Due to illness I skipped two workouts this week. However, my return to the gym showed few repercussions. My 20 minutes of treadmill time yesterday, coupled with an hours worth of strength workouts today were on par with where I left off.
Unfortunately, I have gained weight since last week. I wonder if Mother's day last weekend coupled with my birthday this weekend might have something to do with it. All of the good celebratory food is probably having its effect. However, I could also be building muscle... I suppose a combination of both factors is most likely.
Current Weight: 154 lbs
Weight Loss to Date: 1 lb
Weight Loss Goal: 15 lbs
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Out of the Gate
Workout Day 7:
One week down. I feel stronger and have more energy already. Jeremy the Tank thinks I have made good progress. I breezed through today's 20 minutes of treadmill time no problem. Am I starting to enjoy myself? Probably not. But I do like the results so far.
Week 2 Weight: 153 lbs
Weight loss to date: 2 lbs
Weight loss goal: 15 lbs
One week down. I feel stronger and have more energy already. Jeremy the Tank thinks I have made good progress. I breezed through today's 20 minutes of treadmill time no problem. Am I starting to enjoy myself? Probably not. But I do like the results so far.
Week 2 Weight: 153 lbs
Weight loss to date: 2 lbs
Weight loss goal: 15 lbs
Saturday, May 08, 2010
Mind Over Matter
Workout Day 6:
Back at home and back to the gym. Jeremy the Tank awaits...
Today he has several strength exercises to throw at me. I realize that after each exercise my recovery time is considerably faster than last week. While this is a sign of progress, it also means that Jeremy the Tank is able to force me into more work. The workout is more intense and painful, but I no longer collapse after each task. The Tank tells me I'm doing better.
During today's workout Jeremy gives me two dumbbells and asks me to crawl on all fours, each time lifting the weight as high as possible. This is difficult. I also wonder if Jeremy is simply having me do this so he can laugh at how ridiculous I look.
Week one is over. Check back tomorrow for week two's starting weight...
Back at home and back to the gym. Jeremy the Tank awaits...
Today he has several strength exercises to throw at me. I realize that after each exercise my recovery time is considerably faster than last week. While this is a sign of progress, it also means that Jeremy the Tank is able to force me into more work. The workout is more intense and painful, but I no longer collapse after each task. The Tank tells me I'm doing better.
During today's workout Jeremy gives me two dumbbells and asks me to crawl on all fours, each time lifting the weight as high as possible. This is difficult. I also wonder if Jeremy is simply having me do this so he can laugh at how ridiculous I look.
Week one is over. Check back tomorrow for week two's starting weight...
No Rest for the Fatty
Workout Day 5:
So I took my first day off on Thursday. The flying schedule was not conducive, and the crew wanted to hang out at the hotel bar in the evening. It's all good, Jeremy the Tank told me I could have a day off. Friday it was back to 20 minutes of treadmill work. Unfortunately, when I arrived at the hotel workout room both treadmills were in use. I hopped on an exercise bike instead and banged out 10 minutes until a treadmill opened up, and I was able to finish the workout by jogging. I would just like to mention here that I officially hate the treadmill. No amount of enthusiasm pumped through my Ipod is going to change this opinion. I am noticing, however, that I am beginning to have more energy, and it takes less time to recover from my workouts... Progress, thy name is Dan.
So I took my first day off on Thursday. The flying schedule was not conducive, and the crew wanted to hang out at the hotel bar in the evening. It's all good, Jeremy the Tank told me I could have a day off. Friday it was back to 20 minutes of treadmill work. Unfortunately, when I arrived at the hotel workout room both treadmills were in use. I hopped on an exercise bike instead and banged out 10 minutes until a treadmill opened up, and I was able to finish the workout by jogging. I would just like to mention here that I officially hate the treadmill. No amount of enthusiasm pumped through my Ipod is going to change this opinion. I am noticing, however, that I am beginning to have more energy, and it takes less time to recover from my workouts... Progress, thy name is Dan.
Carry On...
Workout Day 4:
I started a trip on workout day 4. How's this for dedication: I commuted to Chicago, did a Philly turn, and wound up in DC for my overnight. We stepped into the hotel at midnight, and by 12:15am I was in the workout room. Jeremy the Tank instructed me to perform 20 minutes of treadmill work. I put in the effort, finished off my 20 minutes, and headed off to sleep. So far, no sign of a receding waistline...
