Monday, July 6

Weekly Weigh-In: Snickering at the Scale


Another successful weekly weigh-in, and I am establishing myself in the 240s now over the past few days, despite allowing some, well, interesting balance into my life the past couple of days that:

  • at the Lincoln town fireworks Saturday night, I enjoyed a dinner of Doritos and two frozen Snickers bars
  • last night my pal and I celebrated several sweet months with a walk and a dinner in Concord, and my dinner included a pomegranate martini, a cheeseburger, a caesar salad (my pal had french fries, but being statuesque she can get away with anything), and something called a Chocolate Explosion
I won't allow myself many weekends like that, but I also did some walking and it's all good on the scale this morning at 249.6. It has actually been remarkably gradual, which is probably exactly what I should be aspiring to, albeit without Snickers bars.

It was all they had at the fireworks snack bar, really.

PS - This morning my pal said that I looked really healthy around the eyes. I don't know if that would be the Doritos or the frozen Snickers bars.

Originally posted to BMGS 1.0 11/7/2007: 2 million reasons to cut back to 2,300 calories


If you've ever wondered why there have been so many mentions of the Red Sox on this blog that is supposed to be about losing weight, yesterday the planets came into perfect alignment and the question was answered.

According to his "38 Pitches" blog, 40-year-old pitcher Curt Schilling agreed to a 1-year contract to remain with the Sox Monday night, and the contract includes a $2 million weight incentive.


Yes, $2 million. All he has to do for that $2 million is "make weight" at 6 randomly scheduled weigh-ins during the course of the year.


What a country, hmm? It does make good sense both for the player and the team, and my guess is that it will make a big difference in helping Schill to meet the other key incentive in his contract, which parcels out up to $4 million as he hits certain levels in innings pitched.


So, many people might be a little envious here and lament the fact that we all can't pick up a serious check just by having a salad or two, I am a caring, giving spirit (and a Sox fan for lo these past 50 years).


My mission here is to offer some assistance.


The challenge for Curt, I think, is the challenge that I've faced and so many men face when they are at that cusp between the end of their serious "jock" career and, er, whatever it is that comes afterward. Curt's facing it at 40, whereas most men face it in their 20s or 30s.

You believe that you can work your way back into shape just by punishing your body in the gym, on the field, etc. Changing what you eat is only a minor consideration. You think you can cut back on a beer or two, drop the desserts (at least until after midnight), and cover for it all by burning off a thousand calories a day at the gym.
A guy who is in pretty good shape can make that work for a while, but he runs the risk of overtraining, especially when his body is beginning to break down a little bit to begin with.

So here's what Curt needs to do.
He's 6'4" and he will turn 41 a week from today. Although his baseball bio says he weight 215, I suspect that's what he weighed when he was photographed for this 1988 New Britain Red Sox baseball card. My estimate is that he goes 275 to 280 now.

At 275, with moderate exercise, his basal metabolic rate to maintain that weight is 3,822 calories a day. If he cuts 1,500 calories a day from that figure, he can still eat over 2,300 calories a day, which allows for plenty of good steaks, chicken and seafood and even an occasional dessert or beer. (One or the other, not both).

It's not rocket science. It's that simple.

Do the math, dude.


At that rate, he'll lose 3 pounds a week (1500 x 7 / 3500 = 3) between now and mid-February, when pitchers and catchers report to Spring training. He'll weigh 235 then, he'll look great, and he'll be ready to pitch. He'll still be strong as a bull, and he'll have a little extra jingle in his pocket.


If he keeps it up through the season, he could get down to his rookie playing weight by the World Series and then in 2009, his first year of retirement, he'll be able to run the Boston Marathon with his lovely wife Shonda. Which will no doubt lead to another bloody sock.


The real benefit would be long-term, of course. Like me, Schill has a choice between going through the rest of his life as a load or as a healthy, relatively fit guy. As my friend Nick has mentioned, being 6'4" or 6'5" can cover for you only for a while. I fully expected to start seeing Schill at Subway and BoLoco when I am there to pick up my calorie-counted subs and burritos.


Go, Schill!

