Core Fitness Assessment Results

Six weeks ago today, on the third day of the Core Fitness course I just completed at West Valley College, we did an assessment to see how strong I was. Here are my scores:

Plank: 1 minute, on my knees.
Squat: 90 seconds
Push-ups: 7 regular, 11 modified.

Today we did the same things, and here's what I did:

Plank: 90 seconds, all on my toes.
Squat: 1 minute, 55 seconds, in a much deeper squat
Push-ups: 21 regular.

I'm pretty proud of myself. I haven't lost any weight, but the muscle I've built is now better able to manage the rest of my fat ass. It's weird it works, because I really feel better physically than I have at any time since I've been an adult. At least since I first started really gaining weight when I was 21. So that's 14 years of fatness, give or take a year or two at the beginning of this decade when I got down to 218. But I didn't have the skills or knowledge that I have now, after taking this class. For example, my posture has improved tremendously because my core is so much stronger. I don't slouch anymore, and consequently, I don't have have any more lower back pain. In fact, I can tell when I start to slouch because it almost immediately starts to ache, so I know have to get up straight in a neutral spine.

It's amazing. I'm adding some cardio to the mix next, so the weight should come off. I'm not even worried about it. Yes, my competition this round, Mr. Robert Burke, is losing weight at a much more rapid pace than I am (seeing as how I haven't lost any in the past 6 weeks). But his pace is not sustainable. He's on a strict diet of Slim Fast and laxatives, with a little Dexedrine thrown in because he's from Antioch and the speedy feeling reminds him of home. Take it from me, a man can only shit so much liquid before he gives and goes to the doctor.

Okay, John. Now, what are we going to do about this weight?

That's the first thing my doctor said to me yesterday when he came into the examination room for my physical. When the nurse weighed--I was fully clothed in shorts, polo shirt, and Nikes--it weighed exactly 260. That's a gain of 6 pounds, according to my medical chart, since I last visited him in January to discuss whether or not I was healthy enough to embark on an exercise program.

Anyway, so I told him about the six-week core fitness class I've been taking, and he seemed less concerned about it, because I'm obviously getting stronger. I told him I'm enrolled in a spinning class, two days a week, starting September 1, to go with two more days per week with the Core Fitness. Because what I really, really need, he said, is some hard core cardio to take the weight off.

Because, it seems, my diastolic blood pressure was about 5 or 6 points too high. He told me losing the weight should knock it down. We made an appointment for December to see if another six months of working out, this time adding serious cardio to the mix, will fix it.

Otherwise, though, I was given a clean bill of health. My pee looked well--I'm not diabetic--and my blood work was awesome. My lipid panel was frankly fantastic: LDL=94, and my HDL was 59, which greatly impressed my doctor. So no heart disease or arterial sclerosis for me.

Tomorrow is the last day of the 6-week class. We're doing assessments, to see how far we've progressed. In terms of weight loss, I've maybe lost 2 lbs, which, as someone pointed out to me, you can lose that much just sitting on the toilet. But my shirts are all baggy now, and I'll post a comparison of how I did on the first day of class. We were assessed in three areas: how long we could hold the plank position, how many pushups we could do, and how long we stay in a nice defensive stance, a.k.a. by hippies as the "Glass Horse."

My original scores, which were pretty awful, are on a sheet held by the instructor. I'll be sure to write them down tomorrow and report back on how awesome I am compared to the first time.

Just a Walk in the Park, Buddy

We were at the mall Saturday, taking turns entertaining Lily while the other shopped. So I come back to the kids’ play area and Ashley has a concerned look on her face. “You need to have a talk with your brother, and you both need to understand that this has to stop.”

“What has to stop?”

“There was this real heavy-set couple, and Lily said, ‘Mom, look! Those people are really FAT!”

I texted this story to my brother, which led to the following exchange:

Him: Maybe you shouldn’t let her read your blog anymore.

Me: And I’m no longer allowed to make fun of your obesity.

Him: Why does your wife not support your dreams?

