There was no shame quite like that of high school tennis practice. I had a sworn enemy, not a person, but the course we would run almost every day before hitting the courts.
The athletes of the former Middletown High School (now Woodrow Wilson Middle School) know the Figure Eight quite well. The 2.2-mile course winds its way from the school's front and up various side roads, down Ridge Road, then back to the school. Then, the course continues around Pat Kidney Field, down the long trot along Farm Hill Road before coming to a merciful stop somewhere near the football field.
For most, it was a minor annoyance, a leisurely jog to loosen up before practice. For me, it was pure, unfiltered hell, an errand of aggravation that played upon the scariest of asthmatic nightmares.
I never stood a chance running the Figure Eight. Within a tenth of a mile, I'd be walking. By the time I got up the hill, my inhaler would already be spent, and each passing car seemed only to mock my misery. I would trot when I could, but for the most part, I was the token fat kid lagging far behind his teammates, willing painfully toward being the last to finish, if finishing was even a possibility. I was actually a bit relieved on days when I would roll an ankle and wouldn't have to continue. A sprain goes away with a little ice and elevation. Nothing alleviates shame.
The worst part was the stretch in front of the school, down Hunting Hill. It went right by the high school track, where all the best athletes were jumping hurdles, tossing javelins, and flexing their muscles for no apparent reason. By the time I reached that road, my teammates were all well gone, and some had even finished the entire course.
Not me though. I would have to run the stretch all by myself, with the eyes of the entire track team delighting at the slow pace and shamed face lumbering before them. I would run with my inhaler out, in hopes that the students would see the small instrument and put together the pieces themselves that, "oh, he's asthmatic, and that's why he's so slow."
No dice. All the inhaler did was conjure more images of the chubby geek, and not a day went by without the nastiest of catcalls imaginable.
"Hey Fat Boy, why don't you take a cab next time?"
"Why you walking, Engelhardt? Afraid to actually burn a few calories?"
"You know, for a large man, your calf muscles are spectacular!" (note: this might not have been yelled in reality).
The inner argument was always the same, too. Why does a tennis player need to be able to run? Can't I just smash the ball and be done with it? And by the time I'd finish, there'd be the coach, his scowl angry as he watched me, sweaty and pathetic, pretend that I had been running hard the entire way.
By junior year, I was co-captain of the team, a role I held out of experience and for making inspirational speeches rather than talent and endurance. We had a running joke, pardon the pun: if you lose to one captain during the Figure Eight, you have to run harder the next day. If you lose to Engelhardt, you're off the team.
Those practices are awful memories. But that was many, many pounds ago, and if weight loss has taught me anything, it's that all challenges are worth making... and meeting.
Now there's a new challenge to pursue, beyond weight loss and looking good in a suit. I'm upping the ante yet again, foot by foot, as I attempt to do something I always thought to be, in the words of Vizzini, inconceivable.
I am pledging right now that come Thanksgiving 2010, I will earn every piece of pie I consume for dessert, because earlier on that day, I will be running the Manchester Road Race.
And, just as I make the race a new goal, my asthma is starting to sing. You may have fooled me for a while with your fancy treadmills, climbers, and free weights, says Asthma, but once you step out of the gym, I'm back. And just to show you I'm serious, I'm bringing the high school shame back with me...
As I write, I am just returning from a light jog around the block. I figured if I'm going to make good on this new goal... and the 4.75 mile course that comes with it...I'd better get out there and run. I've started to run on the treadmill, but that always has the handles at the ready to aid in the process. Outside, there's nothing to lean on, and what amounts to about 0.7 miles, from one end of my street and back, feels like a trek. My lungs burn, just like back on the Figure Eight. My feet hurt, and the bad karma of tennis practice is swirling in my brain.
The difference? There's no angry coach this time to chastise me for not running hard. It's all on me, and that, in a way, is even more daunting. There is no one harder on myself than, well, myself, and I swear I will make good on this promise.
Care to join me? I'll see you at the starting line come Thanksgiving Day. You may finish before me, and that's okay. I just want to finish. I want to run for a reason other than because some large animal is chasing me, or I'm going to miss a bus, or because it's part of tennis practice. I'm doing this to prove to myself that I can.
The biggest irony? The Road Race course is more than twice as long as the Figure Eight. For good measure, maybe some of the old members of Middletown track team should line the course, so they can see for themselves that I am no longer in awe, and fear, of them and the awful things that come out of their mouths.
I just hope they don't still have those javelins.
Catcall up some STATS!
Days until wedding: 99. One for each bottle of beer on the wall.
Weight Lost in Week 31: 1 lb
Total weight loss after Week 31: 67.4 lbs
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 112.33 percent
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 84.25 percent
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 31
Months until Road Race: 7.5
Hindrances toward successful road races: cruise line buffets, but mmmm, crab legs.
Feelings about Duke basketball: nothing but bitter, bitter hatred
Number of professional sportswriters, journalists, and college basketball nuts involved in recent tourney pool: 10
Person who won second, including defeating me. The 11th person- Megan.
Consecutive years Megan has beat me in the NCAA pool: 3. That's just sad.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Friday, April 2, 2010
The Fattening Four
In weeks like this one, the college dining hall was always a source of delectable comfort and indigestion.
As some of you have pointed out (and I do thank you for staying interested), it has been a little while since my last post. It seems that every time I got ready to write over the past 10 days, something has taken precedence, whether it be work (budget season.... egghhhhh), school (back from Spring Break), or calamity (car). I owe two sets of stats, and don't worry, they're coming.
I've been stressed, and in years past, I would have dealt with all this flux in the traditional way: binge eating! Tenseness has always spelled trouble for nearby kitchens, and I've laid waste to my share of packages of EL Fudge cookies and jars of peanut butter in such occasions. Above all, the UConn dining options were the perfect places to execute the binge. One swipe of the card, and I turned into Belushi in Animal House, right down to the careful look-around before snarfing a Jello brick (or to be more accurate, a brownie). Ice cream always calmed the nerves, but I'm hoping those days are behind me.
So now the gym has become my stress outlet. That's bad news for the Keebler company, but good news for my waist line. For the first time in roughly 15 years, I'm wearing a shirt that contains no "X" on the tag. I feel myself getting healthier and happier, a far cry from my days of pouting over a trough of macaroni and cheese.
But that doesn't mean we can't delve back into Belly Bracketology. In our last episode, a field of 16 causes of college weight gain was narrowed down to the fattening four. It was a helluva battle for many participants, who did their best to increase my gut but just not enough to win their regionals.
Before we get to the semifinals, some business: One of my old fraternity brothers made a keen observation that I had forgotten. In addition to all the fried deliciousness offered, Jonathan's used to serve Freihofer's goodies. Had I remembered that, Jonathan's might just have eked out a regional victory over South Dining Hall. However, in any tournament, mitigating factors bite teams in the rear. Consider my forgetfulness a blown knee to Jonathan's. It was a game changer, but hindsight 20/20 doesn't equal advancement. Decision stands!