Update: As you are probably already aware, the point was moot. Schilling's arm problems kept him from ever rejoining the active Red Sox roster again, and he retired from baseball without -- one assumes -- ever getting paid for a weigh-in.


Friday, July 3

Rhythm, no blues

Filed by Steve on Friday, July 3, 2009

Terrific rhythm to my life in the last 24 hours:

  • I did most of the work on my weekly Kindle Nation email newsletter yesterday morning, writing a lost post that I feel pretty good about under the title "Wake Up, Amazon!"
  • Then I hung with Danny who was home sick from tweener summer day camp from 2 to 6 and he cleaned my clock twice at Clue, Simpsons version. We also went outside with Brownie for a while so he could take a hammer to a matchbox el-caminoed Cadillac which he had purchased for two bucks at Newbury Comics for the express purpose of seeing how hard it would be to demolish it with a hammer. That's my boy.
  • I got to the pool at 6 and did my 40 laps, which got me to a little over 3 miles for the week. Hot damn!
  • Arrived back at my house about 7:30 knowing I needed to do about two hours of work to send out Kindle Nation. Took a 45-minute nap with the replay of the previous day's Sox game as ambient TV noise, then got up, made myself a sardine sandwich and a cup of coffee, and hit "send" on Kindle Nation at 10:35 pm.
  • Included, in Kindle Nation, a note saying that there would be no issue this coming week. Just like the New York does in the summer sometimes, except they plan their breaks a little further ahead.
  • I was asleep by 11, like a rock on the pillow. Okay, a big rock.
  • Wandered through the house looking for coffee some time this morning, sat down and read an email sent by my pal suggesting I give her a call at 11:17 pm, looked at the clock on the computer and it said 5:52 am.
  • Had a bowl of flax cereal and two cups of coffee and spent the next two hours extremely productively while lying down: reading the chapter about my friend Jim Koch's friend John Wing in the The Smartest Guys in the Room, then making notes toward an amazing business plan for a new media company.
  • I also made a long list of things I could do today, and have done some of them.
  • Had a lovely conversation with my pal, although it was not about anything.

Weekend warrior - Originally posted to BMGS 1.0 on November 1, 2009

It’s opening night for the Celtics tonight.

I think this could be the best season the Celtics have had since the early 90s, when we said goodbye over several years and for several reasons to Larry Joe Bird, Chief, DJ, McHale, Reggie Lewis and Lenny Bias. There is talk of a new Big Three, which of course will be nothing but heresy unless and until the new guys hang a flag.

Back in the 80s, when Larry was the king of this city and I had a third of a front-row season ticket at the old Garden through several amazing seasons, I also had a moment of totally unintended athletic competition with Larry Joe Bird.

I was in my 30s, mind you, and had been doing a little running. Enough to compete as a weekend warrior in an occasional 10K or 5-miler and to finish somewhere in the middle of the pack. Long before Big Man Getting Smaller, I was one of those guys of whom it was sometimes said, “Moves well for a big man.” I probably went around 220 or 225 at the time.

One weekend in March, a bit before St. Paddy’s day, the Celtics organization was the primary sponsor of a road race they called the “Shamrock Classic,” making a circuit around the North End and the Waterfront. I found out that the race would include something fair uncommon in those days, in addition to the various age groups, a “Clydesdale” division for guys over 210.

The race started and finished in front of the Garden. I wasn’t fast, but I was fast enough that I figured there was a good chance that the Clydesdale trophy might have my name on it, even though there was a huge field, pumped up by Celtics marketing.

I started toward the back of the pack and and picked guys off as I went along. I can’t remember now how long the race was, or what my time was, but I did fairly well, and when I finished I got a cold beer and waited for the results print-outs to get posted on a brick wall across the street from the Garden. I thought I had a decent shot.

Finally they posted the sheet with the Clydesdale winner on it. I had just about convinced myself that another fat guy could not have beaten me.

I squinted in the sunlight to read the name of the Clydesdale winner, and I was right. Another fat guy had not beaten me.

The Clydesdale winner was a 6’9”, 239-pound guy from French Lick, Indiana, who was about 10 years younger than me. He kicked my ass.

He wore number 33, as he always did. This is also the number of pounds the Big Man Getting Smaller has lost in the past 9 weeks.

