Hello, gentle readers. As mentioned in last week's weigh-in, it's been another rough week for work and working out. I began the week on track on the track, walking seven miles and doing the full upper body circuit on Saturday, then 3 miles on the treadmill and a leg and stomach circuit on a rainy Sunday morning. Walked another 7 miles on Monday but was too tired to go to the gym, 3 1/2 mile full-walk Tuesday morning but took the night off. Because I needed to get to work on time Wednesday to be taken out for a bon voyage dinner that evening and had an interview workshop first thing this morning, I've only had time for a half-walk (1.6 miles) the past two mornings.
This evening, I did a full-walk at the track with some great weather for wearing shorts, a full upper body circuit at the gym and stepped on the scale. No change, folks. I plateaued this week at 329 pounds, and I'll take it! However, I am going to have to relinquish my second intermediate goal of 320 pounds by Halloween because there is no way in Hades I'm going to push myself to lose nine pounds in the next week. It's unrealistic, especially with my last week of employment to work through. Tomorrow marks my fifth year anniversary with the agency I'm now leaving, and although tomorrow would be the perfect day to say goodbye, I am pushing myself to finish what I started with this mantra: I've worked there five years, I can make it through five days. But it will be difficult and stressful not only tying up loose ends for my department before I leave but also saying goodbye to my wonderful co-workers who honored me last night not only with a free meal, Hallmark card, gift card to the movies and Reese's treats, but also with their presence, laughter, friendship, and support.
For the next week, I will have to manage the expectations of my department as well as my own because there is only so much I can do for either of us. I won't be able to accomplish everything before I leave my job, just as I won't be able to reach 320 by next Thursday, but I'll do the best I can for them and myself until next Friday. And on All Hallow's Eve, when the moon is full and the Celtic New Year begins, I will celebrate my newfound freedom, look forward to embarking on a new career path while letting go of the old one, and have the energy and time to revisit my weight loss resolutions (see the "A Time for Balance" blog entry here). I'll even have an extra hour to sleep in when we "fall back" from Daylight Saving Time on November 1st!
And it's now the witching hour and time for bed. I've got a full-walk ahead of me tomorrow morning, so until next time, good night, woof, and blessed be.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
Thursday Night Weigh-In: The Scale Taketh Away, The Scale Giveth Back
Hello, gentle readers. Drove to the gym last night through the first very light snow flurry of the season. Did a half-walk (1.75 miles) on the treadmill and a full upper body circuit, then stepped on the scale. The teeter tottered again this week and I found five of the six pounds I lost last week: I now weigh 329 pounds. I was just as incredulous with the big gain this week as I was with the big loss last week.
It has been a rough week and things won't get easier until the end of the month. At work, I chose to enter into an "agreed transition plan" with my supervisor because I've been overwhelmed for quite some time pulling double duty as an estates administrator and executive assistant for four people in my office, so my last day of employment is October 30. There have been many other layoffs, tension is in the air, I'm forcing myself to work on estates and tie up loose ends when part of me has already left the building, and I want to surrender it all but I have two weeks left to go. I felt physically drained a couple of nights this week like I was fighting off possible illness, so I gave myself a couple of nights off from walking and the gym to "feed a cold" and get some good nights' sleep.
I'll do my best to keep my walking and exercise routine going in order to fight stress and make my way towards the finish line, and by Halloween I will finally have the freedom to walk and work out as well as job search and interview in hopes of finding a great new job. And, if I have to move back in with my parents for awhile due to my unemployment, the gym is in walking distance!
Good Night, Woof, and Blessed Be.
It has been a rough week and things won't get easier until the end of the month. At work, I chose to enter into an "agreed transition plan" with my supervisor because I've been overwhelmed for quite some time pulling double duty as an estates administrator and executive assistant for four people in my office, so my last day of employment is October 30. There have been many other layoffs, tension is in the air, I'm forcing myself to work on estates and tie up loose ends when part of me has already left the building, and I want to surrender it all but I have two weeks left to go. I felt physically drained a couple of nights this week like I was fighting off possible illness, so I gave myself a couple of nights off from walking and the gym to "feed a cold" and get some good nights' sleep.
I'll do my best to keep my walking and exercise routine going in order to fight stress and make my way towards the finish line, and by Halloween I will finally have the freedom to walk and work out as well as job search and interview in hopes of finding a great new job. And, if I have to move back in with my parents for awhile due to my unemployment, the gym is in walking distance!