Also, some people have submitted some questions about establishments not included in the bracket. Kathy John's, for example, was omitted, mainly because I didn't know students who went to the restaurant unless their parents were visiting campus.
The Dairy Bar, in hindsight, should have been included, except I never really went there until after graduation. That's probably a good thing, otherwise I would have waddled more when I walked.
McDonald's and Friendly's also got ignored. Why? Because they're uberchains, and you van get a McFlurry or Conehead darn near anywhere.
So here we go. Lace em' up!
Semifinal #1: Chuck's/Margaritas vs. South Dining Hall
Margaritas goes into this matchup as the decided underdog, and sad to say, it is no Butler. South had Mexican food on its menu (though low quality) and a hamburger bar (ditto). It also had pizza, the Asian fusion station, and the comfort line, not to mention the dessert bars. If I'm headed up to campus now, I'd be glad to stop by Margaritas for a trumpet section reunion. However, South is a juggernaut. Winner: South Dining Hall
Semifinal #2: DP Dough vs. Wings over Storrs
This is the UConn vs. Duke of the tournament. It's a toss-up, and really just a question of who wants it more. Early in college, DP Dough was like that friend who you really never planned to see, but always ran into and hung out. I don't remember many evenings where Dough was a goal, but by midnight, I'd be tipping the delivery driver. Wings emerged over the years and became a staple of my late-night diet. DC-3s were the preferred course, but the fries never failed to be soggy and sucky. Dough, meanwhile, never failed me, from "healthier" varieties like pesto or eggplants to coronary threats like bacon cheeseburger or fried Twinkie and Cinnabon (I might have made that last one up). And since DP Dough did, in fact, make me doughier, it wins and goes on to the championship. Winner: DP Dough
Championship: South Dining Hall vs. DP Dough
If Dick Vitale were calling this matchup, three things would happen. First, he's find some way to praise Coach K, even though he has absolutely nothing to do with a UConn food tournament. Second, Vitale would say something that sounded vaguely inappropriate toward a cheeseburger or calzone, drawing a bewildered look from the play-by-play guy. And third, security would escort Vitale from the building, because I want him far away from my tournament.
Anyway, of all the food options at UConn, these were my most frequent choices. I practically own stock in DP Dough, and I nearly caused dining services to rethink its all-you-can-eat policy through my trips to South. Both of these establishments contributed mightily to my weight gain. And everyday, I miss them both terribly.
South wins for one simple reason: it was free. Well, free to me, anyway, since it was my poor parents who got the meal plan bill. Had DP Dough accepted HuskyBucks, or whatever the heck they were called, I would declare Dough the champion and wish them well as the staff climbed the greasy ladder to cut down the nets. But that wasn't the case then, and so South, it's time for your moment. This is for your soft serve machine, your bottomless tub of stuffing, your waffle fries, your ever-flowing soda fountain, and your dedication to ensuring that the Freshman 15 is part of the UConn experience.
And with that, here's two heaping, delicious spoonfuls... of STATS!
As some of you have pointed out (and I do thank you for staying interested), it has been a little while since my last post. It seems that every time I got ready to write over the past 10 days, something has taken precedence, whether it be work (budget season.... egghhhhh), school (back from Spring Break), or calamity (car). I owe two sets of stats, and don't worry, they're coming.
I've been stressed, and in years past, I would have dealt with all this flux in the traditional way: binge eating! Tenseness has always spelled trouble for nearby kitchens, and I've laid waste to my share of packages of EL Fudge cookies and jars of peanut butter in such occasions. Above all, the UConn dining options were the perfect places to execute the binge. One swipe of the card, and I turned into Belushi in Animal House, right down to the careful look-around before snarfing a Jello brick (or to be more accurate, a brownie). Ice cream always calmed the nerves, but I'm hoping those days are behind me.
So now the gym has become my stress outlet. That's bad news for the Keebler company, but good news for my waist line. For the first time in roughly 15 years, I'm wearing a shirt that contains no "X" on the tag. I feel myself getting healthier and happier, a far cry from my days of pouting over a trough of macaroni and cheese.
But that doesn't mean we can't delve back into Belly Bracketology. In our last episode, a field of 16 causes of college weight gain was narrowed down to the fattening four. It was a helluva battle for many participants, who did their best to increase my gut but just not enough to win their regionals.
Before we get to the semifinals, some business: One of my old fraternity brothers made a keen observation that I had forgotten. In addition to all the fried deliciousness offered, Jonathan's used to serve Freihofer's goodies. Had I remembered that, Jonathan's might just have eked out a regional victory over South Dining Hall. However, in any tournament, mitigating factors bite teams in the rear. Consider my forgetfulness a blown knee to Jonathan's. It was a game changer, but hindsight 20/20 doesn't equal advancement. Decision stands!
Also, some people have submitted some questions about establishments not included in the bracket. Kathy John's, for example, was omitted, mainly because I didn't know students who went to the restaurant unless their parents were visiting campus.
The Dairy Bar, in hindsight, should have been included, except I never really went there until after graduation. That's probably a good thing, otherwise I would have waddled more when I walked.
McDonald's and Friendly's also got ignored. Why? Because they're uberchains, and you van get a McFlurry or Conehead darn near anywhere.
So here we go. Lace em' up!
Semifinal #1: Chuck's/Margaritas vs. South Dining Hall
Margaritas goes into this matchup as the decided underdog, and sad to say, it is no Butler. South had Mexican food on its menu (though low quality) and a hamburger bar (ditto). It also had pizza, the Asian fusion station, and the comfort line, not to mention the dessert bars. If I'm headed up to campus now, I'd be glad to stop by Margaritas for a trumpet section reunion. However, South is a juggernaut. Winner: South Dining Hall
Semifinal #2: DP Dough vs. Wings over Storrs
This is the UConn vs. Duke of the tournament. It's a toss-up, and really just a question of who wants it more. Early in college, DP Dough was like that friend who you really never planned to see, but always ran into and hung out. I don't remember many evenings where Dough was a goal, but by midnight, I'd be tipping the delivery driver. Wings emerged over the years and became a staple of my late-night diet. DC-3s were the preferred course, but the fries never failed to be soggy and sucky. Dough, meanwhile, never failed me, from "healthier" varieties like pesto or eggplants to coronary threats like bacon cheeseburger or fried Twinkie and Cinnabon (I might have made that last one up). And since DP Dough did, in fact, make me doughier, it wins and goes on to the championship. Winner: DP Dough
Championship: South Dining Hall vs. DP Dough
If Dick Vitale were calling this matchup, three things would happen. First, he's find some way to praise Coach K, even though he has absolutely nothing to do with a UConn food tournament. Second, Vitale would say something that sounded vaguely inappropriate toward a cheeseburger or calzone, drawing a bewildered look from the play-by-play guy. And third, security would escort Vitale from the building, because I want him far away from my tournament.
