As an avid journal writer and personal historian, I look for seminal moments in life. For my personal fitness life, finishing competitive swimming marked the end of my youth experience and the beginning of adulthood. My last competitive swim meet was in 1998 US Nationals, on August 20th. I got out of the water after the 100 Backstroke, didn't warm down, and with no fanfare drove out of the central California town of Fresno with chlorine water still dripping from my head and a pretty darn good career behind me. I did not know that my fitness would be a roller coaster ride for the next fifteen years.
Burnt out on chasing the black line in the pool, my work outs switched to the mega gyms of the early 21st Century; yoga pants, meat face beef-cakes, and herds of Turbo Fit queens. Even though I had a new cathedral of narcissism and a journey void of teammates, my eating habits stayed the same post-swimming. It took me nearly two years of bad eating and to make matters worse, there was no metabolic assistance after the internal calorie burner died off in late fall 1998.
The ancient fat cells still celebrate March 2nd, 1999 as the day their minority party took control of my temple. That was the day I became a career man; working 9-5 Monday thru Friday, drinking Jack and Coke by the gallons, with a backer of ranch injected Buffalo wings, and 4th and 5th meals depending on the line at Del Taco at 4:00 a.m. every Saturday and Sunday. I knew things were getting a little Oprah when the only topic of conversation with my Tennessee family was my ballooning weight. So I jumped on a crappy diet and strength plan... wake up early, go to the gym for an hour (using a lifting program from college), and try to eat less of the same crap.
In all honesty, from late May to October 1999 I did a good job of losing a few pounds and gaining a few curves in the arms and chest. Those bastard fat cells had yet to fully inflate the spar tire, so things were pretty stable. Then over a long weekend in October I went out of town, which I got sick from to many "she·nan·i·gans". That week of illness knocked me out of a solid work out schedule, then the days led to weeks, then to months. I had never been the type to be sidetracked. What escaped my mind was the fact for all the years of swimming, a team had been there to make sure days did not turn into years. Then the fat cells won.
Even though I started swimming and working out in the pool later in 2000, I was not committed to really trimming the weight or getting into shape. It was more of maintaining and not letting my waist-line to require me to buy bigger pants. Finance became the saving grace. I did not want to buy more cloths, so I would crash diet and increase cardio to get myself below the "pants button busting" critical mass.
Then over the winter of 2003, in a great moment of personal vanity, I looked at pictures and realized that if I didn't do something quick, our wedding photos would be immortalizing my defeat. I refused to look fat in my wedding photos! So in January I committed to working out five to six days a week and eating a very aggressive diet until our wedding on June 21st. The day I signed my contract with the gym the scales tipped at a solid 235 pounds. The diet consisted of eating a six inch Subway chicken sub for brunch and the other half in the afternoon, then a fish or chicken dinner in the evening. At the gym, I did :45 minutes to one hour of the stationary bike, plus some pull ups and crunches. In five months I got down to 195 pounds. I was working toward a destination, versus enjoying the journey.
As great as that goal to not be a chunky monkey in print, the destination became the stumbling block to making the change last. In a matter of a year all the weight was back on. Over the next nine years my weight hovered around 220 to 245, with an internal set point of 225 pounds. This included, three Iron Man relays, two master swimming nationals, a half marathon, five months of P90X, 60 days of Insanity, and trash talking challenge by my boy Scot "Easy-E" Eliott to lose weight (which was the birthday of No Fat Jokes Please). All of these silly challenges and activities were easily sidetracked by the fallacy of a destination. There is a neon sign reading "No Vacancies" at that end point, because everyone is there who think this journey has a stopping point.
I have a goal to live to see our country's Tricentennial celebration, which will be four months after my 100th birthday. With that written goal stated, this journey I'm on has just set sail through the waters of the second third of my life. But if I'm cut off short of my goal, it'll still be a lot more fun than dying of one of those self inflicted lifestyle deaths becoming more and more popular. Anybody up for taking a trip to Philadelphia in 2076?
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Just as Marlow fancies himself a personal historian and dogmatic writer, I, possibly nihilistically, think of myself as an amateur philosopher and psychologist. Looking back over the blog entries from day 1 through present, almost more appropriately, looking further back to 2009's entries as well, I find the tenor of these entries one of the more interesting components. They've gone from self-deprecating and whimsical to deep soul searching, uplifting social commentaries. Don't blame me people! I'd like the old JT back also. I can say with some confidence that despite my generally fit waistline, my other substantial vices will probably prohibit joining you at Liberty Hall in 63 years and some change, but I love the enthusiasm! Then again, who knows, I may be on my 3rd, genetically cloned replacement liver with the way medical science is headed. Too early to book tickets?
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