Friday, June 29, 2012

Running on the Hottest Night of the Year: Summer Successes and Challenges

Summer continues to beat me down, and it seems like every time I have a successful moment, I have a disappointment to match.

I ran 11.7 miles tonight in 2:16:59:

Only the best paint-drawn graphics for this blog
I ran from my area, Logan Square, down Milwaukee to Wicker Park, east on Division (through a somewhat actively dangerous area formerly known as Cabrini Green) until Lake Shore drive. I ran past my aunt's old condo, down Michigan Avenue, past my favorite radio station, over the river, and continued past Grant Park to Roosevelt. I then took Roosevelt west to Halsted on the UIC campus, and headed north on Halsted to Milwaukee. I finally stopped at Division, and took the CTA home.

11.7 miles - that's a new personal best, in terms of length. The previous limit was 11 miles.
Considering I hadn't done a long run in a few weeks (I kind of stopped for a while there), I'm happy with that.
 
I attempted to maintain decent form, particularly keeping with 160 steps per minute. I did okay with that, and tried to keep my back straight, which worked well, until the end. It seemed that having better form improved my balance, and I didn't have any issues with tripping or ankles, which was nice! Landing midfoot still felt damn-near impossible, but when my knees started hurting more, I tried harder, with mixed results.

I also ran because I WANTED to, ran to improve my form, and ran to experience more of the city. I didn't just do it because I thought it'd help me lose some weight, or something like that.
One of the things I stopped to see: Hubbard's Cave, where a tunnel carrying 90/94 (Dan Ryan) inexplicably has a gap in the ceiling, which is actually a few semi-trailer parking lots.
Note: it is awesome.


And having a fairly crap pace, 11:42/mile, didn't bother me much this time.


So, several successes.


But there are a ton of things about this run that I'm completely unhappy with - and they seriously concern me.

Least concerning, I apparently didn't eat enough, again. Eating a cup and a half of wheat pasta two hours before the run held me over, but at the 1.5 hour mark, I started getting fairly hungry, and the gel didn't offset it. I didn't hit the wall with exhaustion due to hunger, but it certainly annoyed me.

The issue I've been struggling with forever came up again: stopping - for water, to avoid knee pain, and for exhaustion.
During the run, I stopped about eight times, for about 45 minutes total. Sometimes just to look at something, once to try to see what was going on at WGN radio (I'm a nerd), and a few times to take it easy.
Because it was a practice run, the stops didn't bother me that much, and it made the run much less painful, though it got pretty damn so by the end.
But I know that, in those conditions, there is no way I could have run that distance without stopping at least three or four times.
My half is in three weeks... it won't feel great if I need to stop eight times. Hell, I might not even finish within the proscribed time limit and before they break down the course. That'd be a huge embarrassment. I don't even know if I'd want to finish - just DNF me.

Much more worrying, the heat affects me like crazy.
When I started the run, it was in the mid-80s with very high humidity. I'd considered running topless for the first time but ultimately didn't - I realized that if I got desperate and had to take a cab or train home, or had to jump into a store to buy something, I might not get served; plus, the belt made me look like total crap without a shirt, and the drunken Wicker Park denizens I was sure to encounter wouldn't appreciate the view. I also forgot any sort of hat, so sweat started pouring down my face from the start. I did learn a nice trick to keeping your face cool: put your hands in the hair in the back of your head, which almost assuredly is drenched, then rub the sweat all over your face. Not the most pleasant, but it seemed to work.
At almost exactly 3 miles into the run, I overheated to the point of potential danger. Though I'd not really been pushing myself too hard, my body temperature had exploded and the air felt like it was in the mid-100s. I was having issues breathing, and I couldn't take another step. I had to walk into a convenience store (along with several cops discussing a robbery with the store clerk I'd apparently just missed - what luck!) and grab a drink, or give up completely.

Then, hilariously, I was freezing after I'd stopped a few times downtown. The temperature there had dropped to the mid-70s, and my body temperature had regulated. While I wasn't shivering, I was extremely uncomfortable, and for the first time understood why ultrarunners wrap themselves up after a race.

Maybe worst of all: I'm experiencing serious hydration issues.
Amphipod RunLite Airstretch 4 Hydration Belt
Tired of lugging around a water bottle which made pumping my arms awkward, I bought a hydration belt today. It's pretty sick.


I chose the option with the most water - 32 ounces. Supposedly this model is designed for those training for a marathon, and should be enough to satiate one's thirst during a run.
Unfortunately, almost immediately, it became clear 32 ounces would be NOWHERE near enough water for that run. Knowing the conditions I'd face, I had taken care ahead of time, and made sure to drink plenty of fluids the day before and all night beforehand. We're talking two to three full nalgene bottles tonight and four yesterday. Not nearly enough.
 During the run, I killed a 20 ounce gatorade, and 16 more ounces of extra water  - the liquids I obtained and drank along the way were 6 OUNCES MORE THAN WHAT I WAS CARRYING, and hey, I drank those bottles, too.
Instead of being okay with 32 ounces, I drank 68. After hydrating yesterday and the hours before running. Plus I almost asked the guys spraying plants on Michigan Avenue to hose me down.
I don't, really do not, understand how people run without feeling parched continually, without feeling like they're going to pass out from thirst, when out in this heat. I know in a race setting, it'll be easier, having aid stations, but it feels ridiculous to have to drink so much more than the average runner.

And this is kind of gross, but I'm fairly certain a toenail is about to fall off. Cool, man.


So... I will tough it out, and hope that summer ends quickly. Good thing this isn't the hottest Illinois summer in 24 years!

I might be the only runner I know who's hoping winter comes around sooner rather than later.

Monday, June 25, 2012

Bad Form Running

The pictures from three recent races prove it:




I have awful, terrible running form.

I've been working on trying to improve my running form for a while, but attending a Good Form Running clinic at Fleet Feet on Sunday made me realize I have quite a long way to go.

As the first two pictures demonstrate, I heel-strike like crazy. Now, these pictures were taken at the end of the races, when I was sprinting, so it's probably exaggerated (I hope). Landing on my midfoot is something I need to work on and be much more mindful of. My shoes (Brooks Adrenaline GTS 12s) have a good deal of support (I tend to overpronate and have terribly weak ankles), so it may be tough for me to make the change successfully. 

As the third plainly shows, I have a fairly long stride, and seem to float in the air between steps. The seminar taught that the number of steps per minute should be 180. I knew I wasn't near that, but I had no clue how slow I was running - I tested myself with a natural stride earlier, and found I normally ran around 130 steps per minute. Frankly, I have no idea how I'm going to increase by pace by 50 BPM, especially since I don't run with music, which could keep me paced equally throughout.

Since I often run at night, or run on sidewalks and streets strewn with potholes and gaps that I fear tripping on, I look down immediately in front of my feet and lean forward, so my posture is terrible and I don't lean the right way.


Perhaps worst of all are my knee problems. When I get going on a longer run (or hell, even a shorter one), my knees lock and my legs straighten out, which sends shock up through the rest of my body. But since my knees are screwed up, bending them almost always seriously hurts, starting after around mile six or seven. I asked the seminar instructor how I should deal with this problem, and she answered exactly how I feared: that is NOT normal. Talk to a doctor. You might need physical therapy. [or surgery]
And so I'm afraid that despite whatever else I do, my knees will keep me from running success.

Essentially I look like this:


In any case, the most crucial thing I realized from attending the seminar is that it's necessary to practice running, like with any sport. Form has been something I figured I could change as I did my planned routines... but now, I'm going to try to run for the purpose of improving my form. In small doses, a mile or two, I'll go out and just focus on nailing as many positive aspects of form as possible.

In terms of learning how to practice, and improve my form, my timing *might* be perfect:
I already anticipate that my pace for the Half in less than a month will be terrible, and I'm just worried about finishing, so I'm not pushing myself that hard in the weeks leading up to it; and immediately after the Half, four days later, I will be out of commission, unable to run for at least a month.
In essence, I'll need to relearn how to train efficiently again altogether... I might as well learn correctly, this time.

Hopefully, I can eventually look like this:



We'll see what happens.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Hit the Wall

This is the route I thought I was going to run today - about six miles, and hopefully go even further:
(green is out, red is back)


This is the route I actually was able to run:


1.6 miles.
I thought the first mile took 13 minutes... turns out that was about 1.4 miles, so my pace really wasn't that bad.

