As expected, weighing myself much earlier today (around the usual weekday weigh-in time of 6 a.m. vs. 10 a.m. on the weekend) meant my weight was up. By 2.2 pounds. Egad.
On a more positive and less blimp-like note, yet another box of chocolates was passed around at work today and instead of gobbling a bunch as has become my standard response when offered, I took none. I wanted a big fat serving of poutine for lunch but instead only had a Clif bar. I wanted donuts. Lots of donuts. But resisted. Hopefully I can continue this trend.
Good news: I’ve stopped my weight from ballooning out of control like some out of control balloon. I’ve dropped from a peak of 167.3 pounds and leveled off at 166.3.
Bad news: The body fat percentage continues to creep upward. It’s now at 19.3%. This wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t normally a skinny guy. But I am normally a skinny guy and the tire developing around my gut is resplendent and awful.
Fortunately (?) I’ll probably be too busy this week to do much snacking, even if I wanted to (and to be perfectly honest, I still want to because I haven’t gotten to the point where I’ve curbed my appetite yet).
Imagine if the Titanic had crashed into a mountain of donuts instead of an iceberg and you have a decent summary of the second half of this week with regards to my weight and attempted weight loss.
I started the week trending down but by week’s end I was up on both body weight and body fat percentage. This makes me not so much a sad panda as a fat one.
I’m going to resume regular walks/runs soon, though the runs will be slower and shorter until I get my left foot sized up for a zany (and undoubtedly expensive) orthopedic device to prevent it from causing terrible and unpleasant pain. I also need to start stretching to prevent a repeat of the Summer Leg Muscle Tragedy or SLMT. The gist of all this is it’s time for me to get more active. It’ll be fun and hopefully injury-free.
I’m also going to try a reboot of the no-snacking thing this weekend. That will be less fun and more of a trial. But perhaps it will be a fun trial.
This morning I went to Royal Columbian Hospital to have an echo test (more formally, an echocardiogram) done. This is due to my doctor detecting a slight murmur in my heart and wanting to get it checked out now as it could become an issue down the road. The booking was made in August so that gives you an idea of a) how backlogged the system is and b) how urgent the concern is.
I was still nervous, even though I knew the procedure is simple, non-invasive and doesn’t even require donning a hospital gown and exposing your backside to one and all.
I arrived early as requested and was proud of myself for successfully navigating my way to the registration counter. After a minute or so of waiting, the clerk took my card, looked me up and told me I was in the wrong place. I needed Cardiology. I was apparently not there. She gave me directions, which I asked her to repeat just to be sure.
I set off down the hall, turning right, turning left, following just as directed. I rounded the corner and approached the registration counter.
The same registration counter.
If I was in the Labyrinth, the Minotaur would be giggling somewhere around the corner about now.
The woman took pity on me and actually escorted me far enough to insure I could not get lost again. I told her I was a total guy when it came to directions, hoping that would give me a pass at the expense of my gender and approximately half the population of the planet.
I arrived at the correct registration counter, took a seat, expected things to run late and they did, but only a little. A short woman with a thick accent escorted me to the room where the test would be done. Several times we passed patients being wheeled around on gurneys with tubes and bottles and looking frail and sick and it all reminded me of how hospitals are built on a foundation of depression.
The test room had low lighting, either to facilitate the test or to put me in the mood. The mood for stripping from the waist up and laying on my side on a gurney, with multiple electrodes stuck to my hairy flesh. Although this proved surprisingly uncomfortable because I had nowhere to put my left arm except kind of over and behind my head, the test itself was unremarkable. I had gel smeared strategically on my chest and a small ultrasound probe was pressed into the gel and moved around while the Philips Heart-o-Matic™ mapped out the organ that helpfully keeps me alive. Several times I was asked to hold my breath. This was as complicated as it got, which suited me fine. At the end I had to lay on my back and two more checks were done, one near my stomach, one near my throat.
Every few minutes some audio played. It sounded like water sloshing around and was presumably my flowing blood. It was disturbing because I imagine the sound of my pumping blood as being gentle and reassuring, not like water sloshing around a basin. Maybe this is what ultrasound sounds like, water sloshing around a basin.
I was done, she handed me a towel, I wiped down and left.
Actually, she walked me to the nearest exit and then I left. In my short time at the hospital I had already developed a reputation for getting hopelessly lost.
Now I wait to discuss the results with my doctor. My dad died of a massive heart attack at 58–I’m 51 now–so I’m a wee bit concerned about genetic shenanigans. On the other hand, my dad did not jog thousands of kilometers in his 40s and 50s, either. On the other other hand, Jim Fixx, world famous jogger, died while running–because of a bad heart. On the other other other hand (this is more an octopus now) the person doing the test did not gasp in horror at any point or mutter “Poor bastard” under her breath. On the fifth hand/tentacle, maybe she is just a consummate professional and expertly conceals such observations from the emotionally fragile patient.
I’ll know soon enough.
NOTE: The machine used for the test is not actually called a Philips Heart-o-Matic™. I did notice it was made by Philips, though, and had lots of dials, all of them thoughtfully labeled in plain English to better terrify anyone not familiar with its operation.
Today I was bad and had a snack that technically put me over my goal for the day. It was still better than spending the day stuffing cakes into my mouth, but still. I was not overly active, either, though I did get out to the store. Exciting adventures all around.