Happy Celtics Opening Day, Larry. Here’s a song for you.



I feel lucky that I somehow grew up to be somebody who appreciates sports. A fan. And I feel doubly lucky to be living in Boston throughout so much of the past 50 years. Not everyone sees any significance in what guys like Bird, Russ, Pedro, Bobby Orr, Big Papi, Yaz, Cooz, DJ, Brady, Flutie, the Splinter, Rodgers, Joanie, and El Tiante did when they strapped them on. I do. And nobody ever did more credit to any team's uniform than Larry Bird did when he stepped on the parquet as a Celtic.


Thursday's Soundtrack

This is kind of a self-improvement song. The video is Jewel's cover, yodeling and all, but here is a link to the Indigo Girls' original. Words and music by IG Emily Saliers.

Actually I think the yodeling is by Woody's granddaughter (and Arlo's daughter) Sarah Lee Guthrie. The song is "Closer to Fine." I remember the first time I played it for my daughter Kippy when she was about 11. She didn't give it a high rating. She said it sounded like a sound they'd sing around the campfire at Farm & Wilderness. No doubt.

Wednesday, July 1

100 Laps Yesterday, and Younger Next Year

Given my schedule with my son Danny and the fact that the pool is open only at limited weekday times, my swimming routine is that I try for four days a week and sometimes only manage three days. I add in other exercise -- walking, running, maybe a little tennis with my pal this weekend? -- as I can, and it is working pretty well.

The structure of my workouts is to include one "long" day each week, with two or three other days on which I am trying to follow an old training principle from distance running, which is to add no more than about 10% to the distance of my workouts, week over week. That's been going great and I've gone from 16 laps my first day in the pool May 19 to half a mile (36 laps) on my regular workout days this week.

Yesterday was my long day. I did 100 laps. 80 laps without a rest, then I had to get out of the pool for a pit stop (and to stretch out a slight cramp in my toes), and then the final 20.

2500 yards.

1.42 miles.

I was in the pool for an hour and 20 minutes. If someone had told me 10 years ago that I would ever in my life spend an hour and 20 minutes swimming laps in an indoor pool I would have laughed out loud and said "you don't know me."

But I am enjoying it, thinking and imagining and ruminating as I swim, feeling better conditioned every day, and the endorphins, have I mentioned the endorphins? I went over to my pal's after my workout and sat on the sofa watching the Sox and she looked at my big silly endorphin-laced grin and said something along the lines of "You so goofy."

Yes indeed.

And that's not all.

You may recall that a few days ago I set a little side-goal alongside my usual cumulative goal of losing a pound a week (on which I am on track). Seeing that I had a shot at reaching it, I decided to make an effort to get "into the 240s" weight-wise by July 1.

So today I stepped aboard and weight in at 249.6, thanks in large part to my nice long workout in the pool yesterday.

It may come as no surprise to you that I like getting various kinds of positive feedback for my efforts. It helps to motivate me. Sometimes the feedback comes from others, and sometimes it comes from writing things down, keeping track, and charting my progress. It makes me feel good. I like to feel good, especially if in some small way I have earned it.

Getting into the 240s is good positive feedback, that will help me continue on this path. So is the progress of what I am able to accomplish in my long workouts over the past 4 weeks:

6/5 - 30 laps
6/11 - 36 laps (1/2 mile!)
6/16 - 48 laps (2/3 mile, no rests)
6/23 - 72 laps - 1 mile!
6/30 - 100 laps - 1.42 miles

And so are the endorphins.

And it's no accident that I got a haircut yesterday and I am going to the dentist this afternoon. You don't want to know how long it has been since I went to the dentist. But there's a trend here, and it's not all bad.

Without putting too fine a point on any of this, I'll just reference one of the section headings from a great book that I am reading on my Kindle thanks to my friend and college classmate Len Edgerly, he of the The Kindle Chronicles podcast. The book is entitled Younger Next Year: A Guide to Living Like 50 Until You're 80 and Beyond, by Chris Crowley and Harry Lodge. (It's also available in paperback). I don't usually cotton to such books, but this one is intelligent, packed with a lot more interesting information than most fitness tomes, and totally on my wavelength.