Chicago is a pancake. Actually, flatter than a pancake. Today, even running up the bump covering the el tracks at grade was tough. I gave up at the start of the North Shore Channel Trail... the thought of having to deal with hills of any kind was too much to bear. I tried to jog back, got about 50 feet, and stopped completely.

I walked most of the same path back, and then went on other side streets to avoid being seen by the rest of the group who had started with me. Then I REALLY made sure they wouldn't find me when I stopped to grab something at a convenience store on the way back.

It was not a good idea to attempt a medium-distance run when:
- It was at least 75 80 degrees and sunny
- I hadn't run in a week
- I stood all night and didn't really take a break at a terrible night at work
- Since 1030 at night, all I'd eaten was a banana and Chobani, a cup of fruit, tuna from a sandwich, and a gel immediately before starting.

I haven't hit the wall in a while, but it was foolish to even attempt this.
It's hard to slow down when you're doing a group run, and you want to run with everyone else, and they're kicking your ass. If you fall far behind, what's the point of running with a group?

This is the look of hitting the wall:


But damn, that 7-11 watermelon lime slurpee tasted good on the walk back to my car. 

Friday, June 22, 2012

Background (15/15): Advice for Others

           I was asked, what thoughts might I have for others who're considering making a positive change in their fitness, diet, or embracing a healthier lifestyle, or in the midst of struggling, like I am.
           Here are a few thoughts:

Perhaps first of all, accept that you would like to make a change. Identify the exact reasons why you want to make a change – make a list. Then, focus on those reasons as often and as intently as possible. Ask yourself often – is what I’m doing at this moment contributing to my goals? Put signs up in your home to that effect. That might seem dumb at first, but it will eventually motivate you.
Be honest with yourself. It is almost certainly possible to change your habits and your lifestyle – but it will be challenging. Chances are, a significant change will have to be made, and it will frustrate you. It will probably hurt emotionally and physically at time. You’ll probably hate yourself for doing it sometimes. In the end, it will also almost certainly be worth it.
Take extensive, specific, and careful measurements and pictures before you start. It feels hokey, and might feel depressing to have to record certain metrics like body fat or weight, or even taking full-body pictures, but you’ll regret not having them later. I do. Don’t weigh yourself wearing gym clothes and shoes, like I did. Buy a scale and weigh-in with underwear only, if that, for the most accuracy, and weigh-in under similar conditions consistently. Once you get going, carefully document the changes.
Very early on, find several mentors and confidants of different backgrounds. Try to interact with people who are active and have been for their entire lives, with some who are starting out with similar struggles and challenges as you are, and perhaps most importantly, become close with people who have successfully gone through the process before. Don’t be shy about telling many people that you’re starting to take fitness seriously – the more people who know about what you’re up to, the more who can hold you accountable and support you. Rare is the asshole who will mock you for trying to get in better shape. I can think of one or two instances when someone made fun of me, MAYBE, whereas so many people have absolutely supported me the entire time. Become active in support groups, if that’s your thing. Certain online groups helped me a lot, particularly reddit, which has weight-loss, fitness, motivation, running, and C25K interest pages. I’ve heard that blogging can be a good tool for some. You might be surprised where you may find support if you only search a bit.
Don’t get overwhelmed by the tasks that you face down the line – think of it day to day. Don’t think about whether this will last a lifetime or not – that’ll freak you out and you’ll probably quit. Make simple choices continually and stay grounded. Understand that this is not a zero-sum game – setbacks will not derail you for life! Get back on track tomorrow, or the day after, if you fall short. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that, but try.
Start cautiously, and make sure what you’re doing is safe. I made a lot of stupid mistakes early on, but luckily never seriously hurt my body. I could’ve been a lot less lucky. Get checked out by a doctor before starting any weight-loss or sport – really. And if you don’t know how to do something at the gym or in a sport, by all means, ask someone! Don’t break your arm trying to look cool for the other people working out. They really don’t even care.
Don’t get discouraged if progress is slow, or takes time – and stay realistic. I wanted to lose 100 pounds in a year. For me, that wasn’t realistic, which infuriated me at first, but it probably would’ve been dangerously unhealthy! Instead, I made steady, continued, and most importantly, sustainable progress. That should be your goal, too.
Do your research and take your discoveries to heart. Many resources exist in so many places to advise people on how to go about this process – indulge. Read as much on the topic as you can! Read “Racing Weight,” regardless of if you exercise much or not – it changed my life, and I think it could change yours, too. Most information on the subject is designed for the common-man's consumption, don’t worry about having to deal with jargon, it’s not usually that big a deal. Just be careful of junk advice, and crosscheck between sources.
Be willing to invest time and money in this process. Improving your life in any way is a time-intensive process and will require some sacrifices of scheduling. Little bits here and there at the start make a big difference. Don't be afraid to spend money to help make working out or eating better easier. Buy clothes that are designed for working out, don’t just use cotton t-shirts – gym clothes actually have useful functionality, like wicking sweat. Such pieces can be expensive, but are ultimately worth every penny, provided you wear them. Buy new types of healthy foods, buy cook books, and experiment. It was tough for me to spend my money on weight-loss and running items, or healthier and more expensive foods, at the start. Then I considered – what good would money be if I was dead? Spend some money now so you’ll be around to spend it later, too.
Prepare for positive and unexpected things to happen down the line, and embrace the change. The first time someone told me I’d inspired them to run, I wrote it off as politeness. By the time five people who didn’t know each other all said the same thing to me, I realized I had actually begun to inspire others to exercise. That felt incredible. You can set an amazing example for those around you, and can change others’ lives by changing yours. Return the favor that others did for you, when you were getting started, by supporting as many other people as you can.

Background (14/15): Reasons


Despite the short-term disappointments, I need to force myself to keep an eye on the long-term goals and outcomes. I’ve made some serious progress, and while hopefully down the line I can run a half, or even a full marathon, running is, to some degree, a means to an end. It supports and makes possible my goals of getting fit and staying healthy for my whole life. I’m determined to reach a point of better health so my back doesn’t hurt all day and all night; so I enjoy looking at pictures of myself again; so I don’t lose my feet from diabetes; so I can live on my own when I’m older; so I don’t get winded running up stairs; so I don’t die from a heart attack by 30, amongst other reasons.

Background (13/15): Challenges, Disappointments


Despite running successes, some challenges mounted, particularly with foot and leg issues, and I did the best I could. I always had foot pain after running, but in late April or early May, it started to intensify around calluses while running, and didn't ease off afterward. After about three weeks of continual pain, I couldn’t deal with it anymore, so I stupidly tried to deal with it myself. Details unnecessary, I started chemically burning a few holes in my feet over a few days, realized that might’ve been dumb, and stopped – which only served to make the situation worse. Some of the off-day pain had receded, only to be replaced by more intense variants on running days. I sprung and upgraded to Brooks GTS 12s to try to alleviate some of the pain. They made no difference, and I instead focused on changing my form, landing on my forefoot more, which helped a bit.
Besides that stupidity, I had always been a klutz, which extended to working out and running. Pulling a hamstring or a calf happened on a regular basis, though buying a pair of calf compression sleeves, and eventually progressive compression socks, helped slightly. In the wake of long runs, limping around for two days due to blasted legs never felt pleasant. Worst of all, I proved remarkably adept at continuing to twist or roll either ankle about once a month. I felt certain, and terrified, that I would eventually break one, and the periods of rest after injury frustrated me.
Unfortunately, May brought more challenges. Somehow, mid-month, I managed to hurt myself, possibly at my new gym in a “get to know you” session with a personal trainer, when I did several exercises I’d never tried before that pushed me hard. Something didn’t feel right in the area between leg and groin in the days after. While I’d pulled that muscle a few times, this felt different. A doctor confirmed a few days later I’d gotten an inguinal hernia. Initially, he recommended I not run – despite a race lined up a week later. Since I’d unwisely run ten miles a few days after realizing what type of injury I’d accrued and wanted to test out how I felt, and it had felt fine, the doctor approved it.
A week later, Memorial Day weekend, I ran the Soldier Field 10-Miler race. I ran from the stadium, south on the actual roadway of Lake Shore Drive and back, which was awesome, but the race felt like a serious trial. I experienced the perils of mistiming and misjudging water intake and carbohydrate consumption. I ate far too small a serving of wheat pasta over four hours before running, resulting in exhaustion of energy reserves earlier than I’d anticipated; mistimed consuming a gel and sucked it down more than 45 minutes before stepping out, though I'd intended it to help with a strong start ten minutes afterward; and drank far and away too much water in the hours and minutes before the run, then couldn’t get near a bathroom until mid-race, leading to extreme discomfort. I made it to mile six without stopping. If that had been the only time I stopped, I would have felt fine about my performance.
For most runners, building endurance could be the greatest challenge for running long distance, but mine was dealing with terrible knees. Now deeply regretting that I’d not done the knee-lifts daily since college, my knees still lacked strength and made long runs very painful at the end. Though I’d built up some tolerance to that point, they’d still start hurting almost immediately after six miles into a run. Using a pair of patellar straps delayed the pain until mile eight, but at that point, it overcame me. Whereas previously, I always had kept moving in the past when being timed, regardless of circumstance, even while injured, this time I surrendered. I stopped an additional three times, walking a few blocks near the end, and considered giving up. Luckily, I didn’t, and finished as best as I could, with people on the sides of the path screaming at me to keep running. I shuffled onto the Soldier Field grass and grimacing in agony. I considered the race my first legitimate racing failure.
Immediately afterward, I came to the most disappointing conclusion related to fitness in quite a while: I probably wouldn’t have it in me to run the Half Marathon scheduled for July. Despite training in a somewhat committed fashion for several months, I probably had not tackled enough long-runs. The idea that you could run ten miles and then be capable of running 13.1 did not apply when a specific body part like a knee could limit your performance – I needed to have done run that distance before, several times, to get used to it. I envisioned humiliating myself. Even if I wanted to attempt the half, I might no longer get a choice – surgery was the only option to deal with the hernia, and I wanted it performed as soon as possible. Though the doctor told me it shouldn’t slow me down from running very long, I used it as a cop-out to not run the Half Marathon. I felt like I had just signed up too early to get a realistic look at the situation.
As I currently write this, dealing with those issues, and not running since rolling my right ankle two days ago, I find it difficult to stay positive about my chances to run that longer-distance race. I’m disappointed that my body seems to try to wreck itself, but even more disappointed in my past idiocies and lack of foresight, causing serious bodily harm that I’m now reaping.

