My whole schtick here is me making fun of myself for being so.....ordinary but I realized the other day, that, no matter how white bread I am, I'm very different in some ways.
Cooking: I don't find cooking to be a chore - I actually enjoy it. The time and effort that it takes to make something to eat is NOT wasted, it's a chance to be creative and express yourself a little. Life is made up of little moments, and since eating is one of those things you kind of HAVE to do -until they perfect Soylent Green- why not enjoy it and enjoy the process? Most people I know tell me they "don't have time" to cook. Apparently they're in a hurry to go watch The Food Network. Guess I care too much about my family to say "Here, have some vaguely food-like substance from this shrink wrapped box. I slaved over it for at least a minute and a half..."
Pop culture: I had an epiphany in the grocery line the other day. As I stood there, I scanned the covers of the magazines and thought "Who the hell are these people and why do I CARE? The only one I knew was Angelina Jolie. Guess that makes me officially an Olde Pharte or a rube or uncultured or ... something... So they're movie/TV stars? So what? If *I* were to go out, get drunk, indulge in a smorgasbord of pharmaceuticals, wad my car up and get caught in a compromising position with a chicken, it wouldn't even make the back page of the local rag. So why do we care if Joe Oscarwinner does? Are people's lives so dull they have to live vicariously through celebrities? If they're heros, why do people take such an interest when they demonstrate that they are, in fact, mere mortals?
Sports: I'm sorry, I must have failed "Guy 101" because I couldn't care less about sports teams. I'm not taking anything away from their God (and Pfizer)- given talents, but I really have more important things to do with my time than watch someone else do something. I also never really understood getting all hot and bothered over a sports team just because, through an accident of geography, you happen to live near where they play.
Stuff: Yeah, I'm as guilty as the next guy about liking my toys - can't really throw too many stones when there's a $6000 bicycle in my basement - but so many people just have sooooo much... STUFF, just to have.... STUFF. Folks like them are the lifeblood of the economy I suppose, and God knows they're responsible for all those storage rental places that spring up like mushrooms after a rainstorm. Here's a sobering thought for all you pack rats who pride themselves on how much stuff they own: You don't really OWN anything. Don't believe me? Go to an estate sale. Aren't I just a ray of sunshine today?
Last but not least: TV: I admit it, I -brace yourself- don't watch TV........I'll give you a moment to collect yourself after that earth shattering revelation..... Why? you may ask. It's not that I'm a high-brow, snooty intellectual, it's just that 99.9% of what passes for entertainment is, well, CRAP. If I'm only given a finite number of hours on this planet, why would I want to spend any of them on something like American Idol ("The Favorite Show of Idle Americans"!) or "reality" TV. I have no argument with people who spend their time on that sort of thing - what I find sad is that they can't conceive of NOT watching TV. It amazes and saddens me, when I get looks of incredulity and "Well...what do you DO?.." in response to me saying I don't watch TV. My usual response is "All that stuff you say you'd LIKE to do, but don't have time for..." Apparently the human race existed in complete and utter darkness before about 1950.
Ok, Rant Off - back to white bread and mayonnaise posts for a while.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Saturday, January 19, 2008
My Stint As A Lab Rat
After burying myself in workout plan after workout plan, and becoming even MORE confused than I normally am, I decided to seek professional help. (Of the PERSONAL TRAINER type, not the psychiatric variety). Too many of the books and workout plans are aimed at freaks of nature, like Lance Armstrong, not fat, slow, old guys like me. I think the real catalyst was reading in Chris Carmichael's Ultmate Ride training book how I was supposed to be doing about 30 mph before going into a sprint. Dude, I can't do 30, downhill, with an anvil strapped to my ass! Gravity must be lighter on his home planet.
I spent quite a while talking to Jason, owner of Core Health And Fitness before deciding to take the plunge. (I don't know why I'm pimping his place - the dude TORTURED me!). His take on where I am currently, where I'd like to be (the Bahamas?) and how to get there, made sense to me. What he had in mind for me took into account the fact that I'm 47, not 27 and I could tell him that my left ankle isn't exactly OEM - kinda' tough to tell a book that...
I was supposed to keep track of my caloric intake through the week and bring the information with me. I created an Excel spreadsheet at work and faithfully logged everything I ate. (Ok, so I "forgot" to mention the side of beef and case of beer on Tuesday... A guy's got to have SOME secrets...) This file will henceforth be known as the Document From Hell. I finished it up, just before I left work on Friday, and emailed it to myself. When I came home and went to print it, it wasn't in my inbox. Crap. This means I have to go BACK to work. I did so, and there it was, sitting in my Outlook out box, waiting to go - I sent it on it's way AND copied it to my data key, just to be safe. "Safe" is a relative term. Somewhere in the course of stopping for dinner on the way home, I lost the damn data key. When I opened the file from my email in Apple Works, it blew the formatting all to hell and wanted to print only about a quarter of the document. OKFINE! Install Excel on the Mac... still raises hell with the formatting... after much cussing, we got a good copy printed, a copy that I promptly forgot to bring with me this morning.... GAAAAH!