Good Night, Woof, and Blessed Be.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Beauty is in the Eye of the Bearholder
Hello, gentle readers. If you were to ask me why I'm walking, working out, weighing in and waxing poetically here in this blog about losing weight and gaining muscle, I could give many different responses. I could say I'm doing it for my health, which is true. I'm becoming progressively healthier in lowering my blood sugar, pressure and, after this month's blood test, possibly my cholesterol. I could say I'm doing it so my clothes will fit and look better on me, which is also true, although I'm between sizes right now and the clothes I have taken out of storage are kinda hanging on me until I get down to the next size in a few weeks. But the truth of the matter, after years of trying to convince myself to the contrary and yet to a much lesser degree than mainstream "gay culture", is that physiologically, psychologically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually and sexually, I am more comfortable in my own skin when there is less fat beneath it.
It's been a long road in allowing myself to come to this realization. I was a sensitive kid growing up, didn't want to hurt anyone and wasn't quite sure why people were being so mean to each other and occasionally to me. I didn't fit in with other kids, preferred the company of adults or a book, was introverted and didn't like to participate in group activities. And when I hit puberty with all its mysteries at about 12 years old, I snuck a porno magazine one night, saw a picture of a naked man and woman, realized I was more interested in the man, and things got worse. The immediate awareness I was homosexual was proceeded by a decade of fear, secrecy, internal bargaining, self-loathing and arrested development.
I felt I was harboring a horrible secret that set me apart from others and my adolescent brain told me if my parents or other people ever found out about my true nature, I would be shunned, ridiculed, ostracized, disowned and thrown out into the cruel world alone. I became a people pleaser, feeling I needed to be and do what other people wanted in order to be liked, much less loved, and in my loneliness and quiet despair I became a compulsive eater, shoving my feelings down with food, gathering several foods rather than friends around me on Saturday nights and doing the one thing I felt I had control over: I could sneak as much food as I wanted and nobody could stop me.
I gradually became a fat, quiet, acne-ridden kid who was asexual to my acquaintances and skirted the fringes of society while silently exploring my sexuality through porn from the age of 15 (I looked older than I was and the video stores didn't card me). First straight, then gay porn when I worked at video stores and rented such forbidden fare under other peoples' outdated memberships. I'm not effeminate by nature, gave the semblance I was straight by going to three proms with female friends in high school, and although I was accused of being queer by my first prom date when I opted to fall asleep on her rather than sleep with her, I got through high school under the gaydar.
I finally developed the courage at age 22 to come out of the closet to my parents at. Ironically, I was hiding my personal porn stash in my own closet at the time and was sitting Indian-style in front of my parents' walk-in closet when I told my mother. She asked me why I thought I was gay and I told her I'd been attracted to men sexually since puberty. But if I'd never been with a woman, how did I know? The same way a straight guy knows he doesn't want to have sex with his buddies, I guess, but I told her I'd known since I was 12. We were both seeing the same therapist at the time and when I went to my next session he said, "So your mother tells me you think you're gay?" Great affirmation and therapist-patient privilege there, doc, and my gossipy mother would continue to out me to friends and other family members willy-nilly in the years to come.
About a week after I told my mother, I came out to my father during Sunday dinner. The conversation evolved from him telling me to cut the fat off of my roast beef to me standing across the room saying, "I'm never gonna be the son you wanted!" After the truth was out, my father took it well, saying "As long as you're not hurting anyone, do what you want." Which, strangely enough, is the Wiccan Rede: "An' it harm none, do what thou wilt," that is the basis tenet of my religion of Wiccan, and perhaps coming out of the broom closet a couple years before had softened the second blow for my parents in learning that their son was alternatively sexual as well as spiritual. As I continued to come out to family and friends over the years, no one turned their back on me or reacted very negatively, and my self-acceptance has grown to the point I feel comfortable sharing such intimate details in this blog.
I confirmed my theory in practice in the summer of 1993 by having sex for the first time with another man named John, became more comfortable with my sexuality and never felt the desire to have sex with a woman. I also grew a beard for the first time, was ready to explore my sexuality with other men with very little idea how to do so, and weighed 365 pounds. I wrote and answered personal ads in local papers and got together with some rather interesting characters, but in retrospect I was comparing some flaw in the people I met to counteract my heaviness: You can't belittle me for being fat because you're older/look kinda funny/are fat too. Not the greatest way to meet potential partners, but I didn't know any better at the time.
I met another man through the personals who introduced me to Girth and Mirth, an organization that catered to larger men and their admirers. I was popular there in the beginning, immediately becoming a cover model and Full Monty centerfold for their newsletter, the Fat Apple Review, and wrote a column, "Musings of a Satyr," for a few months. Girth and Mirth was a place where fat was a desirable attribute to "chubby chasers" (men who are not fat but are sexually attracted to fat men) and "chubs for chubs" (fat men who love other fat men), and although I appreciated being found attractive by other men, I couldn't appreciate that these men were attracted to me for being fat because I did not feel attractive because of it.