The section heading that caught my eye?

"Just Say No to Yasir Arafat"

Just so.

(P.S. - My friend Ned asked me to post the recent photograph above showing the gills that are growing on my body. I couldn't get a profile view which would have been clearer).

Related posts:

Getting Younger Every Year - and a Good Weekly Weigh-in

Romance Leads to Regimen Leads to Results

Off the shrink's couch - Originally posted to BMGS 1.0 Halloween, October 31, 2007


Today marks two months for Big Man Getting Smaller, and 32 pounds gone. It is working, and I can already tell that it is working a little better now that the Red Sox are finished keeping me up past midnight. I appreciate the warmth of the feedback I have gotten from so many people who have been in touch with me in various ways about this blog, and even the fact that at times the central struggle of BMGS seems shared. We are doing it.

Which leads me to share some thoughts about another writer’s efforts….

A good friend of a good friend (does that make her a pretty good friend? I’d like to think so) writes a regular column for her community’s weekly paper, the Free Press down in North Attleboro, and I have become a frequent reader. Written under the column title “This Too Shall Pass,” Donna’s work is a little bit Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City, a little bit Beans of Egypt, and all her own. I get something good from it each time I give myself the time to sit with it for a few moments.

Last week she did a bit of a retrospective on how her homestead came to be known as Poverty Flats in the column, and how the column itself came to be and evolved along with her family. Having lived for a while in what my family and out neighbors called “Poverty Hollow” in Sandwich as a child, in a family that was by no means conventional, I was predisposed to identify with what she wrote.

A couple of paragraphs in particular caught my eye because they shed some light, as Donna wrote about the place of her column in her life and the life of her family, on the importance that this Big Man Getting Smaller blog has taken on for me:

“My children have grown up in the pages of the Free Press, and relatives and friends have kept up with life here at the Flats. I guess you might say that This Too Shall Pass was the original blog which you didn't need a computer to enjoy.”

And, earlier on:

“Through it all, my column has kept me off a shrink's couch, and saved loads in medication costs. It helps one's ability to deal with the ups and down of daily life to be able to write about the events and have other humans read and share the load. I have no idea why this works but it does.”

Well, yeah, exactly. Writing in interesting, witty, and self-examining ways about our lives, as Donna does, takes some time, patience and guts, but there are rewards. It isn’t something that everyone can do.

It puts things in perspective, and without presuming too much on my own friends’ tolerance for my own loquaciousness, it can be a wonderful way to stay in touch. I couldn’t say it any better than Donna said it, so I hope it won’t bring the Free Press’ lawyers down on my head that I have quoted two paragraphs here.

Meanwhile, Happy Halloween. I am pleased and proud, this Halloween to be the father of a 9-year-old axe murderer.

If he darkens your door this evening, all I can tell you is: "Don't be a hero. Give up the candy. Better to lose the candy than your neck."


Wednesday's Soundtrack

A story song from 1962 ... it's a little bit Halloween, a little bit Poverty Flats, and a little bit Poverty Hollow: the lesson of Dickie Lee's "Patches" is that inter-class romance can be a killer.


Monday, June 29

Welcome to Our World, Rose Helen Jackson!


No doubt there are a few readers who are squinting at that little fraction-of-an-inch patch of Rose's face and saying, "Awwww, isn't she cute!!??"

And I am sure she is very, very cute. But I am here to say that this little girl is also very lucky, because she was born last Tuesday to two wonderful and grateful parents, Jennifer and my old roomie Paul. A little over 8 pounds, or about twice as big as the puppy Danny got for his fourth birthday.

It's been a blessing to watch all of this unfold over the past couple of years, Rose, and I can't wait to meet you. And I am also looking forward to sharing some of the experiences of fatherhood with your Dad.

As for the Big Man Getting Smaller, fatherhood continues to provide one amazing experience after another. Today, Danny got poked in the nose in karate, and it bled. Second time for this, but a big difference from the first time, which was a little bit teary. Today he just sucked it up, went in to the bathroom to clean himself up, and went about his business. That's my boy.