Me: Right?

Him: Did you immediately ask for a divorce?

Me: Yes. I’m moving in with you.

Him: Tight it will be like two and half gentleman, only ghetto. Or is like my two dads, only hella ghetto…

Me: Super Ghetto.

I think he was assuming Lily would be coming with me, which would make the references to the TV shows relevant. Or else we would be raising his dog together.

Anyway, I’m just glad it wasn’t me who was there, because I would have had the involuntary laugh-spasm before the horrifying embarrassment took over. Lucky for me, and this is why contrary to the text-conversation, the Professor has enough shame for both of us.

Also lucky for me, I got to feel superior to other parents at the play space, especially the father of this one little bastard named, I shit you not, “Cougar.”

Who names their kid Cougar? No wonder the kid was an asshole; his parents obviously hate him, since they named him after the lamest pilot in Top Gun, the one Maverick rescued by flying upside down so he could flip off the Russian while Goose Took a picture. Couldn’t hack it.



Only substitue "bullied 2 year-old who has suddenly turned the tables" for "mig," and you get the picture. And Maverick doesn't stick up for punk-ass little bastard bullies.

UPDATE: The professor tells me that before we switched off, Cougar was acting like a maniac, pushing the little kids out of the car, etc. But then kids started avoiding, because he was obviously psycho. He would just start punching the steering wheel of the foam car, screaming. And then, every once in awhile, he'd throw his head back and scream:

"NO! I DON'T WANT TO SHARE!!!"

I would so rather have the kid who insults heavy people than the kid who punches cars and screams at no one.

Although, I will work on being a better example.

Parenting is Hard

They just don't prepare you for this. At least they didn't in any of the classes I took, and it wasn't mentioned in the books I read.

How do you raise a competent child when you still have the sense of humor of a 4th grader?

Just a little while, Lily was in her bath, and she shouted, "Dad, I have to drop a deuce! I need you to light a match!"

She learned about "dropping deuces," probably from me. I don't even think I can blame this on Andy. She's not quite 4.

"Call me when you're done, and I'll come and light a match." She meant an Incense Match, which are indispensable, especially if you're diet isn't great, or if you in general are one who tends to bring the pain.

"OKAY! I'M DONE!" she yelled about 30 seconds later. I went into the bathroom and had to ask her mother where we keep the new packs of matches, and then found a pack of the French Vanilla.

"LIGHT IT!"

"Hang on," I said. "Did you wipe yet? Make sure you wipe." So she grabbed some TP and wiped her front.

"No," I said, "You have to wipe the other side. You know, your..."

"My butthole?" It was here that I had to choke back the laugh that just came out of nowhere. I swear to god, it must be Pavlovian.

"Erm," I managed, still kind of snarfing, "Um, yes?"

"That's a garbage mouth," she said, which is what we say when she repeats the curse words that her mother and father use on a pretty regular basis. We're getting better, but seeing as how the words that come across my lips, especially when I'm driving, with the most frequency seem to be "Shit," Fuck," and some variation of "Goddam," it's pretty hard.

And the thing is, because Lily's great aunt The Reverend Dian bought her a book over the weekend called, "The Gas We Pass: The Story of Farts," which has a pretty awesome diagram of the digestive system, Lily now knows the word "anus," which I could have used.

Except I can't say "anus" with a straight face, either, so what now?

Progress?

I haven't posted these in a long time, so here's some new pictures of my masculine physique, taken today.





For comparison sake, here's the pictures I took at Week 9, during the original competition. And so I'll feel better about myself, you can see the originals from 7 months ago. At that time, when I would step on a scale, it just said, "DAMN."

In that profile, I look pregnant.

John's Weigh-In July 6: 253.4

So it looks like officially I've gained 1.4 lbs since the last weigh-in, two weeks ago. I'm not sure that's right; I think the previous weight of 252 might have been a typo.

But whatever. Since I'm in a contest now, This can be my official start weight.