I had finally accepted myself as a homosexual, but due to years of trying to hide it and coping through compulsive eating, when I finally came out I was pigeonholed into the only gay sub-culture that would have me. I was a chub who didn't want to be a chub or desired for being a chub. I wanted to be like some of the chasers who were attracted to me who were variably smaller, shorter, taller, stockier, leaner, beefier, hairier, balder, more muscular, more masculine and, above all, happier and more at ease with themselves than me.
I wanted to be a BEAR: those furry, flannel-wearing, buzzcut, balding, bearded, moustached or goateed, masculine, macho, manly MEN who were MEN who loved other MEN. Through my years of pornographic research, I had become very familiar with this particular archetype. As I mentioned briefly in my first blog entry, Bears originated in San Francisco in the mid-eighties to turn on its ear the mainstream gay cultural norm: effete, slim, shaved, coiffed and trendy. There was an alternative to the mainstream (there always should be) and this one was for me.
In order to get a better idea of what a Bear is and why I identify as one, here's an excerpt from Wikipedia for some further insight (the italics below are my own interjections):
Bears tend to have hairy bodies and facial hair. (I have a hairy chest and forearms and although I would like my body to be hairier than it is, age seems to be cooperating in sprouting more hair on my back and shoulders. I also have a full, trimmed beard.)
Some are heavyset. (Obviously I am heavyset and am working on it. From my own limited experiences at Bear events, Bears can be quite exclusionary due to size which is why I differentiate as a Big Bear rather than a chub. At a Bear Pride weekend in Chicago (which originated as a Big and Bear weekend for chubs and Bears alike), I was standing in an elevator with three friends who weighed from 250 to 600 pounds, and two "muscleBears" snidely informed us that "fat guys aren't Bears." They're idiots, of course, but my own internal view of the Bear I want to be is heavyset but not obese. I will always be a Big Bear due to my height and bone structure, but I do not identify as a chub.)
Some project an image of working-class masculinity in their grooming and appearance, though none of these are requirements or unique indicators. (Although I am white-collar and dress appropriately for work, on the weekends I'm more comfortable in T-shirts and shorts/sweats, and although I show no signs of male pattern baldness at 39, I buzzcut my head to a 1/4 inch in length. I'm not looking to "project an image," but I do appreciate masculine clothing and grooming and find it very attractive in other Bears).
Some Bears place importance on presenting a hypermasculine image and may shun interaction with, and even disdain, men who exhibit effeminacy. (Live and let live. I have grown to appreciate that I am a man who loves men and am therefore attracted to men who act like men. I enjoy being a Bear and socializing with other men who identify as the same, and if I fall short of the mark in what being a Bear means to other Bears, it doesn't make me less of a Bear. I understand that all us humans have a masculine and feminine side, and in past fear of my homosexuality I identified more with women until I decided to accept myself as a man who has every right to be one. These days, I don't let blanket statements made by women about men slide anymore. I am a man, not a woman or a man in a dress (which just looks silly with a beard). However, I think there's nothing sexier than a big burly guy who looks like he can punch your lights out but gives you a big Bear hug instead).
The Bear concept can function as an identity, an affiliation, and an ideal to live up to, and there is ongoing debate in Bear communities about what constitutes a Bear; however, a consensus exists that inclusion is an important part of the Bear Community. (I see the concept of Bear as an identity and an ideal to live up to rather than an affiliation. Inclusion should be our goal because if Bear communities are in fact debating about what constitutes a Bear, I will leave the community and be a lone Bear because I don't want to belong to a community that is going to dictate how I have to dress, act and live. THAT'S WHY THE BEAR ARCHETYPE WAS CREATED IN THE FIRST PLACE!)
And that is why I identify myself as a Big Bear. I am big but I don't identify as a chub because I do not embrace my size, and I am actively working to change my weight and musculature and make my body into the Bear that my mind and spirit finds more appealing for ME. I am a Bear because I identify as one, and I will continue to be a Bear while, and after, the Bear Community debates about whether what I am constitutes as a Bear; I don't need to be a card-carrying member, thank you very much. Thanks for creating an identity that I can finally embrace as my own; I'll take it from here.
I continued in the grand tradition of coming out of the closet, broom closet and Bear cave when I was talking to my long-distance partner on the phone one evening a couple of months ago (we touch base about twice a week to see how the other is doing and to share our lives and love with one another). I'd mentioned to him before that I'd been walking and working out for the past few months and had lost some weight, but I had been about 380 when I first met him. He joked with me about becoming a "twink," which is a slang term for a young gay man with a slender build, a smooth body and no facial hair (the antithesis of a Bear). I joked back that me being a twink was genetically impossible, but I did ask him if he was okay with my weight loss efforts because he liked me just fine before and now I was making some changes.
