Week Three: First Challenge

This week did not have a weigh in. I decided to a challenge instead of a Saturday workout... hike to the peak of Mount Charleston; 8.5 miles starting at 7640 feet above sea level to the peak at 11,900 feet.

A few weeks back Robert Avila and I were having lunch to catch up on life. He had forgotten that I asked him in June to make the hike. Even though he'd been running a lot for the December 2011 Las Vegas Half Marathon -- unfortunately, his work life had gotten in the way of his training; so no Robert.

Plan B! My old buddy Dave Schick, also my awesome accountant, has made the climb two other times with me. The last time we set out in 2005 my physical state of being was horrible. Two hours into the hike my heart rate was nearing 200 bpm, so I called an audible at the top of Echo Canyon and turned back (just past the half way point). Note to out of shape desk-jockeys... don't drink an industrial sized Monster Energy drink and then try and hike a 17 mile hellish trek with thirty pounds of fat cells around the gut.

Unfortunately for my adventure this weekend, Dave's roof on his lovely ranch style home nearly got decapitated during the previous week's thunderstorms; so no Dave.

Not to be deterred, this would be a solo mission. Knowing that my Saturday work out usually netted me about 400 calories burnt, I needed to be sure a nine hour hike would result in similar caloric burn. So I consulted the great MyFitnessPal app for the estimated output. Taking in account for the time climbing up and the time for descending the mountain, my little app said I would burn 6400 calories... WTHeck!

So when the alarm chimed at 5:00am I had already been up for an hour. The sun crept over the eastern sky at 6:00; I was on the trail at 6:05. 10:50 I touched the peak of the mountain. Surprisingly the trip down produced the most pain, which escalated during the last 2 miles. I even added some more pain to the game because my water estimates were off by two liters. Things get a bit sketchy during the ninth hour of hiking when the H20 is no more. Nevertheless all was good! Made it to the car around 3:30 in the afternoon, bandaged a few blisters, and then drove the 30 miles back to the casa with a big smile for accomplishing week three's challenge.

Temptation's Minions

The greatest things about America and the civilized Western world are constant opportunities to exercise free agency, embrace personal accountability, and determining a path to take in life. These things that I believe make America the numero uno, are also the toughest things to manage. In a world that resembles a free-for-all circus troop hijacked by a herd of self-righteous hipster tweaked out on their own ironic do-goodness, it is hard not to blame another human for nearly every mistake, blunder or vice to inflect an individual.

If I wanted to double fist chili cheese fries and suck them down like
Coca-Cola on a hot summer day, the fine print on the reverse side of the Declaration of Independence gives me the right. However, when my nine month pregnant wife, of nearly a decade, makes a batch of chocolate chip cookies, I wish the communist had won the Cold War. No half starved, thirty something, self-respecting man on a long weight loss journey should be tempted with the siren's song of molten chocolate nuggets snuggled in a lily pad of sweet cookie dough.

 It would be easier living with single ply toilet paper, machine guns nest in Time Square, and nonstop reruns of the first thirty minutes of Rocky IV..."If he dies, he dies"... then to manage the temptation of mama's afternoon snacky treats for the next fifteen weeks. I nearly folded delivering one to my dear aforementioned nine month pregnant wife, but her lightening quick reaction time ripped it out of my diet-busting tractor beam.

May all things holy save me from the minions of temptation.

Week Two: "Food: a friend or a foe?"

Monday marked the beginning of the 16 week structured diet; 1800-2000 calories per day with one reward day of an additional 500 calories. By keeping a detailed record using the free Android app MyFitnessPal I am able to keep track of my meal by meal progress. I like the ease of use and the quick entry of the meal data.

A key factor in making this thing work over the next four months will be resisting "boredom grazing." Avoiding the after work double-stuff Oreo sniper attack before dinner. Thankfully, Jaron has given me a great list of snacks to eat. I can already see a change in my eating habits by adding in a mid-morning and mid-afternoon healthy snack. Instead of hitting the garbage calories of sweets, it was a simple shift to health snacks like nuts, fruit, raisins, craisins, and stringed cheese.