I started a trip on workout day 4. How's this for dedication: I commuted to Chicago, did a Philly turn, and wound up in DC for my overnight. We stepped into the hotel at midnight, and by 12:15am I was in the workout room. Jeremy the Tank instructed me to perform 20 minutes of treadmill work. I put in the effort, finished off my 20 minutes, and headed off to sleep. So far, no sign of a receding waistline...
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Change is Painful
Workout Day 3:
Jeremy smiled widely today when he saw me. I took this as a bad sign. I was right. The day began with a short warm up, after which I was already nearly out of breath. We then proceeded towards a particularly vile machine set up to work both your legs and your arms. As I worked the machine, Jeremy added weight. At some point during the work out I asked him if many people told him how much they hated him. He laughed and said no. I have my doubts. The training day involved push ups with Jeremy literally pushing down on my back as well as triceps exercises with Jeremy literally pushing down on my arm. I told him this wasn't fair. He laughed and pushed harder. There were two distinct occasions when I felt like I might vomit.
I'm not dead yet, which I suppose is victory unto itself. I am, however, sore and tired. Tomorrow I go to work with instructions from Jeremy to perform 20 minutes of cardio exercise. Wish me luck.
Jeremy smiled widely today when he saw me. I took this as a bad sign. I was right. The day began with a short warm up, after which I was already nearly out of breath. We then proceeded towards a particularly vile machine set up to work both your legs and your arms. As I worked the machine, Jeremy added weight. At some point during the work out I asked him if many people told him how much they hated him. He laughed and said no. I have my doubts. The training day involved push ups with Jeremy literally pushing down on my back as well as triceps exercises with Jeremy literally pushing down on my arm. I told him this wasn't fair. He laughed and pushed harder. There were two distinct occasions when I felt like I might vomit.
I'm not dead yet, which I suppose is victory unto itself. I am, however, sore and tired. Tomorrow I go to work with instructions from Jeremy to perform 20 minutes of cardio exercise. Wish me luck.
The New Me
Owing to a bulging midsection and a lack of energy, I have joined a gym. At this gym, I have contracted the services of a personal trainer. In order to try to keep myself on track, I've decided to blog my workout experience. I started a few days ago, so here goes:
Workout Day 1:
It took a considerable amount of effort to actually go to the gym. It was as if the considerable weight of my belly knew it was at risk and made every attempt to hold me down. My wife, who fully supports my proposed transformation, went with me. Her will overrides the will of my belly.
Upon arrival at the gym I was greeted by a man named Jeremy who is built like an Abrams tank. It would not be ridiculous to imagine him using cliche phrases in a German accent. I realize quickly that I'm in trouble. Jeremy sits me down at his desk and asks me about my goals. I tell him I'm tired of buying new and larger pants, waking up tired, and general weakness. I also tell him I hate exercise. His smirk tells me my opinion is unlikely to change. Jeremy proceeds to stand me up in order to measure me. He somehow manages not to laugh at my pitifully small biceps and pitifully large waist. He weighs me, and then places an electronic body fat meter in my hands. The meter, in all it's cruelty, informs me that 25% of my body is, in fact, fat. I have been weighed, I have been measured, and I have certainly been found wanting...
"Let's start our workout," Jeremy says. The feeling of dread that has been developing in my stomach matures into full-fledged terror. For a warm up Jeremy starts me doing jumping jacks. (It takes me about 4 tries to remember how to do them.) Soon my breath becomes labored. Jeremy runs me through a series of jogging in place exercises, and then asks me if I know how to perform a lunge. He then teaches me how to perform a lunge. It is perhaps the most painful thing my legs have done in a great long while. As though not satisfied, Jeremy proceeds to place pressure on my fists, telling me to push upwards while in the lunge position. This goes poorly. Undeterred, Jeremy soon has my back up against the wall in the squatting position. The pain is enormous. Again, he asks me to push up against his downward hand pressure. It is becoming clear that Jeremy the tank could just as easily destroy me as he could say hello.
"Scale of 1-10, 1 you feel great, 10 you're gonna puke, how do you feel?" "8," I rasp through ragged breaths. My body aches, my muscles refuse to perform their requested functions, and I feel as though I've been through a full day's physical punishment. It has been 15 minutes of actual exercise. After a shot cool down and stretch, Jeremy takes me on a tour of the various brand new and very modern torture devices at the gym. I regret that I have paid an entire year's worth of membership up front.