He told me I had to do what I thought was best for me and said that my looks were about 10% of why he loved me. He also appreciated my my good heart, my intelligence, my strength, the caring I have for others, how articulate I am, etc. Of course, he did mention he was rather fond of my belly and my butt, and I said I'd still have those but they might be a little higher, firmer and have more muscle than fat behind them the next time we met. He was fine with that, and I love him too for much more than his 200-pound frame, balding head, salt and pepper goatee, furry torso, droopy-dog eyes and sexy Southern drawl. All those things are great, but his attentiveness, sense of humor, caring for his mother, pug, and me, laid back attitude, etc. will still be there if he happens to shave or finds the 50 pounds I lost.
Even though I may not be the "Bearest of them all", beauty (or, in this case, "Bearity?") is in the eye of the Bearholder, and I see its reflection in the Bear I love, the other Bears I meet, other people who appreciate and affirm my self-identification as a Bear and, first and foremost, staring back at me in that mirror.
It's been a long road in allowing myself to come to this realization. I was a sensitive kid growing up, didn't want to hurt anyone and wasn't quite sure why people were being so mean to each other and occasionally to me. I didn't fit in with other kids, preferred the company of adults or a book, was introverted and didn't like to participate in group activities. And when I hit puberty with all its mysteries at about 12 years old, I snuck a porno magazine one night, saw a picture of a naked man and woman, realized I was more interested in the man, and things got worse. The immediate awareness I was homosexual was proceeded by a decade of fear, secrecy, internal bargaining, self-loathing and arrested development.
I felt I was harboring a horrible secret that set me apart from others and my adolescent brain told me if my parents or other people ever found out about my true nature, I would be shunned, ridiculed, ostracized, disowned and thrown out into the cruel world alone. I became a people pleaser, feeling I needed to be and do what other people wanted in order to be liked, much less loved, and in my loneliness and quiet despair I became a compulsive eater, shoving my feelings down with food, gathering several foods rather than friends around me on Saturday nights and doing the one thing I felt I had control over: I could sneak as much food as I wanted and nobody could stop me.
I gradually became a fat, quiet, acne-ridden kid who was asexual to my acquaintances and skirted the fringes of society while silently exploring my sexuality through porn from the age of 15 (I looked older than I was and the video stores didn't card me). First straight, then gay porn when I worked at video stores and rented such forbidden fare under other peoples' outdated memberships. I'm not effeminate by nature, gave the semblance I was straight by going to three proms with female friends in high school, and although I was accused of being queer by my first prom date when I opted to fall asleep on her rather than sleep with her, I got through high school under the gaydar.
I finally developed the courage at age 22 to come out of the closet to my parents at. Ironically, I was hiding my personal porn stash in my own closet at the time and was sitting Indian-style in front of my parents' walk-in closet when I told my mother. She asked me why I thought I was gay and I told her I'd been attracted to men sexually since puberty. But if I'd never been with a woman, how did I know? The same way a straight guy knows he doesn't want to have sex with his buddies, I guess, but I told her I'd known since I was 12. We were both seeing the same therapist at the time and when I went to my next session he said, "So your mother tells me you think you're gay?" Great affirmation and therapist-patient privilege there, doc, and my gossipy mother would continue to out me to friends and other family members willy-nilly in the years to come.
About a week after I told my mother, I came out to my father during Sunday dinner. The conversation evolved from him telling me to cut the fat off of my roast beef to me standing across the room saying, "I'm never gonna be the son you wanted!" After the truth was out, my father took it well, saying "As long as you're not hurting anyone, do what you want." Which, strangely enough, is the Wiccan Rede: "An' it harm none, do what thou wilt," that is the basis tenet of my religion of Wiccan, and perhaps coming out of the broom closet a couple years before had softened the second blow for my parents in learning that their son was alternatively sexual as well as spiritual. As I continued to come out to family and friends over the years, no one turned their back on me or reacted very negatively, and my self-acceptance has grown to the point I feel comfortable sharing such intimate details in this blog.
I confirmed my theory in practice in the summer of 1993 by having sex for the first time with another man named John, became more comfortable with my sexuality and never felt the desire to have sex with a woman. I also grew a beard for the first time, was ready to explore my sexuality with other men with very little idea how to do so, and weighed 365 pounds. I wrote and answered personal ads in local papers and got together with some rather interesting characters, but in retrospect I was comparing some flaw in the people I met to counteract my heaviness: You can't belittle me for being fat because you're older/look kinda funny/are fat too. Not the greatest way to meet potential partners, but I didn't know any better at the time.