First up was establishing my basal metabolism. This is measured in glacial epochs. What would have made this cooler was playing some sort of flight simulator, while I was doing my Air Force pilot impression. (I'm sure the next person who uses the mask will appreciate that I brushed my teeth before I left the house).
Sadistic bastige that he is, he asked me not to eat before I came. Apparently he was unaware that, if I am denied caloric input in the morning, I get even uglier than usual. I barely managed to refrain from eating any of his office furniture.
After the basal metabolism, I was allowed to eat my last meal before heading off to the treadmill. C'mon, even condemned prisoners don't eat CarbBoom gels before they get strapped in to ride Old Sparky! I was wishing I'd murdered someone - at least I'd get to eat better!
I stalled as long as I could, but it was time to measure my metabolism under load. I think the Inquisition would probably have made WAY more converts, had the treadmill been available to Tomás de Torquemada & Co. Not only are you subject to physical stress, but you get to endure excruciating boredom - there seems to be some sort of time.space continuum warpage that applies to timers on treadmills. GLACIERS move faster. Now, on top of that, throw in a mask who's primary functions seemed to be to trap sweat and make your head three times heavier than it normally is.
He claimed to get some useful information out of the TortureMatic 2000 (From Ronco!) that I was hooked up to, but I think he did it because he just enjoys it.
Since I forgot the aforementioned "food diary", we couldn't do the full workup, but I emailed him BOTH an Excel spreadsheet and a PDF of the file. Maybe I should have sent them in separate emails.... If this doesn't work, I'm going to hand carve the info in stone tablets and hand carry it over there. I don't give a damn if I look like Moses or not.
I spent quite a while talking to Jason, owner of Core Health And Fitness before deciding to take the plunge. (I don't know why I'm pimping his place - the dude TORTURED me!). His take on where I am currently, where I'd like to be (the Bahamas?) and how to get there, made sense to me. What he had in mind for me took into account the fact that I'm 47, not 27 and I could tell him that my left ankle isn't exactly OEM - kinda' tough to tell a book that...
I was supposed to keep track of my caloric intake through the week and bring the information with me. I created an Excel spreadsheet at work and faithfully logged everything I ate. (Ok, so I "forgot" to mention the side of beef and case of beer on Tuesday... A guy's got to have SOME secrets...) This file will henceforth be known as the Document From Hell. I finished it up, just before I left work on Friday, and emailed it to myself. When I came home and went to print it, it wasn't in my inbox. Crap. This means I have to go BACK to work. I did so, and there it was, sitting in my Outlook out box, waiting to go - I sent it on it's way AND copied it to my data key, just to be safe. "Safe" is a relative term. Somewhere in the course of stopping for dinner on the way home, I lost the damn data key. When I opened the file from my email in Apple Works, it blew the formatting all to hell and wanted to print only about a quarter of the document. OKFINE! Install Excel on the Mac... still raises hell with the formatting... after much cussing, we got a good copy printed, a copy that I promptly forgot to bring with me this morning.... GAAAAH!
First up was establishing my basal metabolism. This is measured in glacial epochs. What would have made this cooler was playing some sort of flight simulator, while I was doing my Air Force pilot impression. (I'm sure the next person who uses the mask will appreciate that I brushed my teeth before I left the house).
Sadistic bastige that he is, he asked me not to eat before I came. Apparently he was unaware that, if I am denied caloric input in the morning, I get even uglier than usual. I barely managed to refrain from eating any of his office furniture.
After the basal metabolism, I was allowed to eat my last meal before heading off to the treadmill. C'mon, even condemned prisoners don't eat CarbBoom gels before they get strapped in to ride Old Sparky! I was wishing I'd murdered someone - at least I'd get to eat better!
I stalled as long as I could, but it was time to measure my metabolism under load. I think the Inquisition would probably have made WAY more converts, had the treadmill been available to Tomás de Torquemada & Co. Not only are you subject to physical stress, but you get to endure excruciating boredom - there seems to be some sort of time.space continuum warpage that applies to timers on treadmills. GLACIERS move faster. Now, on top of that, throw in a mask who's primary functions seemed to be to trap sweat and make your head three times heavier than it normally is.
He claimed to get some useful information out of the TortureMatic 2000 (From Ronco!) that I was hooked up to, but I think he did it because he just enjoys it.
Since I forgot the aforementioned "food diary", we couldn't do the full workup, but I emailed him BOTH an Excel spreadsheet and a PDF of the file. Maybe I should have sent them in separate emails.... If this doesn't work, I'm going to hand carve the info in stone tablets and hand carry it over there. I don't give a damn if I look like Moses or not.
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