick up on it will be a guy, and will also realize that Lisa is in fact not the last name on the list - props to you if you've figured it out - now off to Google with the rest of you.

I'm going to beat this, and it's going to start now.  All forms of encouragement, support, one-upmanship, and peer pressure are welcomed.

So, here it is.  "The List".  DISCLAIMER:  This may take a while…

Pound 1:  Mary

Pound 2:  Barbara

Pound 3:  Lindsey

Pound 4:  Laura

Pound 5:  Alma

Pound 6:  Madeline

Pound 7:  Patricia

Pound 8:  Carol

Pound 9:  Daniela

Pound 10:  Stefanie

Pound 11:  Erin

Pound 12:  Pamela

Pound 13:  Stacey

Pound 14:  Anne

Pound 15:  Kate

Pound 16:  Vanessa

Pound 17:  Denise

Pound 18:  Diane

Pound 19:  Iris

Pound 20:  Nadine

Pound 21:  Angelina

Pound 22:  Rose

Pound 23:  Susan

Pound 24:  Megan

Pound 25:  Tracy

Pound 26:  Rachel

Pound 27:  Bernadene

Pound 28:  Deborah

Pound 29:  Gina

Pound 30:  Hillary

Pound 31:  Kimberley

Pound 32:  Dorothy

Pound 33:  Donna

Pound 34:  Samantha

Pound 35:  Ellen

Pound 36:  Gabriela

Pound 37:  Shannon

Pound 38:  Jessica

Pound 39:  Sharon

Pound 40:  Tina

Pound 41:  Marsha

Pound 42:  Natalie

Pound 43:  Virginia

Pound 44:  Tanya

Pound 45:  Grace

Pound 46:  Ashley

Pound 47:  Eleanor

Pound 48:  Cathy

Pound 49:  Lynn

Pound 50:  Lisa

Confessions of Guilt from THE FUTURE: July 2014

I cried like an angry hungry baby today. I'm just glad I didn't soil myself while doing it. Me and a buddy ran the Tough Mudder today. We started training roughly a year ago, building up from a state (at least myself) of gravitationally secure video game experts, to the rough cut beasts of men we are today (how I managed to grow an extra foot taller in my late 30's I'll never know). Our training mostly prepared us...mostly.

The run was ok, the obstacles were fun for the most part; it all went well. Until the end. At the end of these things is a gauntlet of sorts, where you have to run through wet mud....and dangling electrical wires. I knew about them going in, and I thought I could beat them. I figured I'd see a bunch of determined men and women power right through with angry looks on their faces, but no. Not even the 4 rough and tumble firemen (who we ironically had to fireman's carry the last half of the race as it was just too much for them), who offered to go ahead of us as thanks, were able to muscle their way through it without screaming and squealing.

Bear Grylls, whom we had rescued from a rather precarious wall climb obstacle a few miles back, made it a bit further. But even he broke down to blind rage and panic long before the end. Incoherently babbling about turtlenecks and a fuzzy leprechaun. It got weird.

I made it about half way in before I dropped. I turtled hard. The world went somewhere else. I was a mess of sparks, tears, and tiny shreds of dignity. It was awful.

I thought of my girls, pulled myself together - gave a quick glance to my buddy to make sure he was doing the same and we made off. Each grabbing one of Bear's arms and a couple of firemen, we pulled them safely across the finish line and into the history books. We made it.

But I cried - a lot. And incase you were wondering - no, still no hoverboards.

 

Confessions of Guilt from Dan Graves - Instalment #19

I hate Tupperware.  Tupperware in my opinion is good for two things:

1.  Keeping the food you didn't eat contained long enough for you to throw it out at a more convenient time.

2.  Tupperware bombing your spouse.

I get Tupperware bombed all the time.  I even do it to myself.  Looking in that awful cupboard where you store it, you see no other alternative than to place that last piece in ever so precariously, then pray the weight of the door you've just slammed on it holds it in place.  Then, the next person to open the door doesn't just get one piece dropped out onto them...no.  See, Tupperware has a unique physical property typically reserved only for unstable radioactive isotopes where if it's compressed, no matter how stable the structure is, there's a point where everything just goes to hell.  You open a Tupperware cupboard and it's like you've asked an emotional menopausal woman with abandonment issues how her day went.  You then look up to the sky, and shaking your fist a la James T Kirk, you scream the name of he/she who set you up.

Then, naturally plotting your revenge, you cram it all back in, close the door and wait.  Tupperware is a vicious cycle - stop the madness.

Confessions of Guilt from Dan Graves - Instalment #18

I used to wake people up at night...a lot.  Well, I didn't, but their dogs did.  I was merely a catalyst.  See, when I was living in Japan, I was a young guy with lots of free time on his hands.  I went out a fair amount.  I often ended up coming home late, catching one of the last trains home if I was fortunate enough to make it in time.  Japanese houses are not the hermetically sealed giant Thermos boxes we live in here in North America.  No, while they are beautiful and ornate, walls are about as thick as wishful thinking and doors seem to amplify ambient sounds rather than muffle them.

