I was down an even two pounds today, dropping from 167.3 to 165.3. Even though I had no real snacks yesterday, this still surprised me. But it is encouraging.
Today I was bad and ate an apple strudel but was sufficiently guilty afterward to go out and do my first 5K in over four months, so it kind of worked out in the end. Not snacking is not easy but I’ve compensated for the strudel incident, behaved since returning from my run, and am fairly sure I’ll make it to bed without eating an entire cake.
UPDATE, August 21, 2022: Updated tags for better searching and to note this was the first run using an Apple Watch (Series 0).
Run 408 Average pace: 5:42/km Location: Brunette River trail Distance: 5.0 km Time: 28:35 Weather: Overcast Temp: 7ºC Wind: light BPM: 172 Stride: n/a Weight: 165.3 pounds Total distance to date: 3320 Device used: Apple Watch (debut, Series 0) and iPhone 6
Here it is a mere four and a half months later and I’ve completed my next run, which I was totally not expecting.
Dedicated spambots scraping this blog for running articles may recall that my last run was on August 3rd, the first official day of my vacation. The run ended with my right hip (not actually my hip, as it later turned out) being hurt sufficiently that I knew I would be out for the rest of the summer or, as it turned out, almost the rest of the entire year.
Once I had sufficiently mended we were past summer and into fall and the days grew short and it was difficult to run after work. Running on the weekend also proved difficult because I just plain lost my mojo.
Today I had a Clif Bar for lunch (usual as I quest toward my target weight of 150) but a short while later I caved and had an apple strudel. It was loaded not only with sugar but also guilt. I had made a vow to stop snacking, and this was a clear violation. I soaked in the tub and contemplated how this, along with a planned pasta dinner, would contribute to The Fattening. I felt bad.
I decided to run.
I got changed and because this wouldn’t be an “official” run, I chose to not wear the TomTom watch. Instead I thought I’d give my fancy new Apple Watch and iPhone a workout (ho ho), using the Watch’s Activity app.
Setup was simple. I chose Outdoor Run, it advised me as this was my first run that I should run for at least 20 minutes to let the watch suss out my average pace. I planned 5K so this would not be an issue as I have not recently had bionic legs surgically attached.
I decided to walk the length of the Brunette River trail first, then start the run at the opposite end. This would get me heading in the right direction on the home stretch. I wore my usual gear, though the t-shirt was swapped for the long-sleeved version. This was not an unwise choice as it was 7ºC, not exactly tanning weather.
Upon arrival at the river trail I noted the bear sign was still up. It’s December 20th, I’m pretty sure the bears have gone south or started hibernating or whatever it is they do in the winter.
Using the watch, I selected my running music (from 1987, see previous post), chose the Outdoor Run activity and set the distance at 5 km. I tapped the Start button and three seconds later I began my first run in a good long time.
I kept the pace deliberate and actually had no trouble completing the full 5 km. A stitch threatened early on but never fully materialized and the only discomfort I felt was the usual “this is what it feels like to use certain muscles again after not using them for 18 weeks.” The left foot started to hurt but stayed tolerable. I stuffed toilet paper into the shoe to help provide extra cushioning but toilet paper squashes easily, something I forgot since I’m not in the habit of squashing it.
My pace seemed about right, given the layoff: 5:42/km. I broke the five-minute mark on the first km, slowed over the next three and picked up on the final. Again, this is all more or less normal. The BPM came in at 172, much higher than the 160 of my last run back in August. I’m not sure if this is accurate and thus worrisome, or inaccurate and no big deal.
While everything worked well enough with the Activity app, it is too self-contained and lacks some stats to really prove useful in the long term. I may try the Strava app on my next practice run, as it’s supposed to be spiffy.
Three other things of note on the run:
There were a lot of fishers out there and more people in general than I expected
As I looped back to the entrance of the trail, a Metro Vancouver worker was removing the bear sign, as if he had read my mind; for reasons unknown (conspiring with bears?) the other sign at the western end of the trail was left up
Some dope with a dog let his dog off-leash and while he was bent over tying his shoe on the other side of the trail, the dog came running after me, nipping and barking at my heels. It wasn’t scary so much as annoying. I shot the guy a dirty look as he called Cujo back, then observed, with no surprise, as they headed off, the dog was still unleashed. I pondered what it would take to get him to decide it was a good idea to put the leash back on (he had a leash with him). I decided nothing would because he was a stupid, selfish jerkface.
I now wait to see how my body feels tomorrow (I’m thinking a little sore but not bad). I could potentially run again in three days, but may wait until next weekend. The important thing is I ran, I survived, I worked off that strudel, and I’m curious to go out and do it again.
Some of the music I jog to is over 50 years old. Does that seem weird?
If someone in 1940 could have jogged to music, would they have jogged to music from 1890? Did they even have music back then? Maybe they just beat sticks on rocks or rocks on other rocks. Perhaps these rocks sometimes rolled away, leading to the birth of rock and roll.
Anyway, it occurred to me that I have largely entered the phase of life where nostalgia and seeking comfort in things from olden times begins to dominate, and this is reflected in my recent music purchases. I will point out I have at least moved from purchasing my music on 8-track cassette to digital format. Here are my last three purchases, the newest of which was released 28 years ago, predating the birth of some of my co-workers.
Breakfast in America – Supertramp (1979). My defense is I never previously owned a Supertramp album, this one is considered a classic, and there’s something about the sweep of the Wurlitzer electric piano and guitar in the chorus of “The Logical Song” that I find especially groovy. But yes, the album is 36 years old. Carter was still president.