Anyway, of all the food options at UConn, these were my most frequent choices. I practically own stock in DP Dough, and I nearly caused dining services to rethink its all-you-can-eat policy through my trips to South. Both of these establishments contributed mightily to my weight gain. And everyday, I miss them both terribly.
South wins for one simple reason: it was free. Well, free to me, anyway, since it was my poor parents who got the meal plan bill. Had DP Dough accepted HuskyBucks, or whatever the heck they were called, I would declare Dough the champion and wish them well as the staff climbed the greasy ladder to cut down the nets. But that wasn't the case then, and so South, it's time for your moment. This is for your soft serve machine, your bottomless tub of stuffing, your waffle fries, your ever-flowing soda fountain, and your dedication to ensuring that the Freshman 15 is part of the UConn experience.
And with that, here's two heaping, delicious spoonfuls... of STATS!
Days until wedding: 105.
Weight lost in Week 29: 0.8 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 29: 65.4 lbs
Weight Lost in Week 30: 1 lb
Total weight loss after Week 30: 66.4 lbs
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 110.67 percent
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 83 percent
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 30. Take that, UConn Women's Basketball. You thought your streak was impressive?
Sickening thought: The New York Yankees and the Duke Blue Devils might win titles in the same year. I will now cry bitter tears into my Kevin Youkilis replica shirt.
Status of my 1996 Toyota Camry: Dead. And no longer mine, for that matter.
Status of my 2007 Toyota Corolla: Alive and quite peppy.
Afikoman status: hidden.
Easter Eggs status: Also hidden.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Belly Bracketology
Now that my calorie consumption is now under relative control, it's hard not to look back at my college eating habits without wanting to kick myself in the gut.
We all know about the Freshman 15, the weight that college students put on at the start of their post-high school education, when suddenly all-you-can-eat becomes the norm and beer flows from water fountains. For some people-myself, for example- 15 is nothing. In college, I would guess I gained about 45 pounds from the start of my freshman year til the day I got my diploma. Granted, my ruptured disc left me exercise-incapacitated my senior year, but that is still way too much weight.
The beer wasn't my undoing (I actually didn't become a big beer drinker until junior and senior year). No, for me, college weight gain was caused by my meal plan and the number of ordering-out options available on and off and campus.
Given the season, with March madness upon us and the Huskies still alive in the NIT (the "Not Invited Tournament), I thought it would only be appropriate to look back on my college habits the way I got through so many boring classes: Bracketology. I determined many important things, like my favorite comedians and movie characters, simply by seeding them all, placing them in a large bracket, and having them "play" each other until a winner was determined. It begs to reason the same would work to determine not necessarily the best food on campus, but what establishments caused my belly to bust. We'll do four regions, four "teams" per instead of 16 (otherwise this blog would go on forever). Without further ado...
The Wing Region
Matchup: #1 Wings over Storrs vs. #4 Wings Express
Wings over Storrs opened by freshman year and quickly became the source for wings. So much so, my buddy Bill and I once held a wing tournament to determine our favorite flavor. The big winner: Golden BBQ, over Teriyaki in the final. Wings Express, meanwhile, quickly lost favor.
Winner: Wings over Storrs
Matchup: #2 Bidwell Tavern vs. #3 Red Rock
Every UConn or ECSU student knows the legend of Bidwell's wings. Located a few miles off campus, the tavern was a bit of a field trip, but the flavors were fantastic. Dry rub or sauce, Bidwell's wings were the topic of epic poetry. Red Rock had some good wings in its own right, but compared to Bidwell, it didn't stack up. Winner: Bidwell
Regional Final: #1 Wings over Storrs vs. Bidwell Tavern
As great as Bidwell was, it was simply too far away to frequently clog my arteries. Wings, on the other hand, was right off campus and delivered until the wee hours of the morning. Today, I'd choose Bidwell in a heartbeat, but when you're a campus-stuck student, convenience is key.
Winner: Wings over Storrs
The Pizza/Calzone/Grinder Region
Matchup: #1 Willington Pizza vs. #4 Sgt. Pepperoni
Like Bidwell, Willington Pizza was a bit of a hike, but it was pretty darn good. However, it was a bit overseeded, the Duke of this bracket, you might say. Sgt. Pep's didn't have the greatest pizza, but the calzones were fantastic, and again, location counts for something. I'm calling the upset. Winner: Sgt. Pep's
Matchup: #2 DP Dough vs. #3 Ted's Grinders
As chicken cutlets go, I'm still dreaming of Ted's. Whether parmed or merely cheesed, the sandwiches were amazing. But DP Dough is an institution, and over the course of four years, I probably spent more on cheap quality calzones than I did on textbooks (just kidding Mom). Winner: DP Dough
Regional Final: #2 DP Dough vs. #4 Sgt. Pepperoni
Sgt. Pep's made a mean calzone, but you had to get inventive. DP Dough took care of the creativity and got you anything you could possibly imagine. My heart hurts just thinking about it. Winner: DP Dough
So the "Fattening Four" stage is set. In one semifinal, we've got Wings over Storrs battling DP Dough. In the other, it's South Dining Hall vs. Chuck's/Margarita's. Who will win? Check back later this week, and maybe you can influence the matchups by voting via the comment section.
One things for sure: it's a miracle my waistline ever survived the UConn calorie gauntlet. In retrospect, I was lucky I only gained 45 pounds.
No great tournament would be complete without STATS!
Days until wedding: 119.
Pounds lost in Week 29: 1.8
Total weight lost: 64.6 lbs
Progress toward 60-pound goal: 107.67 percent
Progress toward new 80-pound goal: 80.75 percent
Weight left to lose before hitting new goal: 15.4 pounds
Body Fat: 21 percent. Apparently, that's within the range of an average adult my height.
Last time my body fat was "average": Week 33 as a fetus
Blog Subscribers: 46.
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 29
My tournament bracket: shredded. Why, oh why, do I keep picking Kansas?
We all know about the Freshman 15, the weight that college students put on at the start of their post-high school education, when suddenly all-you-can-eat becomes the norm and beer flows from water fountains. For some people-myself, for example- 15 is nothing. In college, I would guess I gained about 45 pounds from the start of my freshman year til the day I got my diploma. Granted, my ruptured disc left me exercise-incapacitated my senior year, but that is still way too much weight.
The beer wasn't my undoing (I actually didn't become a big beer drinker until junior and senior year). No, for me, college weight gain was caused by my meal plan and the number of ordering-out options available on and off and campus.
