Superfluous Umlaut, Anyone?

It would seem that some people are impressed by anything. I mean, two pounds? C'mon. I'm pretty sure I lost two pounds before I gained 4 back. As a matter of fact, Marci, (remember her? -- The lady who lost 30 pounds? She also happens to be my wife and, if not my inspiration, definitely my motivation for wanting to lose weight in the first place--"I know the husband I married is somewhere hidden inside this fat person," or as she's shaking me by the sides, "c'mere and give me a hug, oh, these handles really DO work"--if that ain't motivation, I don't know what is.) invited me to her gym recently. A little place in uptown Hiram, GA called Bödyplex-Fitness Adventure.

Quick language lesson here: an umlaut /oom-lout/ is a diacritical mark which, in German, at least, represents a diphthong with two vowels sort of mashed together, the first vowel being the one that has the diacritical umlaut over it, and the last vowel being a long "e" sound (or an "i" in German). The way to get the correct sound is by playing the Sesame Street game where the two faces were on the screen and each one would say a different half of a word until they put them together, remember? Only, you do that with the vowels. So an umlauted "a" (I can only speak for the German language) sounds like a long "a" in English, just not quite as harsh, instead of the "ah" sound as in the English word "palm." Okay, recess. Now, if you are wondering, as I am, why the umlauted "o" in bödyplex? I have no idea. Why the umlauts in Mötley Crüe? Just to add that European flair? Probably. 

Anyway, I decided to go with Marci to the gym since it was "launch week" which means you can get in and go to classes free of charge for the week. Here is another picture I took of Marci at "her" gym:

This particular night, we were waiting in line for "bödy pump" or weightlifting class. Notice the smug look on her face. She's waiting for me to die in front of her as we "work out." Seeing this picture also makes me want to point out a few more things--notice the gentleman in the tank-top behind the piece of equipment in the right of the photo--it looks like workout clothing, right? How about the lady in the far right of the picture--again, workout clothing. The point I'm making here is that I have, oh how should I put this, . . . zero, that's right,  workout clothes. Behind the camera, I'm wearing a Trogdor T-shirt

and blue-jean shorts--they're baggy carpenter-like shorts--and a look of trepidation and intimidation. I wasn't too keen on being the fat guy in the weightlifting class. But I must admit, after we were allowed entry into the class, it was pretty interesting. If you've been to a gym class before, you'll be familiar with the following description, but you might not be familiar with the type of people that "instruct" these classes.

I have a friend whose wife is pregnant, she finally had her baby on the 18th of Feb. Pregnant people exude a sweetness about them; a glow, if you will. It was only slightly frightening to see this petite, glowing, pregnant instructor throwing weights around and shouting what to do with your barbell 8 more times.

Here she is in the picture above. The weight she is holding in her sequinned-gloved hand (because we were lifting to Billie Jean, of course) is obscuring her "bump," but I assure you it is quite visible when she is standing--Marci informs me she is 32-weeks along. I was beginning to wonder if she should be hefting all that weight around in her pregnant state, but you'll be pleased to know no premature babies were born while I was exercising, and I could tell she was in great shape even in her pregnant state, as opposed to me, who could barely hold the camera still after such a rigorous workout. Preggers is behind the gent in the foreground of this photo (the fella is obscuring her body, but not her pregnanty-ness).

Next up is the very fit, Renee. You can see her on the front of the stage to the left of the guy above (his right). This, by the way, is still Billie Jean, I had been going strong for about 40 minutes up to this point and it was a great excuse to break away from the routine to document the class for you awesome folks (and I couldn't breathe)! All the lovely ladies on stage were very muscular and toned, and I would not want to try to steal a purse from one of them in a dark alley (not that I'm into that). 

It was kind of like being at a concert where you had to work out for the show. Definitely fun, especially since I didn't throw-up.

Marci and I were showing our stuff over here in the corner (no, that is not my bedroom with the mirrors, sicko!). I was pretty pleased to be done with the class, and I have not been back. But how is someone of my size and girth supposed to want to do this every day? I mean, all working out seems to make me do is want to lie down and eat something that "really satisfies" and gain every bit of weight I sweat off back on again--and then some. I didn't even want to go with Marci to the gym in the first place, but when I was surrounded by chicks in spandex, which I won't lie, I didn't necessarily mind, I wasn't going to let the room full of skinny people see me collapsed against the mirrors from fatigue. Even Marci thinks I may have shown off a little bit.