And of course, Danny is at or near the top among the many reasons why I am hard at this quest for fitness and health and longevity. Who would want to miss and of what I experience day after day and month after month with kids like Danny and Kippy and Moriah and a grandson like Callum? Nobody in his right mind, that's who.

So I swam again today, 40 laps in the pool at 6 o'clock. After swimming half a mile (36 laps) without a rest, I finished the workout with two 50-yard freestyle (crawl) sprints in 64 and 63 seconds. The U.S. mens' record, a little over 21 seconds, is safe. But I felt like I was moving in the water, and it felt good.

And I also got on the scale for my weekly weigh-in, and it was good. Down 0.8 from last week to 250.6, still ahead of schedule, and within spittin' distance of my little side goal of getting down into the 240s by July 1.

Saturday, June 27

It's been a hell of a week here in East Arlington....


Amazing week.

In a very intense and disciplined burst of energy Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday I put the finishing touches on a book that I have been working on, off and on, for months. It is still going through its paces in terms of final proofing, documentation, backmatter, line-editing, and cover design (see image at right), but I feel great about the book and I am looking forward to seeing it in a Kindle edition by the end of this week and in paperback later in July.

Tuesday evening I swam a mile in the pool. 72 laps. I think I have already crowed about that, but, well. A mile. I started the swimming regimen on May 19 and prior to that I had now done anty lap-swimming, or any real swimming other than sloshing around in the ocean or a pond, for over 40 years. I am still feeling great from that, and I was back in the pool Thursday for 30 laps Thursday evening.

After I got out of the pool I picked up my pal at her office and we went to a party. Not just any party. The 60th birthday party of a great old friend from my undergraduate days hanging out at the South House Grille, wetting our whistles with a gallon jug of Vino Fino on Saturday nights, and other pursuits. During the past couple of years I have been blessed to enjoy wonderful times re-connecting with a great group of people from those years, and spending some time with Jim has been one of those treats. Being at his 60th birthday party was special, and the beer, the lobster, and the vintage music were damned good too. And I danced -- much to the astonishment of my pal, and dance partner.

All of that -- Thursday's 30 laps and the subsequent partying -- also occurred after I completed an intense day meeting Thursday's weekly deadline for my Kindle Nation email newsletter, with over 3,000 words of fresh content.

Then on Friday -- after my mid-day nap -- my pal and I took my son Danny, who will be 11 in six weeks, to a concert. David Archuleta, KSM, and Demi Lovato. I had noticed Archuleta's name before, only because Louise Archuleta -- no relative, I assume -- was one of the community leaders with whom I was honored to work as a community organizer in Danieldale, Texas, a little over 30 years ago. (We brought picnic baskets and blankets and occupied the offices of the City of Dallas; director of parks and recreation until we wona commitment of CDBG funding for what came to be known as Danieldale ACORN Park, but that's another story.) Otherwise, these were not names with which I had been familiar. Let's just say that while we had great fun at the concert, the experience did not knock the Stones and BB King at the Garden (November 1969) from the top spot among my all-time list of favorite concerts. And I lasted as long as Danny.

Tonight my pal and I are going to babysit my 15-month-old grandson Callum, and this afternoon after making some good progress on the cover design above I went out on a beautiful day and had a great sweaty 35-minute run -- something I can only do now and then, but which I enjoyed greatly on a day when the pool was closed.

And those are just the things I can tell you about.

Arrogant, pretentious, and prideful - Originally posted to BMGS 1.0 on October 27, 2007


This is the cover image of Bowl of Cherries, the debut novel of Millard Kaufman, who celebrated his 90th birthday last March. Yes, I said “debut” novel. As in, his first novel.

You gotta love that. I do. I listened to an interview this morning on the radio, and l read some print media notices.

Then I ordered the book, which is published by an absolutely wonderful indie publishing house called McSweeney’s. I’ll let you know what I think. (It’s not like Mr. Kaufman doesn’t already have his writing chops. He wrote the screenplay for the Academy Award-nominated Bad Day at Black Rock (1955). and was a co-creator of Mr. Magoo. But still.)