So, did I shout?  Drag my feet aggressively?  Sing?  Kick things?  No...

I barked...quietly.

See - every house on the 3 minute walk from the train station to my apartment building seemed to have at least one dog.  And not giant slumbering laid back mutts either.  No, these were a series of small, yappy dogs, each more hi-strung than the next; a loaded gun with a hair trigger.  As I rounded one specific corner, all I had to do was let out one small quiet "ruff".  Barely audible, every time without fail it would set off a chain reaction that would see lights coming on all down the street that sounded like a kennel on bacon day.  I'd giggle uncontrollably the rest of the walk home and sleep peacefully to the sounds of whatever I had in my discman that day (remember those?) - oblivious to the escalating chaos I'd triggered all around me.

Fittingly, anyone who's been to my house in recent years knows that I'm continually reaping the payback I'd earned over those years.  I have the noisiest dogs of them all.

Confessions of Guilt from Dan Graves - Instalment #17

I wanted to be the lead guitarist for New Kids On The Block.  Yeah...I could just stop right there - who needs to elaborate on that anyway?

I do.

Firstly, my whole life I've been a terrible judge of longevity and sustainability.  I thought these guys were going to be around forever....for EVER.  I wasn't a closet NKOTB rocker...I actually listened to some pretty cool music (I don't know anyone else my age who bought Licensed to Ill when it first came out).  However, I did have the tapes and knew them pretty well.  When I started playing, I didn't have much to go on since I was fond of the rapping, so I turned to the only music I had on hand then that had guitars.  After I mastered Angel Eyes by Jeff Healey, I set my sights on what little guitar there was on the New Kids album.  Cover Girl was the big one...had a one fingered solo that I quickly mastered and would play on repeat to really nail it.  I could be that guy I said...I'd figured it out...which one of them plays guitar?  I could totally replace him!

No one did...dreams shattered, heart broken, tape went into storage.  Sadness ensues.

Sad and bored, I started flipping through my guitar magazines and asking around for tapes that were mentioned in the magazines.  My world exploded.  Like a flurry of spandex clad super heroes coming to my rescue, real life spandex clad guitar gods showed me the path to ultimate enlightenment.  Climbing my way through hair spray and leather tassels, I heard what incredible really sounded like.  So thank you New Kids...thank you.

Coincidentally, my high school band, The Boss Hogs, played a rendition of "Hanging Tough" at the school assembly in December of '93 if I'm not mistaken.  For a span of about 15 minutes, we were revered as rock and roll legends.  Ironically enough though, for my brief stint as rock and roll infamy, I was not the lead guitarist...I played bass.

Confessions of Guilt from Dan Graves - Instalment #16

I manscape. Regularly. See, as part of my lineage, I have a hearty dose of Scotland coursing through my veins. As such, I have eyebrows that grow faster than your average grass. Unchecked, I'd look like something out of Dune, but with a uni-brow; and that's not good for anyone. I'm sure eyebrows of such magnitude have a evolutionary advantage of some form or another. It likely involves warding off beautiful women ninja assassins or something; but it's clearly mistaken as I've managed to land myself a beautiful woman and she hasn't made any attempts on my life (that I know of). I'm not a heavy forehead sweater...so that can't be it either. I squint a bit, and rumour has it I look angry whilst doing so - that could have something to do with it....

Yes - that must be it. I'm the exact opposite of Vin Diesel as "Riddick". I naturally possess the ability to operate in environments that are extremely well lit where most normal people would have to shield their eyes with their hands, leaving them relatively defenceless. I on the other hand have natural UV blockers allowing me to keep both hands free to dispatch assailants. Where he has the fancy wrap around goggles to operate in normally lit environments, I could simply have a sporty headband to keep my beasts at bay.

Brilliant - I must begin shopping the rights to the motion picture immediately.

Confessions of Guilt from Dan Graves - Installment #15

I think the creepy-raver-hippie teller at the grocery store is awesome.  Sure, he smells a bit.  And yes, he stares at and flirts with my wife...and every other woman in the store for that manner.  But the guy is happy.  I'm not talking about content, I mean this guy is happy harking back to the original and for some reason long forgotten about meaning of the word "gay".  He's always smiling.  He's always got something nice to say (even if it's mildly inappropriate).  And he makes you feel good about being you.  I walked by him the other day and he looked at me and said "Awesome shirt man" and gave me a hi-five (an appropriate one).  Small gesture, instant impact.  He does what he does, and he's happy doing it.  He is accepting and appreciative of the world presented to him as-is, constantly.

Granted, he is a bit creepy to the ladies; but what if we all, for even one day, looked at and appreciated the world and all those in it with half of the eagerness and optimism this guy does.  I'll start now:

You all look awesome today, and I really liked that thing you did that time - you totally nailed it.