Weekly weigh in: 221.9
Lbs dropped this week: 4.5
Total dropped: 10
To hit 195: 27
Weeks to go: 15

Week One: Test Drive the Weights

The data has been entered into MyFitnessPal via the smart phone and my expert trainer is in his secret layer crunching the stats... I should probably hasthag a few of these key words, one never knows when the Twitter might go big. My Golds Gym membership is in full effect to maximize the pain and discomfort. A discomfort brought on by the under appreciated, yet very important stabiliser muscles. A grown man should have a higher pain tolerance, and avoid screaming like a co-ed in some 1980's slasher movie when attempting to sit down at the dinner table. Top goal for week two: more Icy Hot!

Monday, August 13th begins the 16 week portion control, low carb, no soda having, calorie counting, comfort food sanctions. I will be rocking at the feed bag at 1800-2000 calories per day, with the goal for five days a week dropping 1000 of their friends via the tread mill or in the ole concrete pond, then on Saturday running like I'm Forest Gump. I sure hope the Sabbath is kind to a brother!

Weekly weigh in: 226.4
Lbs dropped this week: 5.5
To hit 195: 31.5
Weeks to go: 16

Well ain't that cute!

My lower half is sore from a baker's dozen lunges. Getting out of bed required a roll, a tumble and a teardrop or two. So this morning's chest workout better bring some serious manliness. I want some bench press, some military press, even a few Superman rows. Anything that requires guttural yelling to psych me up or requires a team of spotters.
You have to be kidding me Krause... a freaking balancing ball! What happened to the days of tossing 45's on the bar and bouncing the whole mess off your chest to get that last rep out.

A FREAKING BALANCING BALL!!!

I'm not going to need a spotter to do 2 sets of 12 push ups on this day glow balancing ball. I'm not going to need the juice-head guerrilla to bro hug me once I nearly blow out brain vein. I'm going to need protective custody once the powder puff's cat calling from the stair master section start questing my man card's expiration date. Seriously! A balancing ball should not be allowed in a man's man gym.

Thankfully it was early morning, only a hand full of patrons saw my buffet of humble pie. That $.55 worth of poorly inflated, Chinese made rubber sphere treated me like a red headed stepchild. If it could have thrown out some trash talk, I might have broken down and cried. There is nothing more embarrassing than seeing a grown man, spaghetti arming women's push ups, sweating like a long-tailed cat at a rocking chair factor, and shaking like seizures on a day glow balancing ball.

May my ego know peace some day.

DESTINATION 195!

There are many trivial things floating in the soup of my life; an undying love for Rebel basketball, writing whimsical articles on trivial things, and silly challenges set forth by an out-of-state trash talking friend. Held separately, each brings me momentary pleasure (extended a few more moments if BYU or Reno are whamped up on by the boys in Scarlet & Grey). When all are bound together in a fierce secret alliance of mediocrity -- It sets in motion a fertile ground of humor and possibly reduced strain on my inseam.

Like all meaningless endeavors, a banner must be flown with serious effort given to a solid mission statement, 6 Sigma optimization, and frizzle dizzle. For the next sixteen weeks... give or take a few holidays, the birth of our third child, and the siren's call of that degenerate spawn of Satan known to western civilization as All-U-Can-Eat sushi, I will fly the flag of DESTINATION 195!

With the help of my dear old Texas brother from another mother, Jaron "JBK" Krause, I will embark on a journey of starvation, caloric depression, and swampy socks slopping through the valley of the land that comfort food forgot.

If I succeed, yours truly and JBK will be attending a Rebel Basketball game, eating at the aforementioned spawn of Satan house of gastric bliss, to celebrate this trivial challenge; hopefully accomplished in full.

Shave 37 pounds in 16 weeks for no reason other than seeing that ditch and double dog daring your buddy to bunny-hop it on his older brother's Schwinn Scrambler with the banana seat.

I love you chocolate covered raisins! I will see you in December... Give my warm regards to the 24 pack of A&W root beer and the 100th year commemorative bag of Golden Oreo Fudge Covered Cookies with Birthday Cake Creme.