Background (12/15): Progressions


Once again, in the early months of 2012, if I lost weight, I did it in ways that were probably unwise and absolutely unsustainable, mainly beating myself up at the gym. I generally felt like crap. It wasn’t sustainable. Before reading “Racing Weight,” from when I started recording my weight daily, February, to when I read the book, I lost about 5 pounds, from around 206 pounds daily to more like 201. Not bad, but I’m not sure the misery was worth it.
In the wake of reading the book, from mid-March to mid-April, although I thought I had gotten it, I admittedly had a harder time actually taking the steps of applying and committing to these lifestyle changes. I didn’t completely understand all the suggestions and balancing them out – for example, I overdid it on carbohydrate on days when I didn’t plan to exert much energy. As a result, I plateaued in the upper 190’s, weighing in on 198.8, for example, on my mid-April birthday. Still, progress.
When I decided to actively apply the book’s lessons more actively, I felt better about my life, more fulfilled, spent less wasted time at the gym, and focused on the activity I enjoyed doing – running– while making major weight loss leaps. I felt driven to keep going. Most remarkably to me, I rolled back the routines I hated at the gym, and it seemed to have no effect; if anything, omitting those workouts helped!
Between early the parts of May and June, I tried being actively mindful about exercise and diet, enjoying the process so much more than ever before. I felt hopeful I could continue and not quit this time.
The first week of May, my average weight stood at 195.3; as of the first five days of June, my average weight, recorded for the first five-days of June was 187.4. On June 5th, I weighed-in at 185.2, the least since middle school.
Even beyond using weight as a metric for success, in terms of running, particularly, during the spring and summer months of 2012, I continued to make progress. On Jamie's recommendation, as I sought a means to help lose body fat and get running faster, in mid-March I started trying High Intensity Interval Training (HIIT). Too intimidated to try it on the street, I did sessions on an elliptical at the gym. I’d go all-out for ten reps of 30 seconds, with 30 seconds of rest between each. The hardest workout I’d had since the start of C25K, HIIT similarly never got easy, but my stamina and tolerance for it increased. Soon I did 20 reps, or ten reps of one minute, and so on. I’d kept up with my long-runs and felt good about things. Coupled with diet mindfulness, it turns out HIIT had a major impact. Thanks to also completing long-runs, I could routinely hit a mid-ten-minute mile pace for medium-length runs, and hit a mid-nine-minute pace during shorter training runs.
I went into the Wrigley Start Early 10K in late April hoping for a Personal Record, around a ten-minute mile pace, but didn’t honestly expect massive improvement. The course was identical to that of the Polar Dash 10K from three months ago, and the conditions were sure to be better, but the race still would hurt as much as any to get done. I kicked up my effort at the end though, telling myself I could worry about pain later, and went as hard as possible for a good portion of the race. I recorded a time of 59:32, a sub-60 time, and a pace of 9:36 per mile. What’s more, I absolutely obliterated my previous time, improving by 7 minutes and 47 seconds from three months previously. I felt ecstatic. So far, that’s been one of the proudest moments of success I’ve experienced.

Background (11/15): Focus on Diet, "Racing Weight"


