This the part of the race when the announcer gets all dramatic and starts forgetting to breathe.
Much of the race has already been run; there's only a handful of horses still in contention. The rest have fallen behind, perhaps daydreaming about going out to stud or worrying about a trip to the glue factory. Hell, I don't even care for horse racing and have no real betting interest, but this is the point when I perk up and get ready for the finish.
Of course, I am not a horse. I am not going to make the obligatory Mr. Ed reference there either. I can't even run very fast (but I'm working on it). In nuptial terms, however, I am very much approaching the finish, and it's a bit exhilarating.
In 28 days- that's one month or a movie title later, whether it be a Sandra Bullock chick flick or a zombie thriller- all the buildup will be over. The months of planning (and, let's face it, most of it by Megan) will have been completed. She and I will be married, and in turn, begin the actual marriage part of the whole shebang. There will be no more bachelor parties or bridal showers, at least not for us. We start (excuse the cliche) the rest of our lives, and it is a cool feeling to be where we are.
Part of me feels like Red at the end of Shawshank, excited to be starting a new adventure. But, at the risk of sounding a bit sappy, I know exactly what I am entering. Megan and I have been together for almost three years, and there are few surprises any more. It's nice to have someone who knows every aspect of me, and who fell in love with me when I was less than happy with the way I looked.
She is a remarkable woman and a beloved teacher. Together, we make a great pair, and we are very much ready for getting married. I'm eager to stomp the glass, and even more eager to embark on the honeymoon cruise. Mostly though, I'm eager to make it all official, and to have her as my wife.
Author's note: The sappy part of the blog ends now.
The pending wedding date also means it's almost time to make good on this little pledge o' mine. With less than a month to go, I am currently more than 75 pounds lighter than I was when I started this blog. I hit that figure last week, following another kamikaze few days at the gym. I am less than five pounds away from 80. I have lost more than 25 percent of my body weight.
In effect, Chubby Matt (or Griff, or Big Pun), is disappearing. He's always going to be lurking, but I no longer live in fear of him taking over my life. He has been replaced with a new, sleeker model. It's like trading in the bulky minivan for something sportier and with better gas mileage. Dear lord, it appears my stomach is having a midlife crisis... and I'm only 28 years old.
Seventy-five pounds also means more Weight Watchers bling, should I ever stay through a meeting. Things have been extremely busy lately, and it's been pretty difficult motivating myself to attend an entire meeting any more. At this point in the program, I feel like I know what I need to do. I am motivated to get this done, and I am winning.
I am going to try like hell to get to 80 pounds. Sometimes, you get some extra help when you didn't necessarily want it, like the day after your bachelor party. Most of the time, though, it is a struggle. I know the real battle will be later, when it is time to maintain this body for the rest of my life and not allow myself to go the way of the Duncan yoyo. I have a set goal, and if there's one thing I've learned about myself during this experiment, it's that those goals are more than empty promises to me. They mean something, and there is genuine satisfaction with setting a high mark and being able to reach it.
The other question is what happens with this blog. By my count, over the last 10 months or so, I've posted almost 60 times, and written the equivalent of a novel or memoir. I know I'm not going to continue the blog forever. There will be other goals and quests, and certainly other things to write about. But I worry about losing this crutch. This blog keeps me honest and puts me under the microscope. What happens when I take that away, and no longer have to hold myself accountable to an audience?
The challenges aren't going to cease. Motivation will have to come in different forms.
This has been so much fun. Writing is cathartic, and especially now that my journalistic days are behind me, it's imperative for me to find an outlet. In the weeks to come, I promise there will be more posts, and when I return from the honeymoon, there will be a conclusion. Perhaps- no promises, but just perhaps- there will be some poolside photos of me taken on the ship that I might just get brave enough to post.
So yes, I am in the final stretch, in so many different ways. Here's to a hell of a finish to what has been a tremendous ride.
And STATS is off to a big lead!
Days until wedding: 28. Really, at this point at night, it's closer to 27, but who's counting?
Weight lost in Week 40-41: 2.6 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 40: 75.2 pounds
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 125.33333 percent
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 94 percent
Weight left to lose: 4.8 pounds. That's 1.2 per week. Photo finish!
Things I know about horse racing: Secretariat was a good horsie?
Current obsession: World Cup Soccer, Wendy's as hangover cure
Cure to obsession: All vuvuzela, all the time.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
An ode to Violet Beauregarde....
"Violet, you're turning Violet, Violet!" What an apt quote from what I consider one of the greatest character downfalls of all time.
For those of you not raised on Roald Dahl or Gene Wilder, Violet Beauregarde was one of the five children lucky enough to find a golden ticket to Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. Like everyone except Charlie Bucket, she does not make it through the tour. Her fatal flaw is her love of chewing gum, and when she chews the wrong piece, she becomes the world's largest blueberry.