Given the season, with March madness upon us and the Huskies still alive in the NIT (the "Not Invited Tournament), I thought it would only be appropriate to look back on my college habits the way I got through so many boring classes: Bracketology. I determined many important things, like my favorite comedians and movie characters, simply by seeding them all, placing them in a large bracket, and having them "play" each other until a winner was determined. It begs to reason the same would work to determine not necessarily the best food on campus, but what establishments caused my belly to bust. We'll do four regions, four "teams" per instead of 16 (otherwise this blog would go on forever). Without further ado...
The Wing Region
Matchup: #1 Wings over Storrs vs. #4 Wings Express
Wings over Storrs opened by freshman year and quickly became the source for wings. So much so, my buddy Bill and I once held a wing tournament to determine our favorite flavor. The big winner: Golden BBQ, over Teriyaki in the final. Wings Express, meanwhile, quickly lost favor.
Winner: Wings over Storrs
Matchup: #2 Bidwell Tavern vs. #3 Red Rock
Every UConn or ECSU student knows the legend of Bidwell's wings. Located a few miles off campus, the tavern was a bit of a field trip, but the flavors were fantastic. Dry rub or sauce, Bidwell's wings were the topic of epic poetry. Red Rock had some good wings in its own right, but compared to Bidwell, it didn't stack up. Winner: Bidwell
Regional Final: #1 Wings over Storrs vs. Bidwell Tavern
As great as Bidwell was, it was simply too far away to frequently clog my arteries. Wings, on the other hand, was right off campus and delivered until the wee hours of the morning. Today, I'd choose Bidwell in a heartbeat, but when you're a campus-stuck student, convenience is key.
Winner: Wings over Storrs
The Pizza/Calzone/Grinder Region
Matchup: #1 Willington Pizza vs. #4 Sgt. Pepperoni
Like Bidwell, Willington Pizza was a bit of a hike, but it was pretty darn good. However, it was a bit overseeded, the Duke of this bracket, you might say. Sgt. Pep's didn't have the greatest pizza, but the calzones were fantastic, and again, location counts for something. I'm calling the upset. Winner: Sgt. Pep's
Matchup: #2 DP Dough vs. #3 Ted's Grinders
As chicken cutlets go, I'm still dreaming of Ted's. Whether parmed or merely cheesed, the sandwiches were amazing. But DP Dough is an institution, and over the course of four years, I probably spent more on cheap quality calzones than I did on textbooks (just kidding Mom). Winner: DP Dough
Regional Final: #2 DP Dough vs. #4 Sgt. Pepperoni
Sgt. Pep's made a mean calzone, but you had to get inventive. DP Dough took care of the creativity and got you anything you could possibly imagine. My heart hurts just thinking about it. Winner: DP Dough
The "International" Region
Matchup: #1 Chang's Garden vs. #4 Tin Tsin
I am pretty sure the latter no longer exists, and anyone who ever had the eggroll-related indigestion knows that's not necessarily a bad thing. Chang's Garden made a great sesame chicken and usually had more friendly delivery people. Easy victory here. Winner: Chang's Garden
Matchup: #2 Chuck's/Margaritas vs. #3 Angellino's
Both these were popular places for when the parents came up to visit. I didn't develop my full love for Mexican food until I made it to the West Coast, but Margarita's was always a great place for trumpet section dinners. Winner: Chuck's/Margaritas
Regional Final: #1 Chang's Garden vs. #2 Chuck's Margaritas
As great as Chang's was, cheese is an awkward thing to add to Chinese food. With Mexican, on the other hand, it's one of the three major ingredients. Mmmmm, quesadillas. Winner: Chuck's/Margaritas
The Dining Services Region
Matchup: #1 South Dining Hall vs. #4 Towers Dining Hall
South was the standard for all you-can-gain dining. That place had stuffing every night, a full grill, ice cream, dessert stand, comfort food, pizza, and I think occasionally a violinist would serenade you and your friends while you ate. Towers got points for its Grab and Go (where I worked senior year) and for its kosher dining station, but head-to-head with South, it's like like 2004 Huskies taking on the 2010 Huskies. Winner: South Dining Hall
Matchup: #2 Jonathan's vs. #3 WEBB Site Grab and Go
This is a battle. Both places were great for stocking your dorm room pantry. Tell me if this sounds familiar: two weeks left in the semester, 48 meals left on the plan. Time to hit the grab-and-gos for all the Powerade, chips, and brownies you could bag. I heard Jonathan's might no longer be around, but it wins this battle by merit of onion rings and chicken dippers. Winner: Jonathan's
Regional Final: #1 South Dining Hall vs. #2 Jonathan's
South was the destination for every preseason band meal and many dinners year-round. Jonathan's was the cap to every AEPi chapter meeting. Between the two establishments, my cholesterol frequently threatened to punch me in the face. But Jonathan's didn't have all-you-can-eat stuffing or soft-serve machines. Word of advice: don't mix up the two. I do not recommend a cone full of Stove Top. Winner: South Dining Hall
So the "Fattening Four" stage is set. In one semifinal, we've got Wings over Storrs battling DP Dough. In the other, it's South Dining Hall vs. Chuck's/Margarita's. Who will win? Check back later this week, and maybe you can influence the matchups by voting via the comment section.
One things for sure: it's a miracle my waistline ever survived the UConn calorie gauntlet. In retrospect, I was lucky I only gained 45 pounds.
No great tournament would be complete without STATS!
Days until wedding: 119.
Pounds lost in Week 29: 1.8
Total weight lost: 64.6 lbs
Progress toward 60-pound goal: 107.67 percent
Progress toward new 80-pound goal: 80.75 percent
Weight left to lose before hitting new goal: 15.4 pounds
Body Fat: 21 percent. Apparently, that's within the range of an average adult my height.
Last time my body fat was "average": Week 33 as a fetus
Blog Subscribers: 46.
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 29
My tournament bracket: shredded. Why, oh why, do I keep picking Kansas?
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Melon Equilibrium
I'm not kidding, that boy's head is like Sputnik; spherical but quite pointy at parts! Now that was offside, wasn't it? He'll be crying himself to sleep tonight, on his huge pillow. --"So I Married an Axe Murderer"
If word ever spreads that I'm in some sort of coma, you can bet it has something to do with a self-inflicted head injury.
I've been bumping my head on a regular basis for the past six months. My balance has been off, and for the first time in many years, my equilibrium is in a state of flux.
In truth, Sputnik is a little too small to accurately describe the size of my noggin. I have always had a huge cranium, even before the days when my body mass caught up to me. As a kid, I had that whole Pez dispenser thing going on. While I couldn't deliver candy from my neck, the effect was basically the same.