A simple, incredibly challenging decision, the foundations of which I took from reading Matt Fitzgerald’s “Racing Weight,” stood at the center of dropping weight so quickly – I took active and complete control of my diet in a healthy manner for the first time in my life. I had complained to Mary that my running times had not improved quickly enough for my tastes, and she recommended that I read that book. She told me it had helped her understand many basic truths about food, and imparted powerful advice about diet improvement, while tying its lessons to endurance exercise.
Instead of controlling one’s diet for the sake of weight loss, Fitzgerald posed active mindfulness toward one’s diet as an absolutely necessary step toward improving one’s performance in endurance sports. “Racing Weight” posed improving the diet and getting in shape as the means to the end of kicking ass in races, instead of its own sake. I had never so clearly considered the link between food intake and racing potential before.
Laid out in very understandable, layman’s terms, the lessons from “Racing Weight” completely changed my outlook on food and diet, and helped me begin to get back on a successful weight-loss track. Certain ideas rocked me and informed how to correctly think about food: the necessity of tracking what one eats; the need to focus on diet quality, not quantity; that some foods could be considered higher quality compared to others; that the body took energy differently from different types of food; that timing of food was indeed important, but not how I believed; and that managing appetite was not the same as controlling it.
I began tracking my food intake, as well as measurable body changes, immediately. I soon recorded everything I ate on a daily basis to the best of my ability – but did not include calorie amounts, which felt like a step too far, still. When I wrote down what I ate and drank, I had a better handle and comprehension of really how much I had eaten. To that point, remembering and figuring out what I’d done so far that day felt like a shot in the dark. I could have eaten several larger meals daily and would have barely recalled. Seeing my intake recorded drove me to eat less, and better. Documenting that I had ingested a full page’s worth of empty-calorie crap felt like failure, and I strove to do better. Further, I started weighing-in twice daily, within minutes of both going to sleep and waking up. I soon started tracking my body fat percentage with a second scale, and started thinking of my progress in terms of body fat loss as opposed to weight loss. Having a consistent record of weight, what I ate, and extraordinary aberrations from my normal route – significant time off running for a pulled hamstring, sleeping 18 hours in a day or sleeping during the daytime – helped me figure out what specifically correlated to weight loss or gain. At the end of every month, I wrote up my monthly weighing results, tracking how far along I’d come. As a very visual person, writing everything down helped me beyond words.
For the first time, I found myself ready and able to consider the quality of the foods I ate along the guidelines found in the book, and thus able to make wiser decisions in choosing what to eat. I began trying to incorporate more fruits into my diet, whereas before I had eaten very few. I began transitioning my most frequently eaten meats away from beef, eating fewer cheap, near-instant-made hamburgers from McDonalds or Burger King and hot dogs from convenience stores. Luckily, I had never eaten pork. I ate more chicken, which thankfully I also loved, and grudgingly tried to eat more turkey, usually in (hopefully) lower-sodium, deli-slice form. I ate some more lamb in gyros, too, from a great local diner. I hoped that was leaner protein, but I didn’t really know where that fell on the map… and didn’t care all that much. Not a huge fan of dairy to begin with, I cut out most occasions where I’d eat higher-fat dairy, unfortunately including ice cream. Instead, I maintained my utter dependence on peach and apple Chobani Greek yogurt, skim milk, and lighter cheeses. After some time, I realized that since I hated cold fish, I probably didn’t get enough Omega-3 fatty acids, and the potential benefits of having more seemed too good to ignore. I began taking such a supplement twice daily after mulling it through for some time. Until this point, I had (errantly) considered most carbohydrate as a negative. I had cut out a good deal of bread from my diet, which had been difficult, but still maintained a noted weakness for large servings of pasta, bagels, and pizza. I now tried to replace most, ideally all, refined and white grains with whole grain, or 100% wheat, versions. That proved surprisingly easier than I had expected at the grocery store and I enjoyed them about as much, but making the right choice and choosing whole grain pancakes with berries, in place of double chocolate chip or Dutch apple versions at restaurants, was a struggle. Vegetables were more or less a lost cause, as I had never eaten many of them, and didn’t feel like eating many more now. Adding some in sauces and pizza occasionally seemed better than nothing.
I also tried to cut a good deal of the waste in which I’d been indulging. As I had already eliminated drinking pop, I didn’t have to strike that then. I had tried to limit fried foods from the start, but now I actively avoided them if possible. I still allowed for an occasional plate of fries, but only in the wake of significant exercise. I went several months without almost any obviously-fried foods, to my true satisfaction, a far cry from the McChicken sandwiches and fries three times a week of old. Limiting sweets, of course, continued to be a major struggle. I had cut out most sugar-loaded candies some time ago, but indulged once in a while. I still did so, just tried to keep it under control. Walking through the candy aisle at Target or Walgreens tortured me. In the past, I would've killed a pack of my favorite candy, Peach-Os, in 30 seconds. Now, when I read the package and realized they had more than 650 calories, I almost always fought off the urge. I had a great love for 7-11 Slurpees – that I couldn’t combat so easily. Instead of 32-oz sizes, I drank 8-oz, which was only about 150 calories, not horrifying. After some time, I realized that these sweets, and particularly Slurpees, to my intense disappointment, would consistently trigger cravings for other terrible, sugar-packed items. Even Special K Fruit and Yogurt cereal could do it. Instead, I tried to satiate urges with healthier trail-mixes, but didn’t always succeed. On those days when I completely fell off the wagon – and there were more than one or two – I’d get seriously discouraged and stop documenting altogether. The next day, I’d try to get myself under control and do my best to eat smarter.
Though comparatively a minor realization, I also learned that one could ignore those limited foods and drinks designed to improving performance that were consumed during exercise. I had, until this point, all but refused to partake in sports drinks or gels, only drinking water, thinking that would maximize the benefits of the caloric deficit from exercise. Understanding that aids could help enhance performance and power through the limited calories gained on their own, I now felt more comfortable taking carbohydrate gels on long-runs and Gatorade at aid stops.
As I began thinking about differences in macronutrient sources of energy, namely carbohydrate, protein, and fat, my approach toward what major sources of energy I ate changed significantly. Even while running consistently at first, I thought of obvious sources of carbohydrate – bread, pasta, etc – as evil foods that would add to the bodyfat problem, except in racing conditions when eating a ton was necessary. I discovered that, while I would need to eat somewhat significant amounts of carbohydrate on days when I worked out or ran, I would only need a limited amount on off-days. With that in mind, I continued restricting carbohydrate on days when I didn’t exert myself significantly. Yet until that point, I hadn’t understood that attempting to go relatively low-carb on days of aggressive exercise was an absolutely horrible idea, could result in significant injury, and would result in only the most negligible of performance gains. I started incorporating more carbohydrate into my diet on high-energy exertion days, while choosing the sources more wisely. I also tried to be mindful and accurately estimate the amount of carbohydrate necessary to ingest before races and after long-runs, with some success – one particularly major failure down the line.
Along those same lines, I started closely monitoring the timing of my nutrient and water intake. I’d thought nutrients were nutrients, and circumstances did not matter much on how they affected the body, besides eating carbohydrate after endurance exercise, protein after strength training, eating a large meal immediately after waking up, and never eating two hours before sleep. I started eating based off when I felt hungry, not just set to some arbitrary schedule. I ate smaller amounts of food, not intending to kick up my metabolism, but to simply offset hunger, avoiding accidentally eating more than necessary and wasting nutrients. I continued to eat quickly after waking up – which, it should be noted, had always proved extremely easy for me. Eating dinner between 5 and 9PM, when I would wake up, felt natural, and I had a wide variety of choices of restaurants or dinners and events to attend where I’d eat; I felt having a “normal” schedule, where upon waking, I’d have been expected to eat breakfast foods, which I didn’t particularly enjoy, would have made eating quickly much more challenging. Having three dinners daily made my food choices that much easier – but I digress. I learned precisely when to eat in relations to workouts, and the exact timing of the recovery period afterward. Finally, around this time I had aimed to drink four Nalgene bottles, or 128oz, of water on a daily basis, thinking that would help my metabolism. I realized that was pointless and cut my water intake back. I didn't notice any significant impact, besides having to urinate three or four fewer times each day, which I appreciated.
All those lessons certainly helped, but I believe that the techniques suggested to manage appetite contributed to my weight-loss success most. I tried to be as mindful as possible of the moment when I hit the feeling of satisfied from a meal, and worked to not eat beyond that moment – while very often a struggle, I found I didn’t need to eat as much to reach that point as I imagined. I tried not to eat at random or out of boredom, which also sometimes proved difficult. I didn’t particularly enjoy having to think through my eating habits constantly, particularly since I would focus on it and not feel able to deal with much besides that, but I tried as best I could and the results turned out decent. In that vein, eating more high-satiety and low-density foods to want to eat less overall made the most impact of any changes, I believe. I found my secret weapon for weight loss, and eating less: lightly-salted peanuts. I began eating more peanuts than ever before, and found I felt less hungry from just a serving of peanuts a few times a day. Whereas I sometimes wouldn’t feel full from a full plate of food, a handful of peanuts and a yogurt cup could now hold me over for four hours. I also sought out foods with high water- and fiber-content, and all but stopped eating insanely dense foods like granola that I’d eaten constantly before. I also made a point to eat fiber bars occasionally, though their benefits weren’t as certain.
Finally, I took to heart the lesson that so many people had repeated, and one of the key premises of “Racing Weight” – exercise how you would enjoy it most. I realized the exercise I was doing at the gym was probably counterproductive. Spending two or three hours with lifting was idiotic, particularly if I hated it and would quit soon anyway. Additionally, I wasn’t getting THAT much stronger, and the workouts had had a negligible impact on my body fat percentage over several months. I resolved to find more efficient workouts and to focus on running.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Background (10/15): Spring, Refocusing


Soon, under such a mild winter, running shorter distances failed to satisfy, and I became increasingly focused on seeing to what further limits of distance I could push myself. I started undertaking long-runs once every week or two, running around the city in the middle of the night when I wasn’t working. I found moments of peacefulness running the near-deserted streets of Chicago at 3AM, unworried about traffic or pedestrians in my way, and hilarity watching drunks stumbling out of bars could not believe anyone could be exercising so late. By early February, I could run 8 miles, albeit with serious difficulty and intense pain afterward. When I told Adam of the achievement, he demanded I sign up for a half marathon. Largely due to his constant pestering, I registered for the Chicago Rock and Roll Half Marathon, scheduled for July 22nd. Not ten minutes after submitting payment, I realized that July in Chicago could be terrifically hot – in the 100s. I had only run in the winter, so the decision might prove boneheaded, but at least I had about five months to prepare. On the advice of Jamie, Mary, and others, I found a Hal Higdon plan and resolved to follow it somewhat faithfully, though the disparity in timing presented a problem: the program would be completed in ten weeks... I had five months to go.
It got warmer, and Chicago’s racing season began – though I took pleasure in reminding every runner I knew that for the hardcore, it had never ended. I ran the Shamrock Shuffle, Chicago’s second-largest race, in March. The course wound through downtown for 8 kilometers, crossing the Chicago River twice, and past some of the city’s most gorgeous architecture. In retrospect, merely walking it and taking pictures would have been incredible, but performing well outweighed that kind of experience. I saw Adam beforehand, but with him being a faster runner, we went our own ways. Mary had come into town for the race though, and we ran together. I went along at her pace, not a great deal off my own, until the final half-mile, when, to see how quickly I could boogie, and with her permission, I bolted to the finish. I ended with a time of 48:20, only a marginal improvement from the Rudolph Ramble, but accompanying Mary had felt more important, and it was nice to not have to only run into her at the end. My running habits continued much the same as late-winters, with increasing distance, though attempting to deal with warmer temperatures did prove a minor challenge.
For most of winter, my weight had plateaued somewhere between 215 to 205 pounds. I didn’t think too much about it. Running took priority. So did working out at the gym, as for some unknown reason I wanted to pack on muscle while losing weight – before I hit my loss goals. I didn’t correlate how my weight could impede my running performance.
I started thinking about weight loss against more intensely in the spring, and I started losing again. I did it how I always had, as my view of weight loss at that time approximated eating less when I wanted to lose, and beating the living crap out of my body as often as I could manage. The problem was that during in those periods of loss, I usually felt somewhere between somewhat and wholeheartedly awful. The period of action would be inevitably followed by a major plateau, when I’d do just enough not to put on the poundage, but would give up on losing for some time.
In the late spring, however, I shocked myself by continuing to make progress in weight loss – while not torturing myself, and not focusing as much on killing myself at the gym. Though still challenged, I maintained a happier lifestyle, while still losing weight. For the first time, continued loss felt sustainable. I felt better about the steps I was taking more than I ever had. I believe that more than anything, reading a specific book, and implementing its recommendations, instigated it.
Though hard to admit, I had been lazy for the first year of my weight-loss progress. I had chosen to focus on exercise and running, which I could feel proud of. Simultaneously, I had completely slacked off from focusing on diet. Because I viewed diet as a simple calculation of calorie intake and output – I HATED math, and refused to figure out portion sizes and calorie contents – taking significant action to improve the diet had, until this point, felt impossible. More importantly, I had been ignorant of the complexities behind improving a diet. I ate too much of the wrong foods at the wrong times and had no clue how to recognize my mistakes.