Violet's endgame was my favorite part of the classic 1971 film (note: as far as I'm concerned, Gene Wilder is Willy Wonka, and Tim Burton's 2005 film can go straight to hell). Now, when I think about the scene, I get a little hungry.
The world's largest blueberry? If it weren't an act of cannibalism, that would be delicious.
For months now, I've craved all things blueberry. Whether pie, yogurt, or one night when I ate an entire container, those little purplish orbs have delighted me as much as chocolate, and that's coming from a man who enjoys his Kit Kat bars.
My best friend and his wife are the parents of an adorable 2-year-old girl. With her, they pulled off a genius ruse. Instead of serving her dessert in the form of cookies or pudding, they gave their daughter blueberries as an after-dinner treat. The result? The little girl now associates blueberries with dessert, and for much of her young life, has desired the fruit among all other snacks.
Yet every time they feed her the blueberries, I secretly get a little jealous. Hell, I'm plenty cute too. Where are my berries?
This craving has me puzzled. For years, I would satisfy hunger (or boredom) with peanut butter, ice cream, bread, chocolate, or a combination of three or more of those things. There really is nothing like a peanut butter sandwich sundae. Now, I'm Jonesing for blueberries or pineapple, and have been ignoring 100-calorie packs of cookies in favor of fruit or yogurt.
What the hell is wrong with me? When did I, a man who once valued Hostess products as highly as currency, become a healthy eater? Why do I now dream about salad instead of fried chicken? And, above all, when did blueberries become my own personal crack-cocaine?
I've heard that pregnant women will often crave foods rich in nutrients their body needs to help their babies develop. Granted, I don't believe that I am pregnant, given the whole "Matt's a dude" thing, but maybe there's some subconscious biochemistry going on here. Blueberries are rich in antioxidants, are low in calories, and are generally considered to be very healthy for you. Pineapple is loaded with Vitamin C, and my other favorite fruit, the banana, is valued for its potassium.
Lately, I've been testing my body to its absolute limits. It's become my norm to burn 1400+ calories in addition to 30 minutes of weight training on an almost daily basis. I've been waking up at 5:30 in the morning in order to get to the gym by 7 and get full workout before heading to the office. Night owl Matt is gone, for the most part: on weeknights, the lights are usually off by 10:30. I'm pretty serious about my commitment here, and a recent visit to the doctor gave me good reason to stay positive and dedicated.
I know that as soon as I stop my little routine, I risk packing the pounds back onto my frame. Yo-yoing is more than common; according to my doctor, about 99 percent of people who have lost 100 pounds end up gaining it all back. Going back to my worst weight, I've lost about 105 pounds.
I don't want to be among the 99 percent. I've worked too hard, and it would be a shame to revert back to the days of having people tell me I look like Peter Griffin.
So maybe my body is craving fruit for a good reason. I need to get those vitamins and potassium from somewhere, and as nice as Fiber-One bars taste, I'd much rather have a banana. And, hopefully, these new healthy eating habits will continue for a long time.
So bring on the Yoplait. And, if you see Violet Beauregarde around, give her a wink and send her my love.
You know what goes great with blueberry pie? Some STATS a la mode!
Days until wedding: 39. Holy Schnikes.
Weight lost in Week 38: 2.2 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 34: 72.6 pounds
Estimated amount of weight lost since last official weigh-in: 1.4 pounds
Total estimated weight loss, based on gym scale: 74 pounds.
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 123.3333 percent
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 92.5 percent
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 1
Weight left to lose: 6 pounds. I got this!
Favorite foods with blueberries: scones, muffins, yogurt, pie, pie, pie, buckle, cobbler, or just let me dive into a blueberry bucket
Attitude toward strawberries: bah. Gross berry with bad texture. Stay the hell away from my chocolate and vanilla ice cream and get your own damn carton!
For those of you not raised on Roald Dahl or Gene Wilder, Violet Beauregarde was one of the five children lucky enough to find a golden ticket to Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. Like everyone except Charlie Bucket, she does not make it through the tour. Her fatal flaw is her love of chewing gum, and when she chews the wrong piece, she becomes the world's largest blueberry.
Violet's endgame was my favorite part of the classic 1971 film (note: as far as I'm concerned, Gene Wilder is Willy Wonka, and Tim Burton's 2005 film can go straight to hell). Now, when I think about the scene, I get a little hungry.
The world's largest blueberry? If it weren't an act of cannibalism, that would be delicious.