I was down but will likely be up tomorrow due to weighing myself earlier in the morning and also that snack thing.
I had chicken strips and fries for lunch today but did enough walking to work most of it off and managed to avoid all snacking for the day. I ended my eating with a light chicken dinner and managed to come in under my calorie count.
Tomorrow if the weather plays nice I may try doing a full walk at lunch like back in the olden days of two months ago.
I was down 0.7 pounds today as well, which if nothing else is in the right direction.
I had two small chocolates at work today but compensated somewhat by doing a lot of running around between buildings. According to Fitbit I burned enough extra calories to write the chocolates off. If I can go to bed without stuffing a coconut cream pie into my face I should be good.
I was down slightly, from 166.2 to 165.9 pounds. It’s a start, even if it’s within the range of a rounding error.
Today I cheated a little. After ingesting fewer calories than recommended for a healthy diet, I rounded out the day with a handful of chips (an actual small handful, not three full bags that would fit in the palm of a hill giant) and a Clif bar. This still kept me under my calorie count for the day and I resisted any kind of snacking until after 8 p.m.
I’m reasonably confident I can keep on track. Reasonably.
This year I started out tipping the scales at a portly 171.3 pounds before slimming back down to 150.4 pounds in early August, less than half a pound away from my target goal of 150.
Today I weigh 164.5 pounds, still down for the year but ballooned up like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade float compared to where I was in the summer. What happened? Well, obviously I started taking in more calories than I burned. Coincidentally, my weight gain picked up at the same time I stopped running due to my leg injury (I now have separate leg and foot issues I need to address before I start running again but I will go into the waist-down details of that in another post).
Running has tow bonus effects when it comes to weight loss. The first is, of course, the calorie burn. Each run I would typically burn anywhere from 700-1200 calories. Consider that right now I am trying to stick to 1500 calories a day and you see how this can make a pretty big (ho ho) difference. The second benefit is that the time spent prepping for a run, doing the run and then undoing the run (showering, etc.) is not spent eating. In fact I will usually end a run with my appetite almost suppressed, though I may be thirsty if it’s hot or humid out. This means on run days (normal schedule three times a week) I take in significantly fewer calories while also burning off more.
But the return of fat has not come mainly from a lack of running. It comes from a decided non-lacking of snacking. This is to say that I regularly open my mouth and shove all manner of not-exactly-low-calorie edible products into it, ranging from potato chips to snack bars to cookies, muffins, cake and occasionally even reasonably healthy low-cal stuff like yogurt and fresh peas.
But mostly cookies, strudel and other deliciously awful foods. I’ve decided to get back on the non-snacking wagon again but instead of making it a New Year’s resolution, I’m starting on December 1st, which is in four days. When the first week has passed I will report back with my inspiring tale of success in weight loss.
I ran in the heat
Until my leg, it went “Ow!”
Walking, the new black
Okay, that’s pretty terrible, but in my defense I’ve got some kind of bug or virus or whatever it is I can walk a half dozen blocks, go down a flight of stairs, then feel exhausted and ready for a nap by the time I climb back up them (which describes my after-dinner walk tonight. I wanted to see how much of the tree destruction had been cleared. The giant tree on Sherbrooke had been chainsawed and piled on the side of the road but the smaller tree on Fader was still toppled over, albeit now with caution tape around it. It’s also not resting on the power lines. I wanted to check out if any clearing had been done down on the Brunette River trail but after climbing back up the stairs in Lower Hume Park–the trees at the bottom were still blocking the way–I was feeling more like exploring the comfort of being tucked under the sheets than the great outdoors.)
As to the running, the right leg is legitimately starting to feel better. I’m cautiously hopeful that with some physio and a few weeks of stretching exercises I may be ready to run again before the end of September. By then, of course, the light will be fading quickly after dinner and I’ll have little time to get runs in, but I’ll figure something out. At least it won’t be Africa hot.
I really do have a headache as I write this. It is being worked over by a pair of Extra Strength Tylenol. It took awhile but they seem to be masking the pain reasonably well now. I feel like I may be coming down with something (I have been both cold and flu-free all year so I’m due) but maybe it’s just more of that possible new allergy or allergies I’ve picked up. I’m on Day 7 of my two week Reactine test and so far I haven’t found they’ve made much difference to my clogged sinuses.
On the plus side, my right leg is actually starting to feel improved, even without any physiotherapy. Time heals all wounds and all that. Well, except wounds that cause dismemberment. Once that leg gets lopped off, you ain’t never growing a new one no matter how long you wait. But we can dream. Yes, that is what I will do, dream of a groovy future where we can grow back new limbs and eventually and inevitably it becomes trendy and fashionable to have extra limbs just because we can. There could be practical applications, though. How many times have you thought a third hand would be nice to have? Not many, probably. Maybe you’ve never thought about it at all. But think about it now and you’ll probably admit a third hand would, on occasion, come in handy (pardon the pun). I can’t actually come up with a good example right at the moment, probably because these mixed medications have addled my brain. This is why I’m going to bed soon, to have addled dreams in which I am a horrifying mutant with three hands, four legs and two heads that argue with each other over how stupid this blog post is before coming to agreement that it is, above all else, quite stupid.