Background (9/15): Winter Runner


As the weather slowly – very slowly – became colder, I started experimenting with new paths and areas in which to run. I tried out the beautiful Lakeshore Path, running along the beaches, watching waves crash into the shoreline, and forcing myself to keep running and not take pictures. I expanded my routes in certain parts of Logan Square and Wicker Park, running past drunken hipsters and families walking with dogs and strollers. I ran around Lakeview and Roscoe Village, past kids my age and checking out restaurants I’d like to try. I even ran, maybe stupidly, around the more northern parts of Avondale and into and around Humboldt Park. There, luckily no gangbangers ever approached me; the drug deals in the parks added to the charm, and the terror equated to increased adrenaline – improved speed! I somehow developed a penchant for planning routes where shootings, stabbings, or homicides of other natures had occurred within a matter of hours, but my luck held fast against the near-misses.
Despite taking to new trails and routes, I kept running distances within my limited comfort zone. The winter-running guidelines I’d come across had recommended focusing on distance, not time, and taking it easy in deteriorating conditions; I probably used that advice, fit for running in challenging environments, but not the relatively easy ones I came across with a notably delayed onset of winter, to justify not pushing myself so hard. Chicago’s fall of 2011 and early winter, 2012, were freakishly warm. I took a trip to Los Angeles and San Francisco the first week of the New Year; the temperature disparity between home and the Bay area was a matter of degrees. Normally it would be at least 30-40 degrees colder in the Windy City. Still, needing to be careful in winter provided a ready excuse to not go nuts, so I ran with a consistent pace, and kept my distances fairly similar, with three or four miles the maximum. Simply running two or three times a week, for any distance, felt like success.
I slowly increased my distances to the point where running slightly longer races felt possible, and in a December far warmer than the norm, I ran my third race, my first longer than a 5K, the Rudolph Ramble 8K. Though I decked myself out in full winter gear, complete with compression tights and facemask, once moving it felt warmer than I’d feared, and I nearly overheated. Still, with fine path conditions in Lincoln Park, I managed a time of 48:47, a slightly faster pace than my first two time trials. Simply officially running three kilometers further felt great.
Winter finally hit in mid-January, and I managed to fight through it. Despite being scared that I’d ran twice in snow to that point, and never with accumulation, I ran a race in wintry conditions for the first time, the Polar Dash 10K. Ironically, wearing YakTrax cleats for the first time limited more than helped, since almost immediately after leaving the starting and prep zone, where six inches or more of snow had piled up in Grant Park, the path had been cleared. The pressure points from the rails under my shoes stabbed into my feet, causing serious pain, but I refused to cost myself the time of stopping and removing them. Against moderately-heavy snow and strong winds, I finished in 1:07:14. February’s Cupid’s Chase 5K came on one of the coldest days I ran all year. With four to six inches of snow on the ground, nobody had attempted even a cursory cleaning of the path, and shortly after the start, I had my winter’s only instance of breathing trouble due to the cold. The conditions felt rather tough, but I resolved to power through, finishing in 29:22. Initially I felt disappointed, having hoped to shave off more than only two minutes off my first 5k time from three months ago. Then, close to the finish line, I bumped into Jamie, the trainer from my gym, a marathoner in great shape, who told me the race had hit her hard; I felt fine. That comparative strength helped me not focus so much on my time as much as my fortitude.
Winter wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have turned out. Most of my preparations turned out to be overkill, but I felt fine with that. Adam took to calling me a “running ninja” after I posted pictures dressed with my hood and mask on facebook, though wearing such clothing hardly felt legitimately necessary for more than a week or two. That whole season, I somehow managed to never seriously injure myself, besides normal wear and tear. I actually injured myself far worse than anything I did while running, by ice skating – indoors! – and faceplanting twice, ending up what felt like a cracked rib or two. Truthfully, as never much of a risk taker, I only ran on overtly dangerous trails on a handful of occasions, and ran them really, really carefully, almost tip-toeing. The risk of cracking my skull on frozen pathways successfully deterred incautious habits, and I happily never fell into Lake Michigan while moving along the icy Lakefront path, probably because I knew that if I did, I felt guaranteed to drown. 

Background (8/15): "a couple of goals that, at any other time in my life, would probably have seemed flat out insane"


With that in mind, I set a couple of goals that, at any other time in my life, would probably have seemed flat out insane. First, I’d made what some runners would consider a slightly boneheaded decision to begin running in September – while living in the upper Midwest. Winter was coming, and that meant the end to the running season. Most runners would retreat to the treadmill inside the gym, but I considered that the most boring piece of equipment in the place. I knew I’d quit running outright if I couldn’t run outside. Even watching TV while on the treadmill felt too boring – I needed the scenery to change, I needed to be able to naturally alter my pace and keep track of it with the concrete blocks I ran on. Most importantly, I needed to be AWAY from my destination; I needed to be forced to run somewhere and back, so I couldn’t just quit when I didn’t want to do anymore.
Therefore, I decided I would continue running outside, through the snow and sleet, on slushy paths and ice, and make myself into a winter runner. A good number of my friends thought I’d gone completely nuts. Regardless, I attended a forum about winter running and read material about how to do it. I soon understood that continuing to run outdoors in icy, snowy conditions could prove dangerous, if not potentially life-threatening. Armed with a good amount of safety and running form advice, and investing some serious cash on a very healthy amount of warm running clothes – far from the cheap habits of a few months previously – I did not allow the hazards to dissuade me. I hoped to run safely and successfully throughout the winter.
Only the runners with the strongest will and fortitude could keep at it during the Midwestern winter. I could not run particularly fast or far at this point – but I could make myself into more of a badass than even most of my seasoned running friends.
As for my second significant goal, I decided to remain persistent in running races on a regular basis – so I committed to run, at minimum, one race per month for a full year. Even to me, that goal seemed a bit crazy, and I didn’t really share it much, since it wouldn’t take much to derail it altogether. So many amateur runners get hurt badly and regularly. As my form really sucked, I’d probably end up as another injured noob.
I felt it important to commit regardless. Undertaking that goal established that running had somehow become the dominant activity in my life, and had changed my life, hopefully for the better. That meant that I would commit to focusing more frequently on running, and prioritizing it over my social life, which I attempted with varied degrees of success. Drinks and dinners with friends would make for many enjoyable nights, but in the long term wouldn’t yield as much, I hoped.. I also knew that, thanks to short-term goals dominating how I approached life, without having frequent, officially timed races to work toward, I’d almost certainly stop running before long. I really felt like I had no choice in the matter.