I met another man through the personals who introduced me to Girth and Mirth, an organization that catered to larger men and their admirers. I was popular there in the beginning, immediately becoming a cover model and Full Monty centerfold for their newsletter, the Fat Apple Review, and wrote a column, "Musings of a Satyr," for a few months. Girth and Mirth was a place where fat was a desirable attribute to "chubby chasers" (men who are not fat but are sexually attracted to fat men) and "chubs for chubs" (fat men who love other fat men), and although I appreciated being found attractive by other men, I couldn't appreciate that these men were attracted to me for being fat because I did not feel attractive because of it.
I had finally accepted myself as a homosexual, but due to years of trying to hide it and coping through compulsive eating, when I finally came out I was pigeonholed into the only gay sub-culture that would have me. I was a chub who didn't want to be a chub or desired for being a chub. I wanted to be like some of the chasers who were attracted to me who were variably smaller, shorter, taller, stockier, leaner, beefier, hairier, balder, more muscular, more masculine and, above all, happier and more at ease with themselves than me.
I wanted to be a BEAR: those furry, flannel-wearing, buzzcut, balding, bearded, moustached or goateed, masculine, macho, manly MEN who were MEN who loved other MEN. Through my years of pornographic research, I had become very familiar with this particular archetype. As I mentioned briefly in my first blog entry, Bears originated in San Francisco in the mid-eighties to turn on its ear the mainstream gay cultural norm: effete, slim, shaved, coiffed and trendy. There was an alternative to the mainstream (there always should be) and this one was for me.
In order to get a better idea of what a Bear is and why I identify as one, here's an excerpt from Wikipedia for some further insight (the italics below are my own interjections):
Bears tend to have hairy bodies and facial hair. (I have a hairy chest and forearms and although I would like my body to be hairier than it is, age seems to be cooperating in sprouting more hair on my back and shoulders. I also have a full, trimmed beard.)
Some are heavyset. (Obviously I am heavyset and am working on it. From my own limited experiences at Bear events, Bears can be quite exclusionary due to size which is why I differentiate as a Big Bear rather than a chub. At a Bear Pride weekend in Chicago (which originated as a Big and Bear weekend for chubs and Bears alike), I was standing in an elevator with three friends who weighed from 250 to 600 pounds, and two "muscleBears" snidely informed us that "fat guys aren't Bears." They're idiots, of course, but my own internal view of the Bear I want to be is heavyset but not obese. I will always be a Big Bear due to my height and bone structure, but I do not identify as a chub.)
Some project an image of working-class masculinity in their grooming and appearance, though none of these are requirements or unique indicators. (Although I am white-collar and dress appropriately for work, on the weekends I'm more comfortable in T-shirts and shorts/sweats, and although I show no signs of male pattern baldness at 39, I buzzcut my head to a 1/4 inch in length. I'm not looking to "project an image," but I do appreciate masculine clothing and grooming and find it very attractive in other Bears).
Some Bears place importance on presenting a hypermasculine image and may shun interaction with, and even disdain, men who exhibit effeminacy. (Live and let live. I have grown to appreciate that I am a man who loves men and am therefore attracted to men who act like men. I enjoy being a Bear and socializing with other men who identify as the same, and if I fall short of the mark in what being a Bear means to other Bears, it doesn't make me less of a Bear. I understand that all us humans have a masculine and feminine side, and in past fear of my homosexuality I identified more with women until I decided to accept myself as a man who has every right to be one. These days, I don't let blanket statements made by women about men slide anymore. I am a man, not a woman or a man in a dress (which just looks silly with a beard). However, I think there's nothing sexier than a big burly guy who looks like he can punch your lights out but gives you a big Bear hug instead).
The Bear concept can function as an identity, an affiliation, and an ideal to live up to, and there is ongoing debate in Bear communities about what constitutes a Bear; however, a consensus exists that inclusion is an important part of the Bear Community. (I see the concept of Bear as an identity and an ideal to live up to rather than an affiliation. Inclusion should be our goal because if Bear communities are in fact debating about what constitutes a Bear, I will leave the community and be a lone Bear because I don't want to belong to a community that is going to dictate how I have to dress, act and live. THAT'S WHY THE BEAR ARCHETYPE WAS CREATED IN THE FIRST PLACE!)
And that is why I identify myself as a Big Bear. I am big but I don't identify as a chub because I do not embrace my size, and I am actively working to change my weight and musculature and make my body into the Bear that my mind and spirit finds more appealing for ME. I am a Bear because I identify as one, and I will continue to be a Bear while, and after, the Bear Community debates about whether what I am constitutes as a Bear; I don't need to be a card-carrying member, thank you very much. Thanks for creating an identity that I can finally embrace as my own; I'll take it from here.