For months now, I've craved all things blueberry. Whether pie, yogurt, or one night when I ate an entire container, those little purplish orbs have delighted me as much as chocolate, and that's coming from a man who enjoys his Kit Kat bars.
My best friend and his wife are the parents of an adorable 2-year-old girl. With her, they pulled off a genius ruse. Instead of serving her dessert in the form of cookies or pudding, they gave their daughter blueberries as an after-dinner treat. The result? The little girl now associates blueberries with dessert, and for much of her young life, has desired the fruit among all other snacks.
Yet every time they feed her the blueberries, I secretly get a little jealous. Hell, I'm plenty cute too. Where are my berries?
This craving has me puzzled. For years, I would satisfy hunger (or boredom) with peanut butter, ice cream, bread, chocolate, or a combination of three or more of those things. There really is nothing like a peanut butter sandwich sundae. Now, I'm Jonesing for blueberries or pineapple, and have been ignoring 100-calorie packs of cookies in favor of fruit or yogurt.
What the hell is wrong with me? When did I, a man who once valued Hostess products as highly as currency, become a healthy eater? Why do I now dream about salad instead of fried chicken? And, above all, when did blueberries become my own personal crack-cocaine?
I've heard that pregnant women will often crave foods rich in nutrients their body needs to help their babies develop. Granted, I don't believe that I am pregnant, given the whole "Matt's a dude" thing, but maybe there's some subconscious biochemistry going on here. Blueberries are rich in antioxidants, are low in calories, and are generally considered to be very healthy for you. Pineapple is loaded with Vitamin C, and my other favorite fruit, the banana, is valued for its potassium.
Lately, I've been testing my body to its absolute limits. It's become my norm to burn 1400+ calories in addition to 30 minutes of weight training on an almost daily basis. I've been waking up at 5:30 in the morning in order to get to the gym by 7 and get full workout before heading to the office. Night owl Matt is gone, for the most part: on weeknights, the lights are usually off by 10:30. I'm pretty serious about my commitment here, and a recent visit to the doctor gave me good reason to stay positive and dedicated.
I know that as soon as I stop my little routine, I risk packing the pounds back onto my frame. Yo-yoing is more than common; according to my doctor, about 99 percent of people who have lost 100 pounds end up gaining it all back. Going back to my worst weight, I've lost about 105 pounds.
I don't want to be among the 99 percent. I've worked too hard, and it would be a shame to revert back to the days of having people tell me I look like Peter Griffin.
So maybe my body is craving fruit for a good reason. I need to get those vitamins and potassium from somewhere, and as nice as Fiber-One bars taste, I'd much rather have a banana. And, hopefully, these new healthy eating habits will continue for a long time.
So bring on the Yoplait. And, if you see Violet Beauregarde around, give her a wink and send her my love.
You know what goes great with blueberry pie? Some STATS a la mode!
Days until wedding: 39. Holy Schnikes.
Weight lost in Week 38: 2.2 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 34: 72.6 pounds
Estimated amount of weight lost since last official weigh-in: 1.4 pounds
Total estimated weight loss, based on gym scale: 74 pounds.
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 123.3333 percent
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 92.5 percent
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 1
Weight left to lose: 6 pounds. I got this!
Favorite foods with blueberries: scones, muffins, yogurt, pie, pie, pie, buckle, cobbler, or just let me dive into a blueberry bucket
Attitude toward strawberries: bah. Gross berry with bad texture. Stay the hell away from my chocolate and vanilla ice cream and get your own damn carton!
Friday, May 21, 2010
A streak shattered
The streak is over.
The 1972 Dolphins can uncork their champagne. Joe DiMaggio and Cal Ripken have nothing to worry about. Maya Moore and company over at UConn can rest assured that my own personal weight loss streak has come to a close, and while not nearly impressive as the women winning something like 958 consecutive games, I was on a pretty good run.
How good? Since I began Weight Watchers, this blog, and the linking quest to lose 60 pounds by the wedding, I had not experienced a single weigh-in where I actually added pounds to my frame.
There were times when I stayed flat, others where I posted significant losses, and many more weigh-ins where my weight would drop incrementally. I had a system down: be very good about counting points from Monday-Thursday afternoon. Bust my butt at the gym, burning anywhere from 1,000 to 1,500 calories per workout. Get weighed on Thursday, then allow myself to take a few liberties from Thursday night through Sunday. Come Monday (again with the Jimmy Buffett), Indulgent Matt would once again give way to Intense, Obsessive Matt, and any pounds gained over the weekend would be gone within a couple of workouts.
When my body fat percentage was much higher and I had many more pounds to lose, the process worked without fail. But 70 -plus pounds later, there's not as much to lose, my metabolism is catching up with me, and I haven't made all the dietary changes necessary. I accept that, and I know I have to be better, otherwise 80 pounds is never going to happen.