The point of all this working out stuff is a little lost on me at the moment, but Perhaps I should give Bödyplex--Fitness Adventure (does the umlaut really pull in that much more business?) another go. I jüst wïsh wörking öut wäsn't süch ä päin ïn thë bütt, lëgs, ärms, ëtc.  . . . Stupid umlauts!

I am officially less fat

Starting Weight (Jan 1): 246 lbs

Current Weight (Feb 11): 244 lbs

I am happy to announce that I have lost TWO pounds! For those of you who think that two pounds is not a big deal, think of this:

The number TWO is HUGE. For example:

1. The Big Mac has TWO patties

2. The Oreo has TWO sides

3. The Grand Slam breakfast at Denny's includes TWO eggs and TWO sausage links

You get the idea. I am hungry. To lose those two pounds, I have applied basic logic that has worked over centuries of weight fluctuation: burn more calories than I take in. So, I have upped my calorie expense by doing the following as my work-out routine:

1. Walk 30 minutes on Treadmill

2. Bench press

3. Military press

4. Dips

5. Lat pull-downs

6. Curls

The problem is, that I've only done that three times in the past two weeks. Not exactly what you'd call consistent. So I have stopped eating as much as I used to. That hurts. I am used to munching throughout the day. For the first time in my life I have uttered these words to my wife the other day:

"I am ready to try rice cakes."

No real man ever says this. In the dawn of time when the cave man went out and slaughtered his meals, he never paused during eating the charred carcass of whatever and grunted to his buddy "Hey Neal, I'm thinking rice cakes would be better for my heart, not to mention my wasteline." I dunno...I could be wrong about that but it doesn't seem right.

Yum.

The other thing I'm trying to do is to cut down on so much diet soda. Man, I have been spending so much money on Diet Pepsi over the years that you'd think I would have stacks of Pepsi stock options in addition to my caramel stained liver. But I recently read a startling report that diet colas can actually INCREASE belly fat due to several reasons. I have a hard time believing that, but I do recognize that I'm less likely to have a snack when I don't have any decent fizzy beverage with which to wash it down. What am I supposed to do? Eat chips in front of the TV with milk? I know, I know - water is the answer. Water has always been the answer. I'm just not there yet where water is a beverage of pleasure rather than something I drink when there's nothing else to drink.

Anyway, I'm super excited I'm less fat now. I think.

Too Good To Be True

Have you ever seen or heard about something so good, it simply cannot be true? I recently received an email from Dr. Godfrey Ugo in Nigeria who is offering me a share in the fortune of "a foreign customer who died along with his entire family in a Concord plane crash in the year 2000 in Paris." I'm thinking it sounds a little too good to be true. Well, last week I also heard about something so amazingly good, it can't possibly be true, but it is!

How sweet is that? No pun intended! What I especially like about this is the fact that, according to the Los Angeles times, this is no regular cookie. Isn't that slightly disappointing? I apparently am not smart enough to eat a cookie (a special one) and skip a meal without paying "less than $5 a day" to the Hollywood diet people.

On a somewhat lighter note, I was working at a client's home today hooking up a wireless router for her, and I mentioned the wf-wf.com blog you are now reading. I pointed her browser to the URL, which by the way, is when I noticed that Vince had once again decided to grace us with his post of the month (nudge, nudge, wink, wink), and I showed her my introductory post. She was commenting on how I didn't look fat in the first picture and I only looked fat with my green shirt on because of the way I was standing.