I continued in the grand tradition of coming out of the closet, broom closet and Bear cave when I was talking to my long-distance partner on the phone one evening a couple of months ago (we touch base about twice a week to see how the other is doing and to share our lives and love with one another). I'd mentioned to him before that I'd been walking and working out for the past few months and had lost some weight, but I had been about 380 when I first met him. He joked with me about becoming a "twink," which is a slang term for a young gay man with a slender build, a smooth body and no facial hair (the antithesis of a Bear). I joked back that me being a twink was genetically impossible, but I did ask him if he was okay with my weight loss efforts because he liked me just fine before and now I was making some changes.
He told me I had to do what I thought was best for me and said that my looks were about 10% of why he loved me. He also appreciated my my good heart, my intelligence, my strength, the caring I have for others, how articulate I am, etc. Of course, he did mention he was rather fond of my belly and my butt, and I said I'd still have those but they might be a little higher, firmer and have more muscle than fat behind them the next time we met. He was fine with that, and I love him too for much more than his 200-pound frame, balding head, salt and pepper goatee, furry torso, droopy-dog eyes and sexy Southern drawl. All those things are great, but his attentiveness, sense of humor, caring for his mother, pug, and me, laid back attitude, etc. will still be there if he happens to shave or finds the 50 pounds I lost.
Even though I may not be the "Bearest of them all", beauty (or, in this case, "Bearity?") is in the eye of the Bearholder, and I see its reflection in the Bear I love, the other Bears I meet, other people who appreciate and affirm my self-identification as a Bear and, first and foremost, staring back at me in that mirror.
Until next time, Good Night, Woof, and Blessed Be.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Thursday Night Weigh-In: Guess Things Caught Up With Me
Hello, gentle readers. As the past week has been rather stressful at work, I ate more and walked less than I usually do and missed an extra night at the gym. Since I gained two pounds last week, I wasn't feeling very positive about this week's weigh-in and had some doubts about whether I'll be able to reach my second intermediate goal of 320 by October 31st, but I did my upper body circuit, stepped on the scale in the locker room, and hoped for the best.
Six pounds this week. I LOST six pounds this week! Stepped off the scale and back on just to be sure. Don't quite know how; perhaps my efforts from the week before caught up with me this week, my metabolism got higher or my muscles are burning calories at rest. Don't know, don't much care; I'll take it! I weigh 324 now, lost 54 pounds so far and have three weeks to lose four more to reach 320 by Halloween. Onward and downward!
Six pounds this week. I LOST six pounds this week! Stepped off the scale and back on just to be sure. Don't quite know how; perhaps my efforts from the week before caught up with me this week, my metabolism got higher or my muscles are burning calories at rest. Don't know, don't much care; I'll take it! I weigh 324 now, lost 54 pounds so far and have three weeks to lose four more to reach 320 by Halloween. Onward and downward!
Good night, Woof, and Blessed Be!
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Fitting In at Planet Fitness
For the first time in my life, about five years after I began my actual membership, I am going to the gym at least five times a week. I decided recently to give myself Friday night, the night after my weekly weigh-in and the end of my work week, off from the gym and on occasion, either due to fatigue, the lateness of the hour or scheduled engagements, I take another night off, but I always make sure to return with an upper body circuit because that's where I need the most work. I often tell people that if the rest of my body was as strong and muscular as my calves I'd be a happy Bear, but since it's not, off to the gym I go.
As blogged before, I lost weight the first time by sticking to a food plan and the second by watching my food intake and walking daily, but this time I added working out to the mix. I decided to join the gym back in 2004 when I returned home to live with my parents and a Planet Fitness was preparing to open in a sports center a 1/4 mile down the street from their house. This was a bit daunting for several reasons.
Let's take a very short trip in the Wayback machine for a moment. Bluntly, I was a fat gay cub back in high school who was ashamed of my body and sexuality and tried my best to blend into the woodwork. However, you can't do that in gym class. Why?
Formula #1: Fat Kid + Basketball = Skins. Since I have spoken to three women who didn't know what I was talking about, here's an explanation: in boys' gym class, the teams for basketball are "shirts" and "skins"; one team wears shirts, the other doesn't. So I had to face the snickers and taunts of Abercrombie classmates as I was forced to expose my pale, backne-scarred flesh to the rest of the class which jiggled as I was actually expected to participate in the game.
Formula #2: Gym + Fat Kid - Showers = Terrified Sweaty Smelly Fat Kid. Thankfully, only once was I forced by a disgusted gym coach (who I had a crush on!) to take a shower with the rest of the class, and the resulting snide comments and hyperventilation under a freezing cold spray was my personal equivalent of a similar shower scene in Carrie. It would have been nice if the stress had caused my telekinesis to kick in, but instead from these two formulas I just developed a grave dislike for physical fitness and those to whom it came naturally.