Above all things, weight loss is about self control. I've never been an alcoholic or a drug addict, and thankfully I've never found myself on the business end of an intervention. My understanding is, however, that a person cannot change unless they accept that change is necessary. That philosophy was at the heart of my problems with weight, and likely will continue for the rest of my life.
For years, I was comfortable with being the friendly fat guy. I figured everyone loved having a chubby, funny, and huggable lout around, so in a way, I decided I was serving a role to society. But then you look at all the side effects of obesity, and you realize you are paying a huge price, and not just in terms of health. I was unhappy, and change was necessary. It's taken a great deal of discipline, more than I've ever required for any endeavor I've taken. But it has paid off in spades.
Since 2005, I have lost more than 100 pounds. At the risk of personal shame, I'll state the truth right here. At my worst, I weighed well more than 300 pounds. When I look back at those photos, I feel ill. I never want to look like that and feel like that again, especially given the many blessings in my life. I have plenty that I need and want to be healthy for, so why is temptation creeping back in?
The answer: temptation is natural. Everyone experiences it in some form. Mine comes in food. Megan and I are now less than two months from our wedding date. With the bridal showers and weekends with family come heaps of incredible goodies. Last weekend, red velvet cupcakes were my Waterloo, coupled with too much pizza and cookies consumed merely because they were there.
I overindulged, and for the first time, I wasn't able to make it up at the gym. I tried my best, but on Thursday, I was a pound heavier than I was the previous week.
The defeatist in me wanted to beat me up. However, the defeatist has to compete with a the new optimist that has emerged, and as such, I have a decision to make. Do I scrap my quest and decide I've done all I can? Hell no. There's still bathing suits to consider. Was this a wake-up call? Unquestionably, and unlike many an early morning, I refuse to hit the snooze button.
Then, there's this: gaining the occasional pound is part of the weight loss process (that according to the Weight Watchers leader). People go up and down, week by week, but as long as the overall trend is downward, I should be okay.
The temptations are not going to stop. Let's see how much self control I possess, and by all means, let's start a new streak next week.
Some red velvet STATS!
Days until wedding: 58.
Weight lost in Week 36: 0.4 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 34: 71.4 lbs
Weight lost in Week 37: + 1 lb. Call the Pentagon, we've got an emergency!
Total weight loss after Week 36: 70.4 pounds Cancel the Pentagon, we should have this under control.
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 117.3333 percent
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 88 percent
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 0
Weight left to lose: 9.6 lbs. Look out, elliptical. I'll be kicking your butt regularly.
Interesting nugget of new job: I am in charge of the college's Facebook account. hehehehe.
Number of town meetings sat through this week: not a one. Ah, academia.
The 1972 Dolphins can uncork their champagne. Joe DiMaggio and Cal Ripken have nothing to worry about. Maya Moore and company over at UConn can rest assured that my own personal weight loss streak has come to a close, and while not nearly impressive as the women winning something like 958 consecutive games, I was on a pretty good run.
How good? Since I began Weight Watchers, this blog, and the linking quest to lose 60 pounds by the wedding, I had not experienced a single weigh-in where I actually added pounds to my frame.
There were times when I stayed flat, others where I posted significant losses, and many more weigh-ins where my weight would drop incrementally. I had a system down: be very good about counting points from Monday-Thursday afternoon. Bust my butt at the gym, burning anywhere from 1,000 to 1,500 calories per workout. Get weighed on Thursday, then allow myself to take a few liberties from Thursday night through Sunday. Come Monday (again with the Jimmy Buffett), Indulgent Matt would once again give way to Intense, Obsessive Matt, and any pounds gained over the weekend would be gone within a couple of workouts.
When my body fat percentage was much higher and I had many more pounds to lose, the process worked without fail. But 70 -plus pounds later, there's not as much to lose, my metabolism is catching up with me, and I haven't made all the dietary changes necessary. I accept that, and I know I have to be better, otherwise 80 pounds is never going to happen.
Above all things, weight loss is about self control. I've never been an alcoholic or a drug addict, and thankfully I've never found myself on the business end of an intervention. My understanding is, however, that a person cannot change unless they accept that change is necessary. That philosophy was at the heart of my problems with weight, and likely will continue for the rest of my life.
For years, I was comfortable with being the friendly fat guy. I figured everyone loved having a chubby, funny, and huggable lout around, so in a way, I decided I was serving a role to society. But then you look at all the side effects of obesity, and you realize you are paying a huge price, and not just in terms of health. I was unhappy, and change was necessary. It's taken a great deal of discipline, more than I've ever required for any endeavor I've taken. But it has paid off in spades.