As I gained weight, my head became more proportional. I still had a massive head, and there were plenty of people who never let me forget it. Case in point: as a high school senior, I took a creative writing class. One day, the lesson focused on metaphors and similes. When asked for an example, one particular wise guy grinned smugly and said "Matt's head is as big as Europe."
Interesting choice of words. I don't know how that geography would work, i.e. if my nose were, say, Switzerland, my left ear Poland, and my right ear Ireland. I just know that my head is large, and for those wishing to buy me a gift, I would suggest not going with a fitted baseball cap.
Yet as a big guy, my head was proportional to the rest of my body. The same goes for my facial features. I had bigger ears than many of my classmates, but they seemed to fit me well. The same goes for the nose; while certainly not to the level of Steve Martin in "Roxanne," it's definitely on the larger side. Yet since the rest of me was also oversized, few people would ever look at me and mutter about the size of my schnoz.
My weight loss is up to about 63 pounds. And as much of me is shrinking in a good way, like my waistline and chest, there are other parts that cannot get smaller. As such, my head is starting to look ginormous again, and I've started to be a little subconscious about my ears.
The proportions, however, aren't the real problem. It's the balance. To put it bluntly, my melon's equilibrium is in a funk, and I'm in danger of getting juiced.
Here are just a few examples, all from within the time period of when I began Weight Watchers...
-Several instances of striking my forehead against the door frame of a car. I'd like to think it would just be misjudging the berth of someone else's vehicle, and certainly many of the bonks have been courtesy of Megan's car, but my own Camry has gotten a few good shots on my skull as well. And I've been driving that car for three years now.
-About a month ago, I was sitting at the dining room table at Megan's parents' house. I got up too quickly and forgot about the chandelier hanging overhead. I bumped my cranium right into one of the lamps, which, and there are witnesses to back me up, actually got brighter after making considerable contact with my head.
-Today, I was bringing a load of groceries in from the car. I opened the screen door to the apartment and nailed myself right between the eyes. My head still hurts, and the welt to prove it.
Am I truly worried? Well, not really, but one of these times, I'm going to knock myself out. A concussion is a respectable injury for a quarterback, but just for some goofball carrying groceries inside the house, it's not something to really brag about.
I'm not done yet with losing weight (at the very least, I'm hopeful to keep up the progress). I just hope I'm not going to have to start wearing a bike helmet everywhere I go.
When he hits his head, Roger Rabbit sees stars. I hit mine, and all I see are STATS!
Weeks until wedding: 21.
Pounds lost in Week 28: 0.6
Total weight lost: 62.8 lbs
Percentage toward 60-pound goal: 104.67 percent
Percentage toward new 80-pound goal: 78.5 percent
Weight left to lose before hitting new goal: 17.2 pounds.
Blog Subscribers: 46. No change from last week.
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 28. I'm liking this streak. (just be glad I'm not streaking).
UConn men's NCAA hopes: nil.
And the UConn women: Shouldn't they just get a bye to the final game?
Weight of average person's head: 8 pounds, according to the kid in "Jerry Maguire."
Weight of my head: Guessing about 42 pounds.
If word ever spreads that I'm in some sort of coma, you can bet it has something to do with a self-inflicted head injury.
I've been bumping my head on a regular basis for the past six months. My balance has been off, and for the first time in many years, my equilibrium is in a state of flux.
In truth, Sputnik is a little too small to accurately describe the size of my noggin. I have always had a huge cranium, even before the days when my body mass caught up to me. As a kid, I had that whole Pez dispenser thing going on. While I couldn't deliver candy from my neck, the effect was basically the same.
As I gained weight, my head became more proportional. I still had a massive head, and there were plenty of people who never let me forget it. Case in point: as a high school senior, I took a creative writing class. One day, the lesson focused on metaphors and similes. When asked for an example, one particular wise guy grinned smugly and said "Matt's head is as big as Europe."
Interesting choice of words. I don't know how that geography would work, i.e. if my nose were, say, Switzerland, my left ear Poland, and my right ear Ireland. I just know that my head is large, and for those wishing to buy me a gift, I would suggest not going with a fitted baseball cap.
Yet as a big guy, my head was proportional to the rest of my body. The same goes for my facial features. I had bigger ears than many of my classmates, but they seemed to fit me well. The same goes for the nose; while certainly not to the level of Steve Martin in "Roxanne," it's definitely on the larger side. Yet since the rest of me was also oversized, few people would ever look at me and mutter about the size of my schnoz.
My weight loss is up to about 63 pounds. And as much of me is shrinking in a good way, like my waistline and chest, there are other parts that cannot get smaller. As such, my head is starting to look ginormous again, and I've started to be a little subconscious about my ears.
The proportions, however, aren't the real problem. It's the balance. To put it bluntly, my melon's equilibrium is in a funk, and I'm in danger of getting juiced.
Here are just a few examples, all from within the time period of when I began Weight Watchers...
-Several instances of striking my forehead against the door frame of a car. I'd like to think it would just be misjudging the berth of someone else's vehicle, and certainly many of the bonks have been courtesy of Megan's car, but my own Camry has gotten a few good shots on my skull as well. And I've been driving that car for three years now.
-About a month ago, I was sitting at the dining room table at Megan's parents' house. I got up too quickly and forgot about the chandelier hanging overhead. I bumped my cranium right into one of the lamps, which, and there are witnesses to back me up, actually got brighter after making considerable contact with my head.
-Today, I was bringing a load of groceries in from the car. I opened the screen door to the apartment and nailed myself right between the eyes. My head still hurts, and the welt to prove it.
Am I truly worried? Well, not really, but one of these times, I'm going to knock myself out. A concussion is a respectable injury for a quarterback, but just for some goofball carrying groceries inside the house, it's not something to really brag about.
I'm not done yet with losing weight (at the very least, I'm hopeful to keep up the progress). I just hope I'm not going to have to start wearing a bike helmet everywhere I go.
When he hits his head, Roger Rabbit sees stars. I hit mine, and all I see are STATS!
Weeks until wedding: 21.
Pounds lost in Week 28: 0.6
Total weight lost: 62.8 lbs
Percentage toward 60-pound goal: 104.67 percent
Percentage toward new 80-pound goal: 78.5 percent
Weight left to lose before hitting new goal: 17.2 pounds.
Blog Subscribers: 46. No change from last week.
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 28. I'm liking this streak. (just be glad I'm not streaking).
UConn men's NCAA hopes: nil.
And the UConn women: Shouldn't they just get a bye to the final game?
Weight of average person's head: 8 pounds, according to the kid in "Jerry Maguire."
Weight of my head: Guessing about 42 pounds.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Poolside phobia
It's been quite a while since I allowed the sun to have direct access to my bare chest, outside of the privacy of a fenced backyard.