I acknowledge my gym class experiences could have been immeasurably worse as a teen and I was lucky to have been spared such horrors, but with the distance and healing that 18 years and five therapists provided, I sat in an office under construction one April afternoon day with a trainer named Jason and went over a relatively inexpensive membership plan for Planet Fitness, a gym that would soon open and had just begun a franchise. I arrived shortly after the grand opening and he taught me the upper body and leg/stomach circuits that I still use today. We later had a parting of the ways when he copped an attitude after I suggested the track on the treadmill I'd been using might need a shot of silicone spray to stop squeaking, but he was gone when I returned to the Planet this April and the treadmills don't squeak anymore either!
I did the usual you might expect from a new gymgoer: signed up, used the gym intermittently for a couple of months, then stopped and continued to pay my monthly fee for years without attendance. When I finally returned it took me about a month to refamiliarize myself with the equipment and feel comfortable being there, but during a week of vacation work in May I began working out six days a week and upping the weight and repetitions every six weeks, as I will do again tomorrow. I got bit by the gym bug, and as a Former Fat Kid (FFK; wow, what an appropriate sounding acronym!) I couldn't have asked for a better gym to "fit in."
First of all, Planet Fitness is marketed as a "Judgement Free Zone," believes its members should not be judged by others due to their size or skill level, and is not geared toward bodybuilders or powerlifters. There are also 13 rules of etiquette that their franchises adhere to (for the most part). Here they are with my personal comments in italics:
1. A "lunk alarm" (a siren with a spinning red light) is on the wall and will supposedly be set off by management when a member a) drops weights; b) "grunts" when lifting; or c) judges another member. Dropping weights and grunting are at a minimum in my location (although there was a big brouhaha in Wappingers Falls, NY in which a corrections officer had his membership revoked for grunting), and I've never heard anyone being judgmental towards another member unless it was harmless goading between workout buddies.
2. The banning of grunting, swearing and psyching-up rituals. Little grunting and no psyching-up rituals, but plenty of intermittent low-decibel swearing, some of it from me!
3. No cell phone use on the gym floor. Right above the front desk it's clearly printed that except for the lobby area, the place is a cell phone-free zone, but this is not enforced and often broken. Whatever.
4. The banning of excessive noise from bar drops, etc., e.g. Olympic lifts. Boy, they really don't want you grunting or dropping weights in there, huh?
5. The restriction of dumbbell weights to a maximum of 80 pounds. As I'm sticking to the plate machines until maintenance, I have no idea if anyone is trying to lift dumbbells over 80 pounds.
6. No squat racks. Huh?
7. The banning of chalk, often used for heavy lifts such as deadlifts. Haven't seen any chalk.
8. No jeans, bandannas, do rags, skullcaps, boots or sandals. Haven't seen any of these, either.
9. Must wipe down equipment after each use. There is a small laminated statement taped to all machines reminding members to wipe down the equipment with a cleanser-soaked paper towel before and after use, but some guys do a few sets, get up and walk away without wiping down the machine; you know the type. O Thank you, Beef God, for gracing us not only with Your magnificent presence here but also leaving the gift of Your essence on the machine. It ain't the nectar of the Gods, lunk head; wipe it down!
10. No gawking at women and making them feel uncomfortable or trying to pick them up. Never witnessed this. Guess I've been too busy casting furtive glances at the beefcake to notice whether they were hungry for cheesecake. But I don't openly gawk at guys or try to pick them up; part of being a Bear is respecting another man's masculinity and sexual orientation for what it is, and I'm actually there to work out.
11. Short or revealing attire for men or women is banned. Basic gym gear is worn; no one's wearing rectal floss or peeling their shirts off outside of the locker room.
12. References to sexual orientation or any other offensive conversation is prohibited. YAY! The only possible exception to this, which was absolutely warranted, was the day I was between sets on the rowing machine and watched as a fratboy walked into THE WOMEN'S LOCKER ROOM to weigh himself. When he came out, his frat workout buddy said "I should weigh myself, too," and they both went back in. As they were coming out, a beefy bald guy said, "You do realize that that's the women's room, don't you? Are you women?" Alas, they were not women, just stupid. In their defense, the women's locker room is denoted by the Venus symbol for woman with an "F" in the center. Perhaps they weren't up on their astrological symbols and thought the F stood for Fratboy, I don't know. And the beefy guy did question their biological sex, not their sexual orientation, so he didn't break this rule.
13. No lewd acts or public affection on the premises. Did see a couple macking on one of the exercise benches one night and fleetingly thought "Get a room, or at least a tanning booth." That's about all the public affection I saw, and no lewd acts.