Since 2005, I have lost more than 100 pounds. At the risk of personal shame, I'll state the truth right here. At my worst, I weighed well more than 300 pounds. When I look back at those photos, I feel ill. I never want to look like that and feel like that again, especially given the many blessings in my life. I have plenty that I need and want to be healthy for, so why is temptation creeping back in?
The answer: temptation is natural. Everyone experiences it in some form. Mine comes in food. Megan and I are now less than two months from our wedding date. With the bridal showers and weekends with family come heaps of incredible goodies. Last weekend, red velvet cupcakes were my Waterloo, coupled with too much pizza and cookies consumed merely because they were there.
I overindulged, and for the first time, I wasn't able to make it up at the gym. I tried my best, but on Thursday, I was a pound heavier than I was the previous week.
The defeatist in me wanted to beat me up. However, the defeatist has to compete with a the new optimist that has emerged, and as such, I have a decision to make. Do I scrap my quest and decide I've done all I can? Hell no. There's still bathing suits to consider. Was this a wake-up call? Unquestionably, and unlike many an early morning, I refuse to hit the snooze button.
Then, there's this: gaining the occasional pound is part of the weight loss process (that according to the Weight Watchers leader). People go up and down, week by week, but as long as the overall trend is downward, I should be okay.
The temptations are not going to stop. Let's see how much self control I possess, and by all means, let's start a new streak next week.
Some red velvet STATS!
Days until wedding: 58.
Weight lost in Week 36: 0.4 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 34: 71.4 lbs
Weight lost in Week 37: + 1 lb. Call the Pentagon, we've got an emergency!
Total weight loss after Week 36: 70.4 pounds Cancel the Pentagon, we should have this under control.
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 117.3333 percent
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 88 percent
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 0
Weight left to lose: 9.6 lbs. Look out, elliptical. I'll be kicking your butt regularly.
Interesting nugget of new job: I am in charge of the college's Facebook account. hehehehe.
Number of town meetings sat through this week: not a one. Ah, academia.
Friday, May 7, 2010
More changes than merely measurements
Let's paint the scene a bit before we begin...
9:16 a.m. on May 6, 2010. Shots are fired at an East Hartford apartment complex. Three people are killed, a fourth is shot. The police department's PIO is meeting with media as investigators try to figure out what happened. Reporters from every television and newspaper outlet in the state is swarming, looking for information. At the JI, second deadline is fast approaching, and breaking the story in time for the afternoon paper is critical.
Had this all happened on May 5, I would have have been one of those reporters on the scene. On Thursday, however, I was watching it all unfold on TV news, checking for updates on the computer, and reading Facebook postings from journalists.
The shooting happened the very next day after I left the Journal Inquirer and five years of reporting, a career that started outside of San Diego, led me home to Middletown, and brought me to the scene of many breaking news events in East Hartford. I've covered homicides, murder trials, the state legislature, feuding ice cream truck drivers, plenty of education matters, ComicCon, renegade emus running amok, and even competitive eating contests. I've also had my image frequently on the second page, announcing the latest results of my weight loss progress and inviting everyone to read along.
Come Monday (ah, Jimmy Buffett), that's all over. I begin work as a communications coordinator for Goodwin College, and I have bid farewell to the JI newsroom. Frankly, it's a weird feeling... I know it's the right move, but alas, five years is five years. I've been a reporter longer than I was a college student or just about anything else. I'm excited too. This is going to be a great change, and I am ready for it.
Of course, it is heaping another big change in my life onto an already tall pile. In 2 and a half months, I'm getting married. I've lost 71 pounds and counting within the last eight months or so. I am working toward a Master's degree in education and certification to teach high school English. Now, in the midst of all of that, I'm changing careers. Might be a good time for me to take a deep breath. But all these changes are for the better. I have absolutely no doubt about that.
And with all these changes, I am determined that my physical measurements will continue to get better. According to my most recent figures, I've lost about eight inches off my waist and chest. My arms are getting slightly bigger, while my shoulders are losing their broadness. My head, however, continues to be massive and the recipient of many a bruise.
The new job is going to mean (gulp) a new routine. Through this personal challenge, the gym has been my destination during every weekday afternoon or mid morning, depending on my work schedule. Now I'll no longer have to worry about night meetings, so goodbye, split shifts. Instead of starting the day around 7, my mornings will now start at 9. As a result, I'm moving my workouts to the morning, meaning that by 7:30 a.m. on week days, I'll be treadmilling away.
A couple things to get used to here. First, getting ready for work in a locker room surrounded by strangers in various stages of undress. High school Matt didn't even like taking off his shirt in the locker room; now he'll be waiting in line for a shower. That definitely could take some time to adapt.