Background (7/15): Hooked on Races



I was extremely excited for the race, and went out to Grant Park that November 5th morning to do the best I could with 30,000-some-odd other runners. My aunt Randie, who’d been a hotel manager and knew a bit about running and cycling, had served as a confidant and advisor for months, another key assistant with my progress. Randie happened to be in town that week, so she joined me. It felt fantastic to be accompanied by someone who would be there to help document the event and support me, regardless of result, and helped me remain calm beforehand. I found out the morning of the race that Scott had hurt himself with a minor injury, so he and Natalia, a more seasoned runner, would be taking it easy. That didn’t sit well with me, having trained for the event and hoping to have a decent time. Being the bit of a jerk I was at that moment, we started together, and I wished them luck – and promptly bolted ahead.
During the C25K sessions, I’d made injury avoidance a main priority. Thus, it served me right that I injured myself for the first time that day, about a mile into my first 5K. The Hot Chocolate course was ridiculously crowded. Walkers swarmed everywhere in chains and families, having disregarded the regulated system of corrals. Weaving through groups of people was the only way to get ahead, so I veered left, jumping up and down from the sidewalk, running under the El tracks on Lake Street. On one unlucky stride down the curb, my right foot landed in a pothole, and my ankle rolled over.
Shot of excruciation. Screaming and swearing. Biting down and holding back tears. It hurt, badly, but dammit, I had promised myself, WHATEVER HAPPENED, I WOULD NOT STOP. So I kept going, and fought off the pain. I absolutely asked myself once or twice why the hell I thought it was a good idea to run, period, hating myself for it. Within a few blocks, it had numbed, which was good, right? Surely the adrenaline eased the intensity of the pain after I got over the shock.
I finished the race as best as I could and ended with a time of 31:39 – then nearly proceeded to slam into a wall of other runners. The logistics of the race were terrible, and people were practically stuck in the chute leading ahead. Not a great time for the ankle pain to hit – but it did, right then. I realized that I could barely walk, and I had ended up on the other side of a line of several thousand people from the medical tent.
Some weeks beforehand, I’d reached back out to Mary, letting her know I planned on doing C25K and running the race. To my shock, we ran into each other as I was stumbling, and she helped me over to the medical tent. I got fixed up by the nurses – no, your ankle is not broken; yes, it’ll recover fine – and that was that. Running into Mary at the end of the race made for a fine moment of reconciliation despite now living in different states, and it was remarkable that the timing worked out so well. From that point on, Mary now began giving me insights into running, and was, along with Steve, one of the most qualified people to give detailed, personalized advice on how to proceed in pairing running with minding weight, which proved an incredible help.
Despite being in serious physical pain, finishing that race exhilarated me. Until this point, I’d thought of running as a way to lose weight and get fit. Being sadly informed by Jamie, a personal trainer, a few weeks into my own C25K progress that running would make losing weight much more challenging compared to other activities slammed me hard, but perhaps surprisingly I stuck it out, faced with that immediate goal of the race. I assumed that once I finished the Hot Chocolate, I’d feel satisfied with the results, proof I could improve my endurance, and end it there.
Unexpectedly, in the wake of my first race, I wanted to run another. Within two weeks, positive that my ankle could withstand another race, I signed up for one more 5K. This time, during the North Shore Turkey Trot 5K in Highland Park, IL, I ran with Steve, who had come to town for the holiday. He ran along at my pace and urged me on, even when I felt like I couldn’t move any faster. It was another great experience, except that the timed bib failed to work. Fuming afterward to my uncle, also named Steve, I said it felt like a wasted effort without an official time. My uncle, who’d run several marathons in his lifetime, simply asked me, “Why do you run?” Apparently, I’d never really considered that question before… and it still stands as a question that I struggle to answer at times. It seemed that running became another sort of activity picked up by my inertia, but at least this time it felt like a healthier thing to get stuck on.
After that second race, running officially hooked me. The race-day atmosphere, the rush after finishing a race, the feeling of achievement as my pace increased, feeling successful comparing performance against others – all clearly positive. If I could avoid doing anything dumb like breaking bones or getting hit by a truck, it could lead somewhere.

Background (6/15): Running? and C25K


  In September of 2011, my friend Scott asked if I wanted to run a 5K race along with him and his girlfriend, Natalia. I’d met Scott in Chicago in the months directly leading up to the moments when I initiated my health and lifestyle change. He knew how important it had become to me, and it's very possible I told him I was unhappy about hitting another rut in weight loss progress. Considering the opportunity, though apprehensive for a few moments, I realized there were about two months until the race – which would have been the correct timeframe to try out the Couch to 5K program that I’d heard about from Mary. I remembered her telling that, although she’d barely been able to get around, much less run, at the start of the program, by sticking to it, she got successfully moving.
With that slight comfort in mind, I agreed to run the Chicago Hot Chocolate 5K in early November, with the goal of simply finishing. I researched the C25K program and I committed to finishing it on time and taking it seriously. I got down to business in mid-September, or more accurately, I tried to.
The first morning of “running” on the C25K program, after working a full night at the hotel, felt terrible. I could barely huff it out for 30 seconds before I felt like my heart would explode, and I had to do nine more intervals. Running on concrete felt nothing like running on an elliptical – so much tougher. Wth the race looming, I continued, since I didn’t have much choice.
Worse, my feet and legs absolutely killed afterward – I could barely walk. Active friends, including Steve, and Adam and Lauren, two runner friends in Chicago who absolutely supported my decision to start training, ordered me to buy new shoes, that day. As a cheapskate, I had used the same $35 cross-training shoes that I’d had for about a year already. I made my way over to Fleet Feet and threw down for the most expensive pair of non-dress shoes I’d bought in my life, a pair of Brooks GTS 11 Adrenalines, just based off the salesman’s recommendations. I was very lucky that I didn’t get ripped off, since whatever he would have suggested, I would’ve bought like a sucker. Paying $100 for shoes felt more than slightly ridiculous, but if it would let me walk normally after jogging, well, it was just money. To my extreme relief, Lauren later said she owned the same pair of shoes.
The C25K program got easier, though it never felt outright easy. Luckily, I lived in an area of Chicago, Logan Square, well-suited for very short runs – lots of tree-lined boulevards and side streets that I could run through without stopping for traffic. Running after work made the most sense to me, since doing it beforehand would mean I’d have to stand for eight hours after smashing my legs up. When I tried, that did not turn out well, nearly passing out on my colleague a few times. Running in the mornings, sometime between 8-12 hours after waking up, was the way to go. I put my social life more or less on hold to complete the program, but still squeezed enough activities in to not go nuts. I had a decent start on overall activity due to being a kind-of-frequenter of the gym, so it got easier and faster, once over the first hurdle. I was able to complete the C25K in about six weeks, as opposed to the prescribed nine. Suddenly, my goal went from simply finishing to actually doing decently in the run. That was a bit of a shock.
Still, I didn’t see myself taking up running as more than a casual thing. I went to support Lauren as she ran the Chicago Marathon (and left before seeing her – I failed to consider her starting corral and pace) and marveled. I thought I could never attempt anything longer than a 5K.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Background (5/15): Imbalanced, Unfocused, Plateaued


Since the moment I’d decided to make a change, improving my fitness had become the centerpiece and focus of my life. Still, I didn’t take the next step of sacrificing in other parts of my life to embrace that change. For the next nine months or so, I fell into an odd pattern of attempting to balance my social life, work, and the gym. When I had nothing going on, I’d try to get to the gym as often as possible – four, five, six times weekly, and go all out as best I could. Simultaneously, for the first time, well, ever, I began having a more active social and dating life. When I was dating someone, or trying to meet up with friends more frequently, or started getting to know a new group of people which was happily occurring much more frequently, I’d devote a good amount of time to getting together. That would totally rock my sleep schedule and leave me beat – no time to work out, so fitness went right out the window. I just didn’t think about it for some time. That created a situation where I willingly plateaued my progress for weeks or months at a time. In those first eight months of mindfulness, I probably only consistently kept to the gym for more than two weeks at once maybe five or six times. I can’t really say what would bring me back to the fitness fold every time. Sometimes it was a slowing of the action with nothing else to do, but also at times a resurgence of significant pain, or the realization that I hadn’t lost any weight in three months. When I thought about it, I acted on it.
The scale readouts gradually descended, as did my expectations for what was an acceptable weight. For months, maybe five or six until summer, I hovered around 230-235 pounds, which, compared to 255, wasn’t too bad! It made a significant social and physical impact, so I accepted it for that time. Then, I kicked the gym up again and got down to 225, which lasted for quite the long time, probably another four months, until the autumn. Progress felt slow – maybe 30 pounds in eight months – but it was progress all the same.
I also didn’t do much about my diet during these months, besides eat less. Since I’d been warned off of eating far too little and this accidentally killing myself through starvation, I made sure to eat what I considered enough. I still ate a lot of crap. I sometimes took into consideration my doctor’s recommendation to eat at the same places – but just eat better! Or, what I perceived to be better, meaning really only less fried foods and fewer grains. I still hit up all the fast food joints frequently but did my best, when I thought about it. It helped that I had dated Mary, a woman who was working on improving fitness and heightening weight-loss, and had come incomparably further in her progress than I had. And although I hit one of those plateaus while with her during the summer – and probably unwittingly derailed her diet once or twice by insisting we eat terrible foods and insanely delicious Mexican churros and Italian ice in her neighborhood – she gave me some ideas about how to eat better and maximize my activity. Further, it seems she planted the idea deep in my mind that I would be able to take up running at some point, which would, apparently, prove rather important.