How long, you might ask? There's a photo of taken circa 1989 that shows me on a beach in Cape Cod. There's little 7-year-old Matt, holding a little pail and a shovel, smiling goofily while wearing a red bathing suit.
And that picture represents the last time I ever let anyone take a photo of me with my shirt off. Hell, come to think of it, that photo might be the last time I've been shirtless in public. Maybe not, but it's been about 15 years since I felt remotely comfortable removing my shirt in front of the prying eyes of strangers, especially girls.
I hate my torso. I have since 9th grade gym class, when I overheard a nasty comment made by a classmate in the locker room. From that day forward, I was the kid who changed for gym class by sneaking into the bathroom stall. I didn't even like bearing my upper arms. In fact, I've had college roommates who have never seen me barechested. I really am that modest.
The worst days of all were gym classes in the swimming pool. Middletown High had a nice Olympic sized pool, a venue where many of my friends have swum for the team and had absolutely no qualms about strutting around in Speedos. To me, however, that pool represented the greatest of my phobias... a place where I would be required to shed my shirt and allow classmates (boys and girls) to see me in my most shameful state.
There were three strategies to employ to overcome this phobia....
1. Change really quickly into the bathing suit and jump into the pool before any of the girls had left their own locker room (worked once or twice before disaster).
2. Wear a shirt into the water and look like the typical fat kid afraid to take off his shirt (hide the skin? Yup, but quite immasculating).
3. Tell Mom that the chlorine in the pool irritated my skin, resulting in a note to the gym teacher (fantastic success rate, but total bull).
Hot summer days were especially tough. By high school, I was not only ashamed of my body's appearance, but also of the way I sweated. As a result, my typical summer wardrobe was a black t-shirt, even on the beach or poolside. Yeah, the black hid the sweat, but oy, the heat and the idiocy of being "that guy."
The farmer's tan, however, was always spectacular.
Swimming pools were so tempting, yet so scary. They offered friends, girls, and chicken fights involving those girls and your friends. Shirts, however, weren't exactly recommended attire. My solution to this problem was to either watch pathetically from the side, or to sit on the edge of the pool with my feet dipped into water, pretending that I didn't want someone to push me in fully clothed.
So now, let's fastforward to the present. I still have some work to do on my body before I feel exactly "beach ready," but the clock is ticking. Why? Well, the honeymoon has been booked, and Megan and I are headed on a Caribbean cruise. It's something I've wanted to do for years. The last time I cruised, it was the Disney variety and I was in 5th grade. I still remember the private island in the Bahamas when I was standing in a lagoon. A large fish swam by my leg. Curious, I turned to my father...
"Dad, what was that?"
"Uh, that was a barricuda."
"... I'm getting out of the water now."
Despite the incident, I've been eager to go again. This time, I'll be a bit older and on my honeymoon (though I still would be happy to see Donald Duck on board). I'll be married, so there won't be any pressure to impress anyone at poolside.
But will the shades of embarassment still be there? Will I still shy away from the sun and hide my torso safely behind a t-shirt and out of view of the fellow cruisers?
Nope.
Look out, Princess Cruises. I'm much lighter, sweating far less than I did in high school, and hopefully by the time we embark, I'll be as cut as I've ever been in my life. And, when I get to the pool, the t-shirt is landing on the deck.
P.S. I have no intention of counting points while on the cruise liner. Diet be damned, I'm laying waste to that buffet...
How long, you might ask? There's a photo of taken circa 1989 that shows me on a beach in Cape Cod. There's little 7-year-old Matt, holding a little pail and a shovel, smiling goofily while wearing a red bathing suit.
And that picture represents the last time I ever let anyone take a photo of me with my shirt off. Hell, come to think of it, that photo might be the last time I've been shirtless in public. Maybe not, but it's been about 15 years since I felt remotely comfortable removing my shirt in front of the prying eyes of strangers, especially girls.
I hate my torso. I have since 9th grade gym class, when I overheard a nasty comment made by a classmate in the locker room. From that day forward, I was the kid who changed for gym class by sneaking into the bathroom stall. I didn't even like bearing my upper arms. In fact, I've had college roommates who have never seen me barechested. I really am that modest.
The worst days of all were gym classes in the swimming pool. Middletown High had a nice Olympic sized pool, a venue where many of my friends have swum for the team and had absolutely no qualms about strutting around in Speedos. To me, however, that pool represented the greatest of my phobias... a place where I would be required to shed my shirt and allow classmates (boys and girls) to see me in my most shameful state.
There were three strategies to employ to overcome this phobia....
1. Change really quickly into the bathing suit and jump into the pool before any of the girls had left their own locker room (worked once or twice before disaster).
2. Wear a shirt into the water and look like the typical fat kid afraid to take off his shirt (hide the skin? Yup, but quite immasculating).
3. Tell Mom that the chlorine in the pool irritated my skin, resulting in a note to the gym teacher (fantastic success rate, but total bull).
Hot summer days were especially tough. By high school, I was not only ashamed of my body's appearance, but also of the way I sweated. As a result, my typical summer wardrobe was a black t-shirt, even on the beach or poolside. Yeah, the black hid the sweat, but oy, the heat and the idiocy of being "that guy."
The farmer's tan, however, was always spectacular.
Swimming pools were so tempting, yet so scary. They offered friends, girls, and chicken fights involving those girls and your friends. Shirts, however, weren't exactly recommended attire. My solution to this problem was to either watch pathetically from the side, or to sit on the edge of the pool with my feet dipped into water, pretending that I didn't want someone to push me in fully clothed.
So now, let's fastforward to the present. I still have some work to do on my body before I feel exactly "beach ready," but the clock is ticking. Why? Well, the honeymoon has been booked, and Megan and I are headed on a Caribbean cruise. It's something I've wanted to do for years. The last time I cruised, it was the Disney variety and I was in 5th grade. I still remember the private island in the Bahamas when I was standing in a lagoon. A large fish swam by my leg. Curious, I turned to my father...
"Dad, what was that?"
"Uh, that was a barricuda."
"... I'm getting out of the water now."
Despite the incident, I've been eager to go again. This time, I'll be a bit older and on my honeymoon (though I still would be happy to see Donald Duck on board). I'll be married, so there won't be any pressure to impress anyone at poolside.
But will the shades of embarassment still be there? Will I still shy away from the sun and hide my torso safely behind a t-shirt and out of view of the fellow cruisers?
Nope.
Look out, Princess Cruises. I'm much lighter, sweating far less than I did in high school, and hopefully by the time we embark, I'll be as cut as I've ever been in my life. And, when I get to the pool, the t-shirt is landing on the deck.
P.S. I have no intention of counting points while on the cruise liner. Diet be damned, I'm laying waste to that buffet...
Friday, March 5, 2010
Super, Svelte Sixty....