Second, a person's body weight changes throughout the day. Typically, you are lightest after you wake up and your stomach has had nothing to digest for several hours. By the end of the day, I can be seven pounds heavier after three meals, various snacks, and all the liquid that has been consumed. Weight Watcher weigh-ins, meanwhile, are in the late afternoon, usually after I've had my "last chance workout" to burn away whatever breakfast and lunch calories are in my system. This tactic has been effective- I can be as much as five pounds lighter by the time I finish exercising. At the same time, I usually appear as if someone has pushed me in the pool. Oh well.
I'm interested to see whether the routine change will yield new results, positive or negative. Varying routine is supposedly good for weight loss, but I've come to rely on that Thursday afternoon blitzkrieg. I just hope the stats continue to be reasons for celebration.
So farewell to the newsroom, the bylines, and the crime scenes. For a while, you've been all I've known as a professional, and, as crazy as it sometimes made me, I'll miss the scrambling around. It's much harder to say goodbye to the friends, and thankfully, I don't really have to do that. I'll be close enough that a lunch is always a possibility.
And the Great Wedding Fast will continue, though the author will soon have a new business card.
Past deadline, I'm filing some STATS!
Days until wedding: 72. Just about 10 weeks.
Weight lost in Week 33-34: 2.2 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 34: 70.2 lbs
Weight lost in Week 35: 0.8 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 35: 71 pounds
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 118.3333 percent
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 88.75 B+
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 35
Weight left to lose: 9 lbs. That's less than a pound a week. Can it be done?
Towns written about during years as reporter: San Diego, Chula Vista, El Cajon, Lemon Grove, and La Mesa, CA; Middlefield, Durham, Middletown, Cromwell, Portland, East Hampton, East Haddam, Haddam, New Haven, Meriden, North Haven, South Windsor, East Hartford, Manchester, Windsor, Hartford, Storrs, Glastonbury, East Windsor, Bolton, Hebron, Enfield, Windsor Locks, Tolland, CT.
Rough estimate of bylines: 2,300.
Most obscure story: tie between the ice cream truck duel and the emu.
9:16 a.m. on May 6, 2010. Shots are fired at an East Hartford apartment complex. Three people are killed, a fourth is shot. The police department's PIO is meeting with media as investigators try to figure out what happened. Reporters from every television and newspaper outlet in the state is swarming, looking for information. At the JI, second deadline is fast approaching, and breaking the story in time for the afternoon paper is critical.
Had this all happened on May 5, I would have have been one of those reporters on the scene. On Thursday, however, I was watching it all unfold on TV news, checking for updates on the computer, and reading Facebook postings from journalists.
The shooting happened the very next day after I left the Journal Inquirer and five years of reporting, a career that started outside of San Diego, led me home to Middletown, and brought me to the scene of many breaking news events in East Hartford. I've covered homicides, murder trials, the state legislature, feuding ice cream truck drivers, plenty of education matters, ComicCon, renegade emus running amok, and even competitive eating contests. I've also had my image frequently on the second page, announcing the latest results of my weight loss progress and inviting everyone to read along.
Come Monday (ah, Jimmy Buffett), that's all over. I begin work as a communications coordinator for Goodwin College, and I have bid farewell to the JI newsroom. Frankly, it's a weird feeling... I know it's the right move, but alas, five years is five years. I've been a reporter longer than I was a college student or just about anything else. I'm excited too. This is going to be a great change, and I am ready for it.
Of course, it is heaping another big change in my life onto an already tall pile. In 2 and a half months, I'm getting married. I've lost 71 pounds and counting within the last eight months or so. I am working toward a Master's degree in education and certification to teach high school English. Now, in the midst of all of that, I'm changing careers. Might be a good time for me to take a deep breath. But all these changes are for the better. I have absolutely no doubt about that.
And with all these changes, I am determined that my physical measurements will continue to get better. According to my most recent figures, I've lost about eight inches off my waist and chest. My arms are getting slightly bigger, while my shoulders are losing their broadness. My head, however, continues to be massive and the recipient of many a bruise.
The new job is going to mean (gulp) a new routine. Through this personal challenge, the gym has been my destination during every weekday afternoon or mid morning, depending on my work schedule. Now I'll no longer have to worry about night meetings, so goodbye, split shifts. Instead of starting the day around 7, my mornings will now start at 9. As a result, I'm moving my workouts to the morning, meaning that by 7:30 a.m. on week days, I'll be treadmilling away.
A couple things to get used to here. First, getting ready for work in a locker room surrounded by strangers in various stages of undress. High school Matt didn't even like taking off his shirt in the locker room; now he'll be waiting in line for a shower. That definitely could take some time to adapt.