Their mission statement is also as follows: "We at PF are here to provide a unique environment in which anyone, and we mean anyone, can be comfortable. A diverse, judgment-free zone where a lasting, active lifestyle can be built. Our product is a tool, a means to an end; not a brand name or a mold maker, but a tool that can be used by anyone. In the end, it's all about you. As we evolve and educate ourselves, we will seek to perfect this safe, energetic environment, where everyone feels accepted and respected. We are not here to kiss your butt, only to kick it if that's what you need. We need you, because face it, our planet wouldn't be the same without you. You belong!"
It's been great to have a gym within ten minutes' driving distance from my apartment and ten minutes' walking distance from my parents' house. Although I'm usually there between 7 and 10 during the week, my branch opens at midnight on Monday, doesn't close until 9 pm on Friday and is open from 7 to 7 on Saturday and Sunday. I'm left alone to do my workouts, if someone else is using the plate machine I want I just move to the next machine until it vacates, the music is okay, there's never a wait for a treadmill and the people are cordial. In the locker room, there is a scale for weigh-ins and two closed shower stalls (although I shower at home!)
I did read other blogs and consumer reviews in gathering information about Planet Fitness for this entry and there are some very pissed off people out there who find the place and its rules too restrictive. Personally, I feel I lucked out in becoming a member of this particular franchise. I wanted to go to a gym where I could learn how to weight train and then be left alone to do it. I've never gotten attitude from the other members, the staff has never swooped in to ridicule anyone (one trainer did congratulate me on my perseverance about a month ago), and the lunk alarm has never gone off.
I appreciate the fact that this gym caters to people like me who want to work out without being judged. I've seen people there of all different ages, sizes and races working out on the plate machines, treadmills, stationary bikes and ellipticals, and there's even a 30-minute workout area with 10 machines and a traffic light where you either work out on a machine or step up and down on a central platform while the light's green and either wipe down the machine and breathe or prep on the next machine while the light's red. The free weight area is mostly populated by more experienced weightlifters but everyone is focused on exercising and there's no perceived hostility.
It's a good workout and, for me, a good place to work out.
Good night, Woof, and Blessed Be!
Monday, October 5, 2009
Mini-Blog Entry: Thanks for the Support, Fellow Riverwalkers
Hello, gentle readers. During this morning's walk, I was pulled away from my reading three times by fellow walkers. The first was an older woman who walked past me before I reached the last tenth of a mile before the halfway point to say "Looking good!" I thanked her very much, gave her a smile and kept going. Later, when I came out of a tunnel that goes beneath the local highway and came to a small uphill zig zag back to the last stretch of walk near the river, two women walking what looked like Toto said "Wow, you're doing great! How much weight have you lost?" I said "Fifty pounds" (nice round number; going into specifics ruins the effect) and they said "That's great, keep up the good work!" I said "Thank you very much, have a great day!" Another couple tenths of a mile and I looked up again as a Hispanic woman said, "Good morning, my skinny friend." She had complimented me a week before on how great I was doing and how I had inspired her, and I gave her a smile and a good morning too.
Although I tend to be rather introverted and find that reading lets my feet do the walking and my mind do the wandering to the point where I thankfully lose track of how far I've walked and how far I have to go until I look up for a moment to acknowledge my surroundings, I do appreciate my fellow walkers for their kind words, smiles and encouragement that motivate me to keep up what I have dubbed "the Good Work." Sometimes self-talk or inspirational reading can only take you so far; a kind word (or several) from another human being goes a long way. Thanks again, ladies.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Thursday Night Weigh-In Headline: Zombie Gains Two Pounds!
Hello, gentle reader. Did a full walk in full dark last night with the moonlight to guide me. As I was rather tired, had nothing to read and put my brain in a jar, the only thing animated about me was my legs. My eyes were half-closed, my head thrown back and supported only by my neck, my arms hung at their sides and I shambled down the path and back like a zombie (apropos of the season). I woke up in time to work on my legs and stomach at the gym, then kicked off my sneakers, stepped on the scale and saw that I found two of the three pounds I lost last week and am back to 330 pounds.
Aw shucks. These things happen. Not happy about it, but not devastated either. I just reminded myself that when I maintain my weight loss later on, I'm going to fluctuate by a few pounds. I enjoyed more food than usual this past week and skipped a couple of leg and stomach circuits at the gym, so rather than beat myself up about it, I'll just stay with my routine and go the distance.
I realized something about zombies tonight. Although the walking dead could care less about diet and exercise, they do get cardio shambling after their victims and plenty of protein. Hmm.
Good night, Woof, and Blessed Be.
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