But first, just this. This is why we live. This is why it is worth pulling out all the stops to get back into great shape when we are 57. Because there are decades and decades left, and also, there might be a book signing party when we are 90. And we’d want to be in shape for that, looking our best, and feeling our best.
(I type this as I listen to Daniel Schorr’s commentary on this week’s news on NPR. Yes, he is older than Mr. Kaufman.)

It would be easy, at any point, to throw in the towel. To say, “No Mas,” or just to quit trying for anything but the pillow at the end of the day.


But life is best when we live it for its best moments, and refuse to accept the sentence to mediocrity implicit in Thoreau’s line: “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”


It is arrogant of me, and pretentious, and prideful, I am sure, to see the best in myself after having faced the worst. To envision great productivity and wonderful results in my future. But it is also a gift to myself. Sometimes, at my most hopeful, I even believe that it is also a gift to my children, to their children, to my loved ones, to my friends and fellow citizens. Life is long, or could be, and one never knows.

So I try to work out almost every day, and to keep the calories 1000 to 1500 a day below my daily “maintenance level” of about 3200. Not because I’ll ever get those sixpack abs back, or run a sub-4:40 mile again, or be a babe magnet, or recover my wildly delusional dream to someday play third for the Sox.
But because I want to be around for a long time, do some serious good work, and enjoy my life and my loved ones.

If I am around at 90, I want to expect every bit as much of myself as Millard Kaufman does of himself. I wonder what his next project is.


One of my several literary heroes, D.H. Lawrence, used his fiction to struggle with the issues in his life and to remake himself as a man. For now, I will admit, this same sort of struggle is one ulterior purpose for my blog. But I probably shouldn’t call it “ulterior.” My weight-loss goals and my everyday struggle to renew and remake my life are, at some fundamental level, one and the same.
(And I am untroubled by the sheer ridiculousness of the implied comparison).

So I will write today. And do my other work. And get to the gym. And read my daughter’s blog. And hang out with my 9-year-old son. And email my friends. And count calories.


Saturday's Soundtrack

This one may seem insufficient as a dance tune, unless you are really, really in the moment with it.

The artwork is amazing, as is Ginsburg's reading.

Here are links to the parts:



Sunday Soundtrack

Ah, medication....



This may be the perkiest song ever recorded by a good band. I'm not totally down with it. If you watch the video it won't be hard to decipher which character I identify with. But it's okay. A perky song can be a kind of place-holder until my medication kicks in, yes, Doctor?

I do like REM a lot. If it weren't for their other songs that I like a lot I probably would never have listened to this one. Here are the other songs:

Nightswimming

Man on the Moon (with Bruce!)

Losing My Religion

Everybody Hurts

One other thing that I like about Michael Stipe and his band is that they commit themselves to the videos, which tend to be pretty good.


Monday's Soundtrack

A nice season comes to a nice conclusion for the Sox, playing a nice game.




I have to admit ... I am a little glad it is over. Now I can get back to eating right and getting to sleep at a decent hour!

Tuesday's Soundtrack

It's difficult to describe now how important it was, growing up in a sleepy little town on Cape Cod in 1965, to be able to hear the occasional messages like this that slipped through the seams of the dominant culture.




You'd always think, "Whoa, what's he getting at? Oh, yeah, it's that thing again, that thing that you think about all the time...."

1 comments:

thoughtz said...

Arrogant, pretentious and prideful... that is what those who call me who are living lives of quiet desperation. Life is to have fun with and to have our positive thoughts create our wonderful future! I find your blog very inspiring!
Donna

Update: Mr. Kaufman died in March of 2009.

Tuesday, June 23

A mile!

5/19 - 12 laps
5/20 - 14 laps
5/21 - 16 laps
5/26 - 18 laps
5/27 - 20 laps
5/28 - 20 laps
6/1 - 22 laps
6/2 - 22 laps
6/3 - 22 laps
6/5 - 30 laps
6/8 - 24 laps
6/9 - 30-minute jog
6/10 - 24 laps
6/11 - 36 laps (1/2 mile!)
6/15 - 26 laps
6/16 - 48 laps (2/3 mile, no rests)
6/18 - 26 laps
6/19 - 26 laps
6/22 - 10 laps (Pool was overcrowded with 4 people swimming clockwise in each set of double lanes, collisions, and craziness, so I gave up to live another day after 10 frustrating laps)
6/23 - 72 laps - 1 mile! - I last swam a mile the day I got my junior lifesavers patch when I was 12. That was not recently.