For the first time since I started writing this blog, a cute intro is escaping me. I'm having trouble coming up with a witty one-liner to hook you in, and for someone who writes for a living, being short on words is not something very familiar.
But then again, neither is successful weight loss, at least not a goal that at one time seemed so far away and so difficult.
And now, exactly six months after I first stepped on a Weight Watchers scale and four and a half months before I hoped to approach this mark, perhaps I should leave it to three little words to tell the story.
I did it.
I did it, the guy who has struggled with his weight for so much of his life that the idea of diet and exercise seemed so frightening.
I did it, the guy nicknamed "Griff" in the college marching band due to his resemblance to the Family Guy.
I did it, the guy who still gets upset when he remembers being punched in the stomach by "friends" on the basketball court.
I did it, they guy who regularly hides from cameras, is afraid to remove his shirt at the beach, and who used to wonder whether XXL shirts were too small.
Holy crap, Matthew Engelhardt has officially lost more than 60 pounds.
Indeed, my One Shining Moment is here. And I must say, it feels pretty darn good.
I don't know if I've ever followed through with anything like I did on this little challenge of mine. Then again, I've never had this level of support in my life, nor such a reason to want to lose weight. You can scare people all you want with threats of diabetes, heart disease, and all the other scary terms doctors lob at overweight patients.
I needed some more motivation, and I found it in pending marriage. Then I found even more motivation by keeping this blog and worrying about making a fool of myself. Whatever the motivation was, it worked, and if it can happen to me, it can literally can happen to anyone (sorry for the moment of hokiness).
I'll never forget the feeling from Thursday. Megan and I had some wedding stuff to take care of in the afternoon which made attending the regular Weight Watchers meeting impossible. I found a meeting nearby to work, and after one last gym excursion, I found myself wandering into an unfamiliar building filled with faces who had never seen me before.
Six months ago, it took all sorts of coddling to get me into a Weight Watchers meeting. On Thursday, I went by myself, wearing a pair of nylon shorts in front of a group of total strangers.
There was no fanfare, no buildup, just me waiting in line. I stepped on the scale, the woman wrote down my weight, informed me I'd lost three pounds this week (thanks, food poisoning!), congratulated me, and gave me my twelfth five-pound star. With a smug grin on my face, I headed back to work, stopping to buy a baked good for the first time in months, and felt great.
Fittingly for a movie geek like me, it happened just before the Oscars. Aside from cutting down the nets at the Final Four, I've always thought winning an Academy Award would be the greatest thing imaginable. But while I'll never be able to dunk any basketball made by Nerf, and they don't give out Oscars for most Lord of the Rings references in a single conversation, I do have weight loss bling to show off.
So like an Oscar recipient, here are a few thank yous. To Megan, of course, for the motivation and all that comes next. To my parents for getting behind me and Megan's parents for joining in. To Katie, the group leader, and the trainers at the gym, and my coworkers who gave me a supportive ear.
But the most enjoyable part of it all has been this blog. As much as the exercise has done me well, so has writing, and I've been delighted to hear that some people have taken a bit of inspiration.
And I'm not done yet. Sixty pounds feels super and svelte, but there's much more Matt that needs to disappear. So I'll be back at the game come Monday, on the arc trainer burning away the calories and diligently counting my points. There's no reason to stop, so for now, we'll just push up the bar a little higher. Eighty pounds is the new goal, and we're off to one helluva head start...
And with that, here are the most satisfying STATS I've ever posted:
But then again, neither is successful weight loss, at least not a goal that at one time seemed so far away and so difficult.
And now, exactly six months after I first stepped on a Weight Watchers scale and four and a half months before I hoped to approach this mark, perhaps I should leave it to three little words to tell the story.
I did it.
I did it, the guy who has struggled with his weight for so much of his life that the idea of diet and exercise seemed so frightening.
I did it, the guy nicknamed "Griff" in the college marching band due to his resemblance to the Family Guy.
I did it, the guy who still gets upset when he remembers being punched in the stomach by "friends" on the basketball court.
I did it, they guy who regularly hides from cameras, is afraid to remove his shirt at the beach, and who used to wonder whether XXL shirts were too small.
Holy crap, Matthew Engelhardt has officially lost more than 60 pounds.
Indeed, my One Shining Moment is here. And I must say, it feels pretty darn good.
I don't know if I've ever followed through with anything like I did on this little challenge of mine. Then again, I've never had this level of support in my life, nor such a reason to want to lose weight. You can scare people all you want with threats of diabetes, heart disease, and all the other scary terms doctors lob at overweight patients.
I needed some more motivation, and I found it in pending marriage. Then I found even more motivation by keeping this blog and worrying about making a fool of myself. Whatever the motivation was, it worked, and if it can happen to me, it can literally can happen to anyone (sorry for the moment of hokiness).
I'll never forget the feeling from Thursday. Megan and I had some wedding stuff to take care of in the afternoon which made attending the regular Weight Watchers meeting impossible. I found a meeting nearby to work, and after one last gym excursion, I found myself wandering into an unfamiliar building filled with faces who had never seen me before.
Six months ago, it took all sorts of coddling to get me into a Weight Watchers meeting. On Thursday, I went by myself, wearing a pair of nylon shorts in front of a group of total strangers.
There was no fanfare, no buildup, just me waiting in line. I stepped on the scale, the woman wrote down my weight, informed me I'd lost three pounds this week (thanks, food poisoning!), congratulated me, and gave me my twelfth five-pound star. With a smug grin on my face, I headed back to work, stopping to buy a baked good for the first time in months, and felt great.
Fittingly for a movie geek like me, it happened just before the Oscars. Aside from cutting down the nets at the Final Four, I've always thought winning an Academy Award would be the greatest thing imaginable. But while I'll never be able to dunk any basketball made by Nerf, and they don't give out Oscars for most Lord of the Rings references in a single conversation, I do have weight loss bling to show off.
So like an Oscar recipient, here are a few thank yous. To Megan, of course, for the motivation and all that comes next. To my parents for getting behind me and Megan's parents for joining in. To Katie, the group leader, and the trainers at the gym, and my coworkers who gave me a supportive ear.
But the most enjoyable part of it all has been this blog. As much as the exercise has done me well, so has writing, and I've been delighted to hear that some people have taken a bit of inspiration.
And I'm not done yet. Sixty pounds feels super and svelte, but there's much more Matt that needs to disappear. So I'll be back at the game come Monday, on the arc trainer burning away the calories and diligently counting my points. There's no reason to stop, so for now, we'll just push up the bar a little higher. Eighty pounds is the new goal, and we're off to one helluva head start...
And with that, here are the most satisfying STATS I've ever posted:
Weeks until wedding: 22.