Second, a person's body weight changes throughout the day. Typically, you are lightest after you wake up and your stomach has had nothing to digest for several hours. By the end of the day, I can be seven pounds heavier after three meals, various snacks, and all the liquid that has been consumed. Weight Watcher weigh-ins, meanwhile, are in the late afternoon, usually after I've had my "last chance workout" to burn away whatever breakfast and lunch calories are in my system. This tactic has been effective- I can be as much as five pounds lighter by the time I finish exercising. At the same time, I usually appear as if someone has pushed me in the pool. Oh well.
I'm interested to see whether the routine change will yield new results, positive or negative. Varying routine is supposedly good for weight loss, but I've come to rely on that Thursday afternoon blitzkrieg. I just hope the stats continue to be reasons for celebration.
So farewell to the newsroom, the bylines, and the crime scenes. For a while, you've been all I've known as a professional, and, as crazy as it sometimes made me, I'll miss the scrambling around. It's much harder to say goodbye to the friends, and thankfully, I don't really have to do that. I'll be close enough that a lunch is always a possibility.
And the Great Wedding Fast will continue, though the author will soon have a new business card.
Past deadline, I'm filing some STATS!
Days until wedding: 72. Just about 10 weeks.
Weight lost in Week 33-34: 2.2 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 34: 70.2 lbs
Weight lost in Week 35: 0.8 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 35: 71 pounds
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 118.3333 percent
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 88.75 B+
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 35
Weight left to lose: 9 lbs. That's less than a pound a week. Can it be done?
Towns written about during years as reporter: San Diego, Chula Vista, El Cajon, Lemon Grove, and La Mesa, CA; Middlefield, Durham, Middletown, Cromwell, Portland, East Hampton, East Haddam, Haddam, New Haven, Meriden, North Haven, South Windsor, East Hartford, Manchester, Windsor, Hartford, Storrs, Glastonbury, East Windsor, Bolton, Hebron, Enfield, Windsor Locks, Tolland, CT.
Rough estimate of bylines: 2,300.
Most obscure story: tie between the ice cream truck duel and the emu.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Push for Every Pound
For those who follow the old cliche that the "last 10 pounds are hardest..." well, they're right, and boo to that.
I'm starting to fondly remember the big number weigh-ins. The first couple months of Weight Watchers, there was little reason to fret when getting on the scale. I knew I was losing impressive amounts of weight on a weekly basis, and it was never a question of "did I lose any weight?", but rather "how many pounds are gone this week?"
That lasted, literally, about 45 pounds. I was putting up huge numbers every week. Four pounds, 7 pounds, 8 pounds... the chub seemed to be falling off of me-- which, when you think about it, is a bit of a disturbing visual. If it looked easy, quite frankly, it felt that way sometimes. It was mostly about diet back then, following a point system carefully, and exercising moderately. I didn't need to torture myself through 1,500-calorie workouts to ensure a good week.
Now, let's hit the "Live TV" button on the remote (Thank heavens for DVR). Yes, I have reached my initial 60-pound goal, and there have been no relapse weeks. Eighty pounds, however, is starting to feel elusive, like a tall building that is slowly coming closer, but distant enough that you know it's probably too far to walk.
The wedding is now less than three months away. That means about 12 weigh--ins, and 90 days or so to make good on my goal. It's Thursday today, but there won't be a weigh-in for me tonight as the result of a softball game. I'm confident that if I stepped on a scale (following my murderous last chance workout, of course), I would post another loss this week. However, if pushed to guess, I'd say the loss would be in the 0.something range, rather than a figure with a nice crooked number at the front of it.
According to the home jerk scale, I'm about 11 pounds away. That's close enough to consider the "last 10 pounds" cliche. And, if I still had the body fat percentage that I did when I started, those 11 pounds could easily be gone within a month.
Yet my body is changing-- for the better, as opposed to in those weird ways described in by awkward sexual education teachers. I daresay I'm showing some signs of muscle tone. I know longer look at myself and see a double-chin and bulging belly. I am even wearing some brands of shirts without any "extra" to the "large." These are wonderful signs of progress and I have many reasons to be proud of my progress.
But a promise is a promise, even if it is an arbitrary number. I want to hit that 80-pound mark. My workouts, which once were easy-going, are now brutal. On some days, I'm burning as much as 1600 calories in one session. My trainer actually told me I was a bit weak for my size, and that only lit the fire more, to the extent of more arm curls and push-ups than I've ever done before. Heck, a few weekends ago, Megan and I walked/ran (alright, mostly walked) a 4-mile stretch.