I'm gonna kick Robert Burke's ass. For those of you who don't know him, you're not missing much. He sucks. But what you do need to know is that he reported an initial weight of 235.6. I don't know if he has a plan, or a blog, or anything like that. If he does, I'll link to it. In the meantime know that I plan on enjoying a nice Jameson on the rocks when I win on September 30.

A New Beginning

Just got back from celebrating Al Davis Birthday (sorry, wrong blog) the birth of our Country by watching fireworks, fishing, and swimming down in Morro Bay.

While I was there, I got to see my dad, which was nice, since I'm just starting to re-establish a relationship with him after a quasi-estrangement do the fact that he went bat-shit insane for a little bit.

He's doing really well, and he built sand castles with Lily for a couple hours on the beach today.

He's also getting married. It's pretty amazing. He's there with his fiance, and she says, "So, you're all set to come to the wedding?"

"October 24, right?" I said.

"No," she said, and she looked at me like I was an idiot for writing down and committing to memory the date my father had given me over the phone when I spoke to him on father's day. "It's either going to be August 29 or September 5."

"Well, if it's August 29, I'm telling you right now that we won't be there. That's the weekend of Lily's birthday and we're going to be out of town and it's been paid for for a year. Sorry."

"Well, we'll pay to fly you back, don't worry."

"No," I said, politely, "If it's that day, we'll send you a nice gift and well-wishes, but we will not, under any circumstances, be able to make it on that weekend."

She agreed to try to schedule it for September 5. I guess it's a little awkward, seeing as how we didn't invite them to come to whatever is we're planning for Lily, but they've never really been that interested before, and my dad was there when she was born and should remember that date (August 27), and besides that he's asked me when her birthday very recently.

So we talked about other stuff, like how the Professor and I would like to try to get Portuguese citizenship and live there for a while just to see what it's like, and she said, "Well, now that Obama's president, you can do anything you want, he'll probably give a $50,000 to do it." I'm not sure if that's because he's a socialist who gives money away for silly things, or if he uses the magic powers that come with being the Anti-Christ. But anyway, it was a weird thing to say.

Then she asked about Andy, and if I'd make sure he makes it to the wedding.

This caused me to well up a bit. "I'm sorry," I said, wiping away a tear. "I'll tell him when and where it is, but I can't be responsible for whether or not he shows up."

"Why not?" she said. "He's your brother."

"That's just it. We were doing this weight loss competition. We had a blog and everything, where we tracked our progress. The first month, he put together this awesome contest, and made a video, and everything.

"Well, the next month, it was my turn, and because I'm such a poor planner I just completely dropped the ball. I couldn't make it happen. He gave me another chance, and I blew it again. I just couldn't be bothered to commit myself to planning and executing a clever way to demonstrate who won and lost that month, and film and edit it into a funny video.

"Because of this, he stopped participating in the blog. Not only that, he stopped exercising all together. He invented a new class of felony, called Rascal-jacking, when he pistol-whipped a lady with rheumatoid arthritis and stole her mobility scooter. He rides it to and from work every day.

Not only did I fail myself and my blog, but I failed my brother. If he doesn't spend the rest of his life in prison, he'll probably get diabetes and have a foot amputated like Jackie Gleason in that movie he did where he played Tom Hanks' dad. It was the last movie he made before he died. And I have that on my conscience. Because of me, my brother, whom I love so much, will probably go blind and have a rubber foot. My psychiatrist upped my Ambien to 75mg, and still the nightmares keep me up."

I paused. "But still, you could probably just call him and tell him to come?"

"Give it a rest, honey," my dad said. "Can't you see, the boy's in pain? I'll call Andy and everything will be okay."

She looked dubious, but she let it drop. All of this is a round-about way of saying that tomorrow, when I post a weigh-in, I'll be in a new contest with my old friend and high school basketball team mate Robert Burke. Whoever loses the most weight by September 30, in terms of body weight percentage, has to buy the winner a fifth of his favorite whiskey.

But I'll always live with the guilt.