 

Well, that's nice of you to mention, but the cold, hard truth is, I am fat. The lady was very nice, and this has nothing to do with anything, but I wanted to show off this lady's pets: 4-5 cats, 2 dogs, and Neo, the pot-bellied pig. He's "the one," she said. She had a pig door so Neo could come and go as he pleased. When the pig rests in the sun, the lady says he is "bakin'." (or bacon, one of the two). Here he is:

Anyway, the good news is, that I have lost a few pounds. Sound too good to be true? It is. I got all the way down to 206lbs. before my wife invited me after work to a get-together with some friends out at Henry's Louisiana Grill in Acworth, GA. It was raining this past Friday and I was working later than I wanted.  I found a parking spot in downtown Acworth, and since I got turned around circling the block for parking, I walked the wrong way down the block to get to the restaurant where the party was waiting to be seated. A woman was exiting her car with an umbrella and as she mounted the curb, I inquired of her if she knew the way to Henry's.  She smiled and said I could follow her. We chit-chatted a bit as we walked, and before we parted, her last words to me were, be sure to get the Chicken Ooh La La. I mentioned this as we were being seated at the table, and I didn't have to persuade anyone, as they already knew about the apparently famous dish.

According to Henry's website, the Ooh La La is: Named one of the top 50 dishes to drive for by the Atlanta Journal Constitution! Succulent oysters, shrimp or crawfish - flash fried and tossed with Tasso, spinach and roasted garlic in Henry's spicy cream sauce. Served over angel hair pasta ... OOH LA LA!! To shorten this story a bit, when I arrived home, I think I weighed about 213lbs. It was an extremely heavy dinner.  I like the part about it being "flash fried." Awesome! In this case, it was too good to be good for ya.  

I haven't forgotten about the P90X, but this pesky laziness keeps interrupting my otherwise productive day. Oh well. I'll keep trying.

I hate belts

So last night as I was getting ready for bed, I naturally removed my belt from my jeans. It's a nice brown leather belt that I purchased in Tallahassee, Florida years ago from a now defunct store called "The County Seat". I stretched the belt from left hand to right hand and looked at the little clasp holes at the non-buckle end of the belt. There are eight holes in total. I noticed there are permanent crease marks worn into the belt next to several of the holes indicating use.

The sad thing? The latest crease is on the second to last hole - or the seventh hole to be exact. What that means is, I get any fatter and I'm maxing that belt out on the last, or eighth hole. There's an unwritten fashion rule that says "If you're anywhere near the last two holes of the belt, you need to upgrade. Fatty."

The really sad thing? Is that when you look at the belt, you can tell that at one point in my life, I was wearing that bad boy on the FIRST HOLE. Now, each hole is approximately an inch apart. So for those of you with amazing deduction skills, YES, that means that I indeed have grown six inches around my waist since I first bought that belt. I bought it in 1996 when I was 26. Now, I'm 39. Thirteen years I've had that belt. So, if you're following along, that means that each year, I've expanded my gut by 1/2 inch. I currently wear a 38 in jeans. At my current fat-man rate, you can safely say that in ten more years I should be a 43 waist. In another ten years (if I survive that long), I should be pushing a size 50 waist. Good gosh. And in all actuality, in the 13 years I've owned this belt, my guess is that in the past four years I've gained at a faster rate than the previous 9 years before, which means at the current rate, I will reach that size 50 waist MUCH faster than the above calculations.

I will be forced to wear those powder-blue expandable jeans which for some reason never have back pockets (probably because the designers of fat-man jeans realize at that point, my chubby arm wouldn't be able to access anything in a back pocket of my big bubble butt anyway).

So what am I saying? Am I saying that I am on the road to suspenders? No. Am I saying that I will soon only be wearing sweat pants with my t-shirts tucked in? No.

I'm saying I will keep this belt. It will be a motivation marker for me. At the end of 2010, my goal is to be wearing that belt in the third hole - meaning four inches off my gut. In fact, I hope that at the end of 2010, I won't BE EVEN ABLE to refer my mansection (I mean midsection) as a "gut". I will then have made the transformation from using the word "GUT" to "ABS".

If I didn't need any further motivation, my wife, as I pointed out how the crease marks on the belt's holes have nearly reached the tip of the belt, said "Wow, it's like a growth chart!". Nice.

The bad thing is that it's been two weeks since my last post, and I haven't made any real progress. But that ends tomorrow! I plan to buy a weigh scale (our current one doesn't work) and start losing one pound a week. That's right: one pound a week. That will be my goal. It's as simple as that.

How? Well. I joined a gym. That will be the next story I post. For now, let's all revel in the thought that The County Seat, the store that sold me my belt of fatness in the first place, is out of business.