Five minutes

I took five minutes yesterday.

Jack G's wife died Thursday morning, and last night I drove down to Milford for the wake. My pal came with me and we had good talks on the way and the way back, so all it really took for me to pay my respects to Jack, to give him hugs of greeting and of parting, to tell him to call me any hour of the day or night, was five minutes. We got there about 7:30 and we were back in the car before 7:45. It meant something to Jack G, and it meant something to me.

How many wakes or funerals have I passed up, begrudging the five minutes? Dozens, maybe more. Probably there will be more to come, and maybe I'll have learned something when they do come.

The fact that I made it a priority to reach out to Jack imposed some order on my day yesterday, along with my time with Danny and his Karate class, so I did not post here about my weekly weigh-in, or anything else.

But I did the weigh-in, and even though the clock says 8:09 and my current regimen says that I must be working on the book and not blogging between 8 am and 1 pm, I am taking this five minutes now. As important as it is to be accountable to my writing regimen, it is equally important to be accountable to my BMGS regimen.

Sometimes life as a grown-up is about balancing multiple and mildly conflicting forms of accountability. Duh.

So I will just post the chart here, and say that it is all good, very good, especially when the weigh-in at 251.4 came after a weekend that featured a Father's Day brunch with Danny at Country Buffet (yes, as in "all you can eat") and a delicious barbecue at my pal's.

I am going to keep this up and I am going to be down into the 240s at or near the first of July! Is that big?

Well, a little less big, but yes.


Catastrophic - Originally posted to BMGS 1.0, October 24, 2007

Catastrophic
Originally posted to BMGS 1.0 on Wednesday, October 24, 2007


Fire. A few months ago, when I read Cormac McCarthy's The Road, I didn't get it about the fire. His fire-ravaged post-apocalyptic earth was perhaps the result of nuclear disaster, yet now, at the same time, I am beginning to get it about fire. The fire could keep coming. It isn't hellfire, but it isn't an accident either. Water here, fire there. Out there, it is the driest it has been in over a century. The planet will have the last word.

I just spoke to my daughter Kip on the phone. She's a transplanted Boston girl making her way in LA, but the last few days she has been at her grandmother's in La Jolla, surrounded by smoke. It's hard to get my head around what this experience must be like there, with ash falling like a bad joke from the sky everywhere, smoke rising up in frightening billows, and lovely La Jolla overfilled with people scared to death of where they have come from and not knowing when or if their lives will still be there when they go back.

It is every bit as frightening and catastrophic as 9.11, but it remains to be seen if it will inspire a fightback. There are causes, but they do not submit easily to campaigns of hate, being so close at hand. There are things that could be done, but they would take discipline and rigor and real concern about people and the planet. They do not involve invading any other countries. They may require a look in the mirror.

I shouldn't get started. This is no time for ranting, is it? I'm not sure. I am proud of my daughter for helping out at Qualcomm, and I hope that she doesn't inhale too much smoke.

*************************************************************************


Unencumbered




That was me at 17, in 1967, making a move in a race on a Saturday afternoon in October. It's good, even now, to be able to summon that kid's heart and toughness for an important struggle, or, sometimes, just to get through the day. He was always ready. He could always do what had to be done. Whatever it took, day or night. Good chance he passed that guy just ahead of him in the teeshirt.

I figure that I will be living in whatever I make of my body for another 30 years. I know I'll never have that one back, too many nicks and dings. But I can get back a lot closer to that, and why wouldn't it be worth the effort?