I'm eating less as well. Oh, I still pack a wallop during a meal (this is me, after all), but I am carefully counting points. To be more accurate, I'm carefully counting points between Monday and Thursday and allowing myself to indulge a bit too much on the weekends, but I am still relatively focused.
Yet every pound now feels like a major push. I know that if I am to reach my goal, those weekend indulgences will have to be reduced. I also know there are some major hurdles coming up, not too mention a professional change that I'll get into in a posting yet to be written. It's time for me to "hold, or cut bowstrings," as the old saying goes (and what it actually means, I haven't a clue).
One last push. It begins now... well, at least tomorrow, after trivia night at the bar.
You can't handle the STATS! (Yay, forgotten 90s movie reference!)
Days until wedding: 87. I can taste the cake already.
Weight Lost in Week 32: 0.6 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 32: 68 lbs
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 113.3333 percent
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 85 percent
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 32
Scouting report on my softball skills: fly ball pull hitter, weak glove, infield chatterer, prefers pitchers to belly-itchers
More challenging than necessary: Finding a left-handed baseball glove
Weight left to lose: 12 lbs
XXL shirts remaining in closet: handful
Those shirts now look: comically big
I'm starting to fondly remember the big number weigh-ins. The first couple months of Weight Watchers, there was little reason to fret when getting on the scale. I knew I was losing impressive amounts of weight on a weekly basis, and it was never a question of "did I lose any weight?", but rather "how many pounds are gone this week?"
That lasted, literally, about 45 pounds. I was putting up huge numbers every week. Four pounds, 7 pounds, 8 pounds... the chub seemed to be falling off of me-- which, when you think about it, is a bit of a disturbing visual. If it looked easy, quite frankly, it felt that way sometimes. It was mostly about diet back then, following a point system carefully, and exercising moderately. I didn't need to torture myself through 1,500-calorie workouts to ensure a good week.
Now, let's hit the "Live TV" button on the remote (Thank heavens for DVR). Yes, I have reached my initial 60-pound goal, and there have been no relapse weeks. Eighty pounds, however, is starting to feel elusive, like a tall building that is slowly coming closer, but distant enough that you know it's probably too far to walk.
The wedding is now less than three months away. That means about 12 weigh--ins, and 90 days or so to make good on my goal. It's Thursday today, but there won't be a weigh-in for me tonight as the result of a softball game. I'm confident that if I stepped on a scale (following my murderous last chance workout, of course), I would post another loss this week. However, if pushed to guess, I'd say the loss would be in the 0.something range, rather than a figure with a nice crooked number at the front of it.
According to the home jerk scale, I'm about 11 pounds away. That's close enough to consider the "last 10 pounds" cliche. And, if I still had the body fat percentage that I did when I started, those 11 pounds could easily be gone within a month.
Yet my body is changing-- for the better, as opposed to in those weird ways described in by awkward sexual education teachers. I daresay I'm showing some signs of muscle tone. I know longer look at myself and see a double-chin and bulging belly. I am even wearing some brands of shirts without any "extra" to the "large." These are wonderful signs of progress and I have many reasons to be proud of my progress.
But a promise is a promise, even if it is an arbitrary number. I want to hit that 80-pound mark. My workouts, which once were easy-going, are now brutal. On some days, I'm burning as much as 1600 calories in one session. My trainer actually told me I was a bit weak for my size, and that only lit the fire more, to the extent of more arm curls and push-ups than I've ever done before. Heck, a few weekends ago, Megan and I walked/ran (alright, mostly walked) a 4-mile stretch.
I'm eating less as well. Oh, I still pack a wallop during a meal (this is me, after all), but I am carefully counting points. To be more accurate, I'm carefully counting points between Monday and Thursday and allowing myself to indulge a bit too much on the weekends, but I am still relatively focused.
Yet every pound now feels like a major push. I know that if I am to reach my goal, those weekend indulgences will have to be reduced. I also know there are some major hurdles coming up, not too mention a professional change that I'll get into in a posting yet to be written. It's time for me to "hold, or cut bowstrings," as the old saying goes (and what it actually means, I haven't a clue).
One last push. It begins now... well, at least tomorrow, after trivia night at the bar.
You can't handle the STATS! (Yay, forgotten 90s movie reference!)
Days until wedding: 87. I can taste the cake already.
Weight Lost in Week 32: 0.6 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 32: 68 lbs
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 113.3333 percent
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 85 percent
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 32
Scouting report on my softball skills: fly ball pull hitter, weak glove, infield chatterer, prefers pitchers to belly-itchers
More challenging than necessary: Finding a left-handed baseball glove
Weight left to lose: 12 lbs
XXL shirts remaining in closet: handful
Those shirts now look: comically big
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Way beyond the Figure Eight...
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.
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.
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.
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