Week 1 weight: 155 lbs.
Weight loss to date: 0 lbs.
Weight loss goal: 15 lbs.
Workout Day 2:
Jeremy instructed me yesterday to return to the gym in order to, "do some cardio on the treadmill." I told him I hate running. He smiled, and I realized he doesn't care what I do and don't hate. I am told to punish myself on the treadmill for a period of 45 minutes, during which I must include at least 5 periods of running, lasting 3-4 minutes per period. I bring my Ipod and proceed to jog for a song, and then walk for a song until my 45 minutes expires. It is mind-numbing, painful work, but I get through it. Sometime during the last part of my workout while I am pondering quiting, it dawns on me that the devil hates me being in shape, and is encouraging me to fail. This angers me, and fuels the rest of my workout. Jeremy calls later in the day to ask how it went. I tell him it was, "flipping hard." He doesn't seem to mind. "Drink lots of water, take some Aleve tonight, and I'll see you tomorrow," he says. "Great," I think to myself, "I'm so looking forward to it."
Workout Day 1:
It took a considerable amount of effort to actually go to the gym. It was as if the considerable weight of my belly knew it was at risk and made every attempt to hold me down. My wife, who fully supports my proposed transformation, went with me. Her will overrides the will of my belly.
Upon arrival at the gym I was greeted by a man named Jeremy who is built like an Abrams tank. It would not be ridiculous to imagine him using cliche phrases in a German accent. I realize quickly that I'm in trouble. Jeremy sits me down at his desk and asks me about my goals. I tell him I'm tired of buying new and larger pants, waking up tired, and general weakness. I also tell him I hate exercise. His smirk tells me my opinion is unlikely to change. Jeremy proceeds to stand me up in order to measure me. He somehow manages not to laugh at my pitifully small biceps and pitifully large waist. He weighs me, and then places an electronic body fat meter in my hands. The meter, in all it's cruelty, informs me that 25% of my body is, in fact, fat. I have been weighed, I have been measured, and I have certainly been found wanting...
"Let's start our workout," Jeremy says. The feeling of dread that has been developing in my stomach matures into full-fledged terror. For a warm up Jeremy starts me doing jumping jacks. (It takes me about 4 tries to remember how to do them.) Soon my breath becomes labored. Jeremy runs me through a series of jogging in place exercises, and then asks me if I know how to perform a lunge. He then teaches me how to perform a lunge. It is perhaps the most painful thing my legs have done in a great long while. As though not satisfied, Jeremy proceeds to place pressure on my fists, telling me to push upwards while in the lunge position. This goes poorly. Undeterred, Jeremy soon has my back up against the wall in the squatting position. The pain is enormous. Again, he asks me to push up against his downward hand pressure. It is becoming clear that Jeremy the tank could just as easily destroy me as he could say hello.
"Scale of 1-10, 1 you feel great, 10 you're gonna puke, how do you feel?" "8," I rasp through ragged breaths. My body aches, my muscles refuse to perform their requested functions, and I feel as though I've been through a full day's physical punishment. It has been 15 minutes of actual exercise. After a shot cool down and stretch, Jeremy takes me on a tour of the various brand new and very modern torture devices at the gym. I regret that I have paid an entire year's worth of membership up front.
Week 1 weight: 155 lbs.
Weight loss to date: 0 lbs.
Weight loss goal: 15 lbs.
Workout Day 2:
Jeremy instructed me yesterday to return to the gym in order to, "do some cardio on the treadmill." I told him I hate running. He smiled, and I realized he doesn't care what I do and don't hate. I am told to punish myself on the treadmill for a period of 45 minutes, during which I must include at least 5 periods of running, lasting 3-4 minutes per period. I bring my Ipod and proceed to jog for a song, and then walk for a song until my 45 minutes expires. It is mind-numbing, painful work, but I get through it. Sometime during the last part of my workout while I am pondering quiting, it dawns on me that the devil hates me being in shape, and is encouraging me to fail. This angers me, and fuels the rest of my workout. Jeremy calls later in the day to ask how it went. I tell him it was, "flipping hard." He doesn't seem to mind. "Drink lots of water, take some Aleve tonight, and I'll see you tomorrow," he says. "Great," I think to myself, "I'm so looking forward to it."
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