Stood there boldly

Sweatin in the sun
Felt like a million
Felt like number one
The height of summer
I'd never felt that strong
Like a rock

I was eighteen
Didn't have a care
Working for peanuts
Not a dime to spare
But I was lean and
Solid everywhere
Like a rock

My hands were steady
My eyes were clear and bright
My walk had purpose
My steps were quick and light
And I held firmly
To what I felt was right
Like a rock

Like a rock, I was strong as I could be
Like a rock, nothin ever got to me
Like a rock, I was something to see
Like a rock

And I stood arrow straight
Unencumbered by the weight
Of all these hustlers and their schemes
I stood proud, I stood tall
High above it all
I still believed in my dreams

Twenty years now
Where'd they go?
Twenty years
I dont know
Sit and I wonder sometimes
Where theyve gone

And sometimes late at night
When I'm bathed in the firelight
The moon comes callin a ghostly white
And I recall
Recall

Like a rock. standin arrow straight
Like a rock, chargin from the gate
Like a rock, carryin the weight
Like a rock

Like a rock, the sun upon my skin
Like a rock, hard against the wind
Like a rock, I see myself again
Like a rock

Words and music by Bob Seger

Special bonus track, apropos of nada



Friday, June 19

Student of the month - Originally posted to BMGS 1.0 - Tuesday, October 23, 2007

JUNE 19, 2009: I drove down to my old stomping grounds last night for a nice dinner with a great friend and a terrific meeting back "home." The pillow was awfully comfortable when I first opened my eyes at 6:54 this morning, but somehow I managed to be in the pool an hour later for 26 laps. We endure. Happy Juneteenth!

Originally posted to BMGS 1.0 - Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Student of the month

My daughters were never skeptics about their old man when they were little. They called me “Little Man” 20 years ago, for reasons that I am sure had nothing to do with this blog or its naming. I think it was a nice counterbalance for them, a way of taking me and my deep voice and authority and bringing me down to their scale. It always made me happy that they felt comfortable to do that. They are 29 and 27 now, and for many reasons they do not need to re-name me to bring me down to their scale.

My son, who is 9, is more of a skeptic. Not only about me but about nearly everything. That doesn’t keep him from applying himself very seriously, which is great. He does his homework without being told, he is very good to his mother, and he is the October 2007 Student of the Month at the American Martial Arts Academy in Belmont.

He takes some interest in my blog. I’m pretty sure he’d prefer if I looked like a guy on a SoloFlex commercial. I get no points for having looked like that 40 years ago.

But he did say “Good” when I told him the other day that I had hit “30” in pounds lost. 

Then he said, “You were in the 20s for a long time.”

True enough. I started at 273.4 on August 31. 

It took me 3 days to lose the first 10 pounds.

Then it took me 20 days to lose the second 10.

And 28 days to lose the third 10.

I explained that weight loss does slow down a little the longer you are at it.

Then I explained the more important reason, which may be evident in the food and exercise logs here but about which I may not have been properly analytic.

It’s the Red Sox. Sort of.

I’m not just making a silly excuse. About 8 months ago I stored my TV in the basement. It was taking up too much space, and I almost never watch TV. I grew up listening to the Sox on the radio, and I kind of think that baseball was made for the radio, or radio for baseball, or something.

But comes the postseason, and I am watching a good chunk of every game. When they were playing early enough I could watch at the gym while I was on the elliptical. Now they are starting all their games at about 8:30, and the gym closes at 6 or 7 on the weekend

So I have been a regular, game nights, at the Newtowne Grille in Porter Square. They know me there. A pint is $3 and 146 calories. The food has a few more calories. I have allowed it to put me over my daily calorie target a number of times. Not enough to gain weight, but to slow down the process of losing it.

So, there are only 7 games left. Some I will watch in other settings. But I will try to limit myself to just 2 or 3 at the Newtowne Grille, where I am sure they can survive without me counting their calories. If I stay on track with this, maybe it won’t take me 28 days to go through “my 30s.”

Tuesday's Soundtrack

"At the age of thirty-seven she realised she'd never
Ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair
So she let the phone keep ringing as she sat there softly singing
Pretty nursery rhymes shed memorised in her daddy's easy chair."



Marianne Faithfull, "The Ballad of Lucy Jordan"

"At the age of 37
she knew she'd found forever
as she rode along through Paris
with the warm wind in her hair"

Annie and I saw Marianne Faithfull perform live in a kind of recreated cabaret setting at the ART in Cambridge in the mid-90s. She's a remarkable performer, partly for the shocking transformation from what she first seemed when she appeared on British invasion shows as a teenager in the 60s, when one wasn't sure if she was anything more than Mick's arm candy. That was selling her way, way short.