Kick – INXS (1987). My defense is I never previously owned an INXS album. I never particularly wanted to, either, but Kick is one of those albums where a band, through some combination of luck, circumstance and talent, manages to put together a collection of songs that are nearly perfect in achieving what the band wanted. The album is loaded with pop gems and is a lot smarter than you’d expect from such a slick bunch of songs. The videos, most of them recorded in Prague, are just as confidently-shot as the music was produced.
In the Eye of the Storm – Roger Hodgson (1984). The first solo album from Supertramp co-founder and co-lead singer. The album and lead single “Had a Dream” were both hits in Canada and the single is what drove me to pick up the album. The whole album is quite good and feels like Supertramp with some of the art rock sensibilities sprinkled back in. “Had a Dream” builds through a long effects-laden intro and is as cynical as it is catchy. The video ponderously delivers its message, perilously toeing the line between “serious” and accidental self-parody. At one point a fetus is floating in space, 2001-esque, and then, matching Hodgson’s scream on the song, there’s a flash of lightning and the baby suddenly becomes Hodgson, floating naked and screaming in space. It’s possibly even worse than it sounds. Other parts of the video feature Hodgson fake-running while wearing nothing but a loincloth. I don’t know, either. Maybe it was a dream he had.
Good news: With the Christmas break only two work days away, I will no longer be tempted by (and indulge in) assorted calorie-rich goodies regularly dropped off at work
Bad news: After going up by a pound following a workplace potluck yesterday, I indulged again today and expect to be up yet again tomorrow, erasing my meager progress. But from tomorrow forward, it’s all downhill. In a good way.
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.
After my abject failure with National Novel Writing Month 2015 perhaps what I need to get back into the swing of things is to tackle a writing prompt or two.
Or I could just come up with a few more “interesting” ones of my own. And here they are!
You and your nerdy friends suddenly find yourselves thrust into a real life Dungeons & Dragons adventure. Write about your daring exploits as you gouge evil from its shell. Actually, don’t write this. Don’t ever write this. Forget I even mentioned it. Did you start writing this? Well, stop. Right now. OK.
After winning millions of dollars in the lottery you discover that money can’t buy happiness. But it can buy lots of really cool shit. Write about all that really cool shit.
Explore the previously unknown connection between the horrifying visions of HP Lovecraft and the horrifying taste of HP Sauce.
Write a story featuring the following items: a ball of yarn, the Hadron supercollider, a manic pixie-like woman and a giant wheel of cheese.
A plate is knocked off a table and smashes into a thousand tiny pieces. Write from the perspective of each of the thousands of tiny pieces.
Buyer’s note: This is a long short story, not a full novel (or even a novella). Consider this before spending your $4.99. I used a gift card because I was curious to see how the second King/Hill effort shook out. Plus the title is just plain interesting. What could be in the tall grass? The mind boggles at the endless list of awful things that could be there.
Spoiler note: I’m spoiling the story. If you want a quick take, read the rest of this paragraph then skip the rest: “In the Tall Grass” is much like the other father/son collaboration King and Hill did (“Throttle”) in that it’s a solid, entertaining read, but nothing more than that. There is no re-inventing the wheel, no characters that will stay with you for days or weeks after reading. It’s a tight horror story that preys on a fear most of us have: getting lost.
Specifically, the people in the story get lost in a huge field of tall grass that grows next to a creepy church somewhere out in Kansas. Brother and sister Cal and Becky are driving cross-country so Becky can carry her giving-up-for-adoption baby to term with at their aunt and uncle’s home. The journey is unremarkable until they approach the grass and hear a boy calling out for help. Being good sorts of people, they park and separately enter the grass to find the boy. For a time they hear what may be the boy’s mother warning them to stay away but of course it is too late by then, for the mother and, well, everyone.
The field and the grass seem to shift, creating an ever-changing maze where escape can be only feet away yet still impossible. Eventually Cal is found by the boy, who leads him to a strange, large rock in a clearing. Touch the rock and you suddenly know your way out but never want to leave because that rock is crazy and it loves spreading the crazy around.
It all ends horribly for everyone and the postscript has an RV full of potheads (the pot aspect is emphasized to a strange and almost absurd degree, maybe for comedic effect?) being lured in like Cal and Becky, suggesting the grass will continue to feed for some time to come. Or at least until winter, because a lush field of tall grass in the middle of a Nebraska winter is bound to draw a little attention from people maybe not so willing to dive in feet-first.
Oh, and don’t ask what happens after Becky gives birth in the field to her three-month premature baby. You don’t want to know, especially if you’re pregnant. Or eating. Or sane.
“In the Tall Grass” does a nice job of playing on a fear many might have–wading into a large field of grass or some other maze-like structure, becoming lost, and realizing we have no reliable way to navigate out. Then comes the crazy and cannibalism. Well, or maybe you just use your cell phone to call for help–except that doesn’t work, of course. And other than being decent but not compelling, that’s probably my only other nitpick with the story. Everything that might help the doomed siblings is waved away. Of course the cell phone loses its signal. Of course they immediately separate instead of heading into the grass together. It’s convenient but feels a little lazy. I’m not asking for Cal to have loaded a flamethrower in the trunk of his Mazda. I suppose I’m just not fond of watching helpless victims be helpless as they march to their inevitable demise. It’s more depressing than horrifying.
Well, except for the baby. That was definitely horrifying.
I wouldn’t necessarily recommend dropping five bucks on “In the Tall Grass” but if it shows up in a collection it will make a fine addition. It’s a classic horror tale, just one that does nothing new or extraordinary.