Background (4/15): Supported, Recalibrated, Adjusted


Certain people have made an incredible impact on helping me improve my fitness – and life –and here the first two, Amir and Steve, assisted me. Amir, a colleague at the hotel with about 20 years of life experience on me helped me figure out how to begin in a safer manner. In fantastic shape himself and deeply knowlegable about exercise and diet, Amir provided guidance, and particularly encouragement, that proved invaluable. Every step of the way, he helped me stay focused and pushed me along, while trying to help me not do anything too moronic, and keeping my goals realistic. His value as a mentor could not be overstressed. Then there was Steve. Close friend in the same college fraternity, we’d both been rather huge guys who loved fried foods and ate far too much of them, and were of comparable weight. We now would both freely admit we collectively looked like hell. We were talkative and had our own, shall we say, distinct senses of humor. We ran the nitty gritty details of our fraternity that nobody else wanted to deal with. We weren’t the in-crowd. The difference was, in the time since I’d left Madison, Steve had dropped a crazy amount of weight and was now near-unrecognizable. He ran and lifted on a regular basis. He’d made a few major lifestyle changes which might have helped nudge him along differently than mine, but it didn’t matter – he absolutely knew what he was talking about and had run this route before. I called Steve up and told him about my decision, and he was absolutely ecstatic. We discussed how I should get started for no less than two hours, and he said he would buy me “The Idiot’s Guide to Strength Training” and a Blender Bottle. To my surprise, they came a few days later. The book provided me the basis for figuring out how to have workouts that were productive in any sense, and hopefully how not to break my arms and legs at the gym. Also, Steve, Amir, and others warned me that I was potentially endangering myself by keeping to such an extreme calorie deficit. They urged me to eat a bit better, but not starve, either, so I eased more food back into my diet. Frankly, without Amir and Steve’s assistance and examples, I’m not sure I ever would have gotten started. If I had independently, I'm certain it would have ended very badly.
I began following the advice in the “Idiot’s Guide” to the letter and went to the gym initially as much as possible – four to six days a week. I lifted light weight with machines mainly, and incorporated some cardio in the form of the elliptical. The first few days working on the elliptical were incredibly painful, especially for my knees. I could barely walk afterward, on the verge of tears. Desperate, I recalled my doctor’s advice about leg lifts and tried them immediately after. Doing those exercises felt even more intensely painful for a few minutes, but I could walk more easily afterward, and they got easier before long. I focused far more on the cardio aspect of things than the lifting, which I despised. I worked my endurance up to being able to spend an hour at a time walking on the elliptical with high resistance. I found a radio podcast I loved, and used listening to it as motivation to stay at the gym working out. I began making some progress. And my back pain started easing off, slowly.
Within just the first month or two, between the crash diet and intense efforts at the gym, I dropped somewhere between 15-20 pounds, and kept it off. I felt a bit better physically. My family was clearly shocked and pleased that I’d gotten my ass into gear so unexpectedly. Not a very private person, I kept blasting out updates to the world on facebook and in conversation, maybe trolling a bit for encouragement and attention, but mostly proud of the work I was doing, and unashamed to share it. People started making comments. I felt better about myself.
Since the moment I’d decided to make a change, improving my fitness had become the centerpiece and focus of my life. Still, I didn’t take the next step of sacrificing in other parts of my life to embrace that change. For the next nine months or so, I fell into an odd pattern of attempting to balance my social life, work, and the gym. When I had nothing going on, I’d try to get to the gym as often as possible – four, five, six times weekly, and go all out as best I could. Simultaneously, for the first time, well, ever, I began having a more active social and dating life. When I was dating someone, or trying to meet up with friends more frequently, or started getting to know a new group of people which was happily occurring much more frequently, I’d devote a good amount of time to getting together. That would totally rock my sleep schedule and leave me beat – no time to work out, so fitness went right out the window. I just didn’t think about it for some time. That created a situation where I willingly plateaued my progress for weeks or months at a time. In those first eight months of mindfulness, I probably only consistently kept to the gym for more than two weeks at once maybe five or six times. I can’t really say what would bring me back to the fitness fold every time. Sometimes it was a slowing of the action with nothing else to do, but also at times a resurgence of significant pain, or the realization that I hadn’t lost any weight in three months. When I thought about it, I acted on it.
The scale readouts gradually descended, as did my expectations for what was an acceptable weight. For months, maybe five or six until summer, I hovered around 230-235 pounds, which, compared to 255, wasn’t too bad! It made a significant social and physical impact, so I accepted it for that time. Then, I kicked the gym up again and got down to 225, which lasted for quite the long time, probably another four months, until the autumn. Progress felt slow – maybe 30 pounds in eight months – but it was progress all the same.
I also didn’t do much about my diet during these months, besides eat less. Since I’d been warned off of eating far too little and this accidentally killing myself through starvation, I made sure to eat what I considered enough. I still ate a lot of crap. I sometimes took into consideration my doctor’s recommendation to eat at the same places – but just eat better! Or, what I perceived to be better, meaning really only less fried foods and fewer grains. I still hit up all the fast food joints frequently but did my best, when I thought about it. It helped that I had dated Mary, a woman who was working on improving fitness and heightening weight-loss, and had come incomparably further in her progress than I had. And although I hit one of those plateaus while with her during the summer – and probably unwittingly derailed her diet once or twice by insisting we eat terrible foods and insanely delicious Mexican churros and Italian ice in her neighborhood – she gave me some ideas about how to eat better and maximize my activity. Further, it seems she planted the idea deep in my mind that I would be able to take up running at some point, which would, apparently, prove rather important.

Background (3/15): First Steps Toward Progress


I will always vividly remember the exact moment where I kicked myself into action. I was at work, probably two in the morning, hunched over a desk that was probably three inches too low. My back killed. I realized that I had little control over my career at the moment, but I could attempt to control my body. I remembered I had lost 20 pounds in college in about two months through a combination of walking on an treadmill, eating slightly less and slightly better thanks to Jimmy Johns subs, and drinking water until I thought I might vomit – then drinking another cup a few minutes later. I realized that working overnight in the hotel, I had a wide variety of food choices – and I didn’t need to eat chicken sandwiches slathered in Caesar dressing and a side of fries nightly. I could eat healthier, or what I thought was healthier, with fruits, granola, or lighter sandwiches. I had plenty of cold water from the cafeteria. Plus, the hotel was dead and would be for months in the summer – I could have more time to think through food and drink choices. I realized I knew a few people who’d struggled and might be able to help me out.
Possibly the most important epitome was that, unless I changed my life, I was doomed, absolutely doomed, to develop diabetes. On my maternal side of the family, my grandmother, great-aunt, and mother all had diabetes. Here I raced toward the same blight - and I hated needles! I would have to stab myself several times daily. Hell, I could have limbs amputated. Terrifying.
All things considered, I resolved to take action on the diet immediately , and initiated what now I realize was probably a very unwise crash diet. I went from eating quite a lot of food at every meal – we’re talking several sandwiches a day, fast food nearly every meal besides those eaten at work – to halving my intake, if that. I didn’t know really anything about different types of food or how they, or a diet change, would affect me, except that eating deep-fried food every meal was probably not smart. I just focused on eating less. I felt like I was starving for the first few days, but I’d finally found an immediate physical challenge – eat less and deal with it – so I toughed it out. I had no idea what the hell I was doing, but I thought it had to be a better choice than eating too much, too often. Maybe most significantly, I gave up pop – completely, cold turkey. I’d drunk at least 20 ounces, usually more, of Mountain Dew or Coca Cola daily for probably ten years, despite hating it as a kid. I’d tried to end my addiction previously, but the headaches always overpowered me, and the drink proceeded to ensnare me again. This time, I broke through, and stopped drinking any sort of pop, except rarely or on special occasions. I refused to pay $5 for bottled water at Wrigley, for example. Since I hated coffee, facing working overnight without liquid caffeine presented a daunting challenge. Still, I did it, resorting to sugar-free red bull in emergencies of four-hour-or-less sleep nights.
Shortly after, I signed up at the nearest gym, a $20/month, bare-bones place where people did their routine and checked out. It being mid-winter in Chicago, I struggled to make myself actually go. The challenge was exacerbated as I would workout after working all night, and it was absolutely freezing and dark out at 7AM. Walking even from car to gym in snow wasn’t pleasant. At the gym, I had even less of an idea what the hell I was doing than with the diet, screwing around on machines in random order, finding I was incredibly weak and could easily hurt myself if I didn’t get some help.
I regret that I never weighed-in correctly and officially at this point. The only starting weight reading I had was about 258 pounds, which I did with gym clothes and shoes on – so I consider my starting point about 255 pounds, although I realized some time later it was probably around 270. Despite the challenges, I told a good number of close friends and family that I’d decided to get in better shape, and we’d see where it went.