Pounds lost in Week 27: 3.0
Total weight lost: 62.2 lbs
Percentage toward 60-pound goal: 104 percent
Percentage toward new 80-pound goal: 78 percent
Weight left to lose before hitting (initial) goal: none
Weight left to lose before hitting new goal: 17.8 pounds. Time for one last piece of carrot cake.
Blog Subscribers: 46. Approaching the half century mark!
UConn's bubble status: not looking so hot.
Matt in a plain white T-shirt: looking much hotter than 6 months ago.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
I hate variables
Don't throw a variable my way. While it may set me off course, it will certainly make me just a wee bit irritable.
By now, some of you might have caught wind that math was never my strongest subject. Algebra especially presented me with more challenge than I could take, and if not for extra help after school and pursuing an enormous amount of pity from goodhearted teachers, I might still be stuck in a hell of augmented matrices and quadratic formulas.
Looking back, I get why I was better at some subjects than others. English was the most natural, with writing as my strength and an inherent love of the printed word. Social Studies? No problem. History is a series of dates and memorable people, geography involves maps (ooooh, pretty colors!), and current events are, well, current. And relevant. Science was a pain, especially chemistry and physics, because they involve math. Give me biology and I'm fine. As long as a frog isn't singing the Rainbow Connection, I have no qualms about performing a dissection.
However, ask me to calculate the velocity of a comet, or to calculate anything more complex than a batting average, and I was screwed.
See, math and all math related subjects try to trick you. They send variables your way in the form of x's and y's and unknowns and aaaahhhhhhhh! They take you out of your comfort zone, and while there may be a definite answer to most mathematical problems, I usually got lost and had a breakdown somewhere on the path to the correct bubble on the answer sheet.
I get it. It's the way that I'm built. I don't like things that throw me out of my comfort zone or take me away from my much cherished routine. There's nothing particularly unique about my own routine, but it's mine and you can't have it. I need sleep, a reasonable amount of production during the day, a hearty laugh or two, a trip to the gym, some time to let my brain decompress, enjoying time with Megan, to watch Jeopardy, and to eat some sort of ice cream derivative. That, to me, is a wonderful day.
But any time something throws me off my course, I get bothered. And right now, my variable comes in the way of a stomach bug. I'll spare you the details, suffice to say I still feel a little bit weak and a whole lot cranky. Actually, cranky is the wrong word. Frazzled describes me at this particular moment.
Having a stomach bug means that I haven't eaten much these past few days. The bonus: if I weighed in right now, I'd have passed the 60 pound goal with room to spare. The downside: I can't go to the gym out of fear that I'll pass out on the treadmill and the belt will keep running, essentially sanding away my face as I lay unconscious in heap (points for dramatic effect!).
I hate this feeling. This morning, despite all logic and the fact that I took a sick day on Monday, I actually packed a gym bag, hopeful that by the end of the work day, my body would be magically ready for some push-ups and crunches. Now, as I feel a little loopy merely from typing at a keyboard, I realize that Megan is right and maybe today isn't the best day to start rock climbing.
I've always been this way, a servant to my routine and frazzled at anything that forces me to do differently. In a way, I'm sure that anal retentiveness to routine is one of the reasons of succeeded in Weight Watchers: you eat something, you write it down, and it gets incorporated into your everyday lifestyle. Makes sense for someone like me.
Yet, here I have a variable, and that familiar algebra class anxiety is seeping in. Maybe I just need a good nap. Maybe it's my body telling me to slow down a bit. And without a doubt, I need to get over being physically sick and mentally unhinged over inability to exercise. I feel like at any second there's going to be a pop quiz and my TI-83 is nowhere to be found.
Maybe by tomorrow afternoon I'll be back on the arc. Or maybe asleep in front of the gym entrance. I'll take all wagers as they come.
By now, some of you might have caught wind that math was never my strongest subject. Algebra especially presented me with more challenge than I could take, and if not for extra help after school and pursuing an enormous amount of pity from goodhearted teachers, I might still be stuck in a hell of augmented matrices and quadratic formulas.
Looking back, I get why I was better at some subjects than others. English was the most natural, with writing as my strength and an inherent love of the printed word. Social Studies? No problem. History is a series of dates and memorable people, geography involves maps (ooooh, pretty colors!), and current events are, well, current. And relevant. Science was a pain, especially chemistry and physics, because they involve math. Give me biology and I'm fine. As long as a frog isn't singing the Rainbow Connection, I have no qualms about performing a dissection.
However, ask me to calculate the velocity of a comet, or to calculate anything more complex than a batting average, and I was screwed.
See, math and all math related subjects try to trick you. They send variables your way in the form of x's and y's and unknowns and aaaahhhhhhhh! They take you out of your comfort zone, and while there may be a definite answer to most mathematical problems, I usually got lost and had a breakdown somewhere on the path to the correct bubble on the answer sheet.
I get it. It's the way that I'm built. I don't like things that throw me out of my comfort zone or take me away from my much cherished routine. There's nothing particularly unique about my own routine, but it's mine and you can't have it. I need sleep, a reasonable amount of production during the day, a hearty laugh or two, a trip to the gym, some time to let my brain decompress, enjoying time with Megan, to watch Jeopardy, and to eat some sort of ice cream derivative. That, to me, is a wonderful day.
But any time something throws me off my course, I get bothered. And right now, my variable comes in the way of a stomach bug. I'll spare you the details, suffice to say I still feel a little bit weak and a whole lot cranky. Actually, cranky is the wrong word. Frazzled describes me at this particular moment.
Having a stomach bug means that I haven't eaten much these past few days. The bonus: if I weighed in right now, I'd have passed the 60 pound goal with room to spare. The downside: I can't go to the gym out of fear that I'll pass out on the treadmill and the belt will keep running, essentially sanding away my face as I lay unconscious in heap (points for dramatic effect!).
I hate this feeling. This morning, despite all logic and the fact that I took a sick day on Monday, I actually packed a gym bag, hopeful that by the end of the work day, my body would be magically ready for some push-ups and crunches. Now, as I feel a little loopy merely from typing at a keyboard, I realize that Megan is right and maybe today isn't the best day to start rock climbing.
I've always been this way, a servant to my routine and frazzled at anything that forces me to do differently. In a way, I'm sure that anal retentiveness to routine is one of the reasons of succeeded in Weight Watchers: you eat something, you write it down, and it gets incorporated into your everyday lifestyle. Makes sense for someone like me.
Yet, here I have a variable, and that familiar algebra class anxiety is seeping in. Maybe I just need a good nap. Maybe it's my body telling me to slow down a bit. And without a doubt, I need to get over being physically sick and mentally unhinged over inability to exercise. I feel like at any second there's going to be a pop quiz and my TI-83 is nowhere to be found.
Maybe by tomorrow afternoon I'll be back on the arc. Or maybe asleep in front of the gym entrance. I'll take all wagers as they come.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