Background (2/15): Lazy Youth, College Malaise, Real-World Rock Bottom


            Coping with dissatisfaction, coupled with a short-term outlook toward most things in my life, defined my mindset for the great majority of my life – which contributed to my fitness and health challenges. Though an extremely short-term goal-oriented and –driven individual, when I haven’t had have a major task to attack, at times I’ve ended up floating aimlessly. That’s not a fun state in which to get snared, but when it has happened, I’ve tried not to dwell. Complicating this matter, I’ve normally found it incredibly difficult to generate goals from within myself (did I mention my job situation?), and so, in a situation where I’ve gotten stuck, I’ve just attempted to deal with circumstances as best as possible, without actually taking much action.
In terms of my health and fitness particularly, for the longest time I never thought about the future repercussions of my daily diet and activity. I let the issues build and hoped I’d never need to face them. That taking action for successful change would require painful sacrifice, while not faced with dire need, dissuaded me completely. I’d always been in poor shape. My parents probably were too – my mom wasn’t the smallest person, my dad had a bit of a gut, and friends loved coming to my house since it was always chock full of sugary snacks we gorged on. The only brief time I acted toward getting in shape in my youth was an outlier six-month period in middle school when my parents registered me for swim team. As a newcomer, of course, I stunk. I lost every single race I participated in, and suffered massive leg cramping on a regular basis, which the coaches likely thought I was faking, in order to participate less. Really, it hurt, and I didn’t want to drown. Despite looking and feeling a bit better, I didn’t think about it much, and wrote it off as slimming down due to height growth. That frustration, and inability to see any progress as earned by my efforts, led me to quit as soon as possible. I went back to spending hours online or playing video games, rarely getting outside.
Things got worse from there. In high school, working at Culvers, a fast-casual restaurant, I didn’t care whatsoever that eating some combination of fried and breaded chicken tenders, Reuben sandwiches, French fries, cheese curds, and frozen custard a minimum of four times a week for three years might turn out badly. During most of college, I had an absolutely terrible diet, though despite joining a fraternity, I didn’t drink alcohol excessively often. I did frequently become dehydrated, partially thanks to living in a dormitory which lacked a water fountain, and partially due to a penchant for downing two-liter bottles of Mountain Dew – in a one sitting. Except for my Freshman year in Madison – where I tried to eat a bit better and walk on the treadmill for an hour a night, which resulted in about a 20-pound loss of weight, abruptly regained when classes resumed – I never exercised. Ever. I even rationalized taking the bus to class to avoid climbing Bascom Hill.
Having ignored years of increasingly insistent warnings that I needed to get in shape – which had no motivational impact – I faced the first major manifestation of physical problems around that time. One day, just walking around, I heard a snapping in my knee, and it exploded into excruciating pain. The shooting feeling became persistent, though slightly dulled, long thereafter. When I went back home for a break, the doctor informed me the tendons in my knees had worn down. He guided me how to repair the damage with very simple exercise. Leg lifts, three reps of 30, three times daily – not hard. But the routine hurt. True to form, I did it for a short time, quit, and chose to not think about it.
I also preferred not to think about the rather obvious ties between my terrible state of fitness and how people related to me and how I felt about myself. I didn’t date in college, despite my interest in more than a few women. I probably wasn’t treated the best by some acquaintances and “brothers” in my fraternity – comments here and there, looks, a chant that the fraternity created to address me… that in particular seemed funny at the time, but now I see it, to a degree, as mocking. Internally, likely directly related to my physical deterioration was what I assumed was a case of depression – which, despite being vividly aware of a pervasive family history of depression, including instances of suicide in every generation before, and recently including, my own - I chose not to address.
Graduating college a year early and proceeding to waste the precious time I earned through hard work with a pointless hourly job for the next few years; living on my dad’s couch for 12 months and having no friends in the state; then moving into the city and making superficial improvements, but still feeling totally disassociated from the community around me; and generally not knowing what the hell I could do to improve the situation – if that hopelessness is not a rock bottom point, I can’t describe what would be. I ate total crap and downed energy drinks nightly to stay awake at work, became aware that the relationship I'd been in wasn't the best fit, and generally didn’t care about anything except avoiding pain and seeking positive immediate stimuli.
At that time, I probably weighed about 265 pounds. Maybe more, maybe less. I put 270 as my weight for my license... I hoped it was an overestimation.
About that time, the dissatisfaction with almost every aspect of my life ate away at me, and I struggled to offset all of it by trying not to think. Yet it had to burst through in some fashion - and once again, physical pain erupted. Unlike last time though, the pain served as a catalyst for active change – the most significant I’ve made in my lifetime.
When someone would incessantly tell me I had bombed an interview due to looking like crap, or that women wouldn’t be attracted to me unless I hit the gym, or that maybe I should cut down on the refined and cheap pasta I ate almost every other meal (I can’t cook, and it was easy), or even a doctor telling me I might not be able to walk – walk! – easily within a few years if I kept packing on the weight, I’d get pissed, but ignore it as fast as possible. My family, father in particular, started pushing me to make changes in my life, particularly to lose some weight and get active. It pissed me off more than motivated me, and I didn’t act on it – if people telling me my lifestyle sucked had ever worked as a motivator, I never would’ve started working in hotels, for example. I embraced my generally miserable self, was miserable to be around, and I’d get back to facebook and miserably bitch about how I couldn’t change anything even if I tried. I never tried.
Ignoring other people was easy.
Ignoring intense spinal pain which lasted for years? Not as easy. 
My back hurt. My knees hurt. My feet hurt. My legs hurt. My body hurt. Standing hurt. Sitting hurt. Laying down hurt. Literally every single second of my day, the pain permeated everything. It came to dominate me. The pain got so bad almost a year previously that I had an x-ray of my spine performed. Results: nothing was wrong. Only by losing weight could I reduce the pain.
Thankfully, if there ever one lifelong motivator had proven more useful than the urge to keep my thoughts in the here and now, it was the avoidance of immediate discomfort and pain. I remember having a panic attack at age eight, pledging that I’d rather die than endure the booster shots that awaited at age 12. I could never hold my own in any sort of fight, the idea of getting nailed in the head by a baseball or knocked out by a basketball terrified me, and generally had the fortitude of a wimp. I’d try to imagine any way to get out of something that promised pain or discomfort.
I’d made some recent changes around that New Year’s 2011 – a slightly better job, an urge to improve my quality of life and social circle. Suddenly, at that moment, it seemed like a chance for action had emerged, but it came slowly and without a major kickstart.
Until one day in January, 2011, I realized that unless I lost some weight through increased activity and improved diet, simply put, the rest of my life would be a living hell.

Background (1/15) - MP


My name is Matt. I’m 25 years old, from Chicago, IL, where I’ve lived since I graduated from the University of Wisconsin-Madison in 2008, briefly before the economy tanked. Despite living in three states, as I grew up in the Twin Cities, I’ve never lived more than 15 miles from I-94. That Midwestern identity has defined me - as has my Jewish cultural background. I grew up with proud Jewish parents and joined a Jewish frat in college, although I’ve increasingly struggled with some aspects of that identity lately. Most recently, running has begun to define me – but I’ll get to that later.
Directly out of college, again convinced that the economic failure was about to crush my future and I’d be bankrupt if I failed to find a job that I could learn immediately and easily (thanks, CNN and dad), I ended up in the hospitality industry.
I now run a hotel during the overnight hours, and I’ve done that now for almost four years. Being nocturnal – literally – is a drag. It’s difficult not to feel like an outsider when you’re the only person in a social circle self-denying the right to sleep after the sun has set, although the lifestyle and job can, very rarely, have their advantages. Overall, it has left me very dissatisfied with a major part of my life at the moment… but I’ve made it work and have learned to deal with it effectively. Usually.