Two a Days...

So earlier this week, I experienced a very strange sensation.  I had the urge to exercise...twice...in one day.  Apparently there's a word for this in the "biz"...it's Two-A-Days.  Maybe that is more of a phrase. A hyphenated word.  Either way--it happened.  Not once, but twice.  In one week!  It was crazy.

After completing my morning hot yoga on Wednesday and Thursday, I scheduled myself a spin class at my new cycling studio, Handle Bar in South Boston.

I truly have no idea where the energy or desire to do this came from, but holding fast to my current approach of "don't ask questions" I just went with it.

So here is the downside...when I am working out like I normally do, I tend to keep my expectations "normal."  There's no expectation that the scale is going to plummet overnight or that I will magically see my abs overnight.  Unfortunately, I have found that my hopes have doubled along with my exercise.

Oddly, I actually gained weight the day after my first two-a-day and things still haven't settled down.  There are probably a thousand reasons for this and I am prone to think that the gain reflected inflammation and, perhaps, some muscle gain.  Regardless, it is very frustrating to increase your effort and see the scale move in the opposite direction.

Alright, perhaps all this fitness blogging is a little lame.  But, it's helpful for me to put this stuff on paper...well, "paper."  So stay tuned for some non-fitness stuff.  Much more chicken soup for the soul--or at least bisque for the body.  So similar, but thicker.  And with lobster.

Sunday Funday

As per usual, I woke up at the old person hour of 6:00 a.m.  I literally can't sleep passed 7 to save my life.  But, of course, I did go to bed at 10:00 p.m., so....

Today I am heading to a 90 minute yoga class and then heading to brunch.  The class doesn't start until 10, so I have another hour to waste.  And this is the downside of group fitness classes versus running or individual practice.  You have to wait until an appointed time.  I just want to start when I want to start, which was 2 hours ago...because I would have been done for 30 minutes already!

I have nothing of any real interest to add to that.  Just trying to get back in the habit of updating this page on a regular basis.

Tim

Holidays...What Holidays?

That's right folks.  As of yesterday, I have officially lost all of my holiday second helpings.  Plus 1 additional pound...just for good measure.

Merry Christmas to me!

It is absolutely freezing cold here in Boston as I write this entry.  Wind chill this morning was negative 16 degrees.  My face wanted to crack in half on my walk to work.  Never fear however!  my face is fully intact...no promises regarding the walk home. 

I don't typically go to hot yoga at night, but thinking tonight I might sign up.  And take a book.  And a blanket.  And refuse to leave.

Tim

Fly on the Wall...then on the Floor

If I workout, I try and prefer to workout in the morning before work.  On the weekends, I tend to wake up early and run or do whatever it is I am going to do, because (i) I like to get it over with and (ii) there is an undeniable sense of superiority that comes with voluntarily doing anything before 7 a.m. on a Saturday.

Not long ago, after a morning yoga session, I announced to my colleagues that I thought I would go to yoga again that day, for a second class.  Based on the reaction I received, you would have thought I had told them....I don't know...something controversial and also funny.  I simply responded, "Listen, if you're me and your body has the urge to workout more, you do not, under any circumstances, question it."

So today, on January 1, 2014--a day when I was meant to stay in bed or, at most, brunch leisurely, I couldn't ignore the feeling that I needed to work out.  My last yoga session was on Sunday and I hadn't really be exerting much of anything the last two days and particularly not effort.  My lingering cold was finally in remission and my boredom with the day was mounting by the minute.  Health Yoga Life was closed for the holiday, so I had to look elsewhere.

Enter Flywheel Sports.  One of several "boutique" spin studios serving the Greater Boston area.  Apparently there are a few ultra-posh versions of these seemingly simple workout meccas, including Soul Cycle and, here in Boston, ReCycle.  All of the companies differ slightly (one offers free shoes, another better branding, another the self-satisfaction of sponsoring a local business--and likely telling everyone that is the reason you go there) but they all offer the promise of an exciting spin class experience.  Oh, additionally, they are all crazy expensive.  A drop in class at Flywheel will set you back $28.  It lasts 45 mins.

A couple things:  (i) I have never been to a spin class and (ii) I am poor.  However, Flywheel, as it happens, offers a free class for every first time guest.  With no excuse (other than the freezing, freezing, freezing temperatures) I signed up online and booked myself a bike in the back row.

By the time I walked the 1.5 miles to the Prudential Center mall, I was convinced that no amount of pedaling could thaw out my frozen and brittle body.  I was wrong.  

Richard, our affable guide through the 45 minute spin adventure, introduced himself personally to each of us and gave me a few words of advice as a first-timer.  Apparently, I didn't need to worry about the Torq (TM/sic), I should, instead, focus on my pace.  "You should feel like you're dancing." said Richard.  And 45 minutes later, I did.  I felt exactly like I was dancing with a clunky metal partner and a broom stick shoved up my ass.

To paint the scene a bit more fully, Flywheel is a stadium cycling experience.  So, like fancy movie theaters and football arenas, everyone has a clear view of the action.  As mentioned before, I choose a seat in the back row.  As luck would have it the bike was also next to a wall on my right hand side, providing almost complete privacy for my personal sweat session.  The other bikes (there are 48 total in the room, I would say 40 of them were occupied) were filled by about $15,000 worth of lululemon apparel which was in turn occupied by various sized white women and four white men.

From my perch in the far back, I clipped in my free shoes (a notable perk of Flywheel---no renting required) and began to spin my feet listlessly.  Richard assumed his position in the center spot, turned on his mic and pushed play on an upbeat playlist.  And then something magical happened.  He turned out the lights.  Seriously, he was spotlit and we were in the dark.  It was amazing.  

I'm not sure how other people feel about fitness classes, but I kind of hate them.  I am large and a man and generally nervous--which leads to stupid mistakes and clumsy mishaps.  But in the dark, who cares!  Other people probably love the electronic leader board that (should you not opt out, as I did) shows the class exactly which women and which men are working the hardest in the class at that moment.  Some people likely enjoy the hygienically cleaned bathrooms with showers and free lockers.  Keep your plasma screens and throw my stuff on the floor--just be sure to keep turning off the lights.

To say that I sweat in the 45 minutes that followed is a polite understatement.  I poured.  Like a faucet or a hole in a roof.  During a storm.  Like Hurricane Sandy.  The class consisted of three sprint sets (30 to 60 seconds of full sprinting that repeated a few times during each set) and 3 hill songs (where the class is told to gradually turn up the tension on their bikes simulating a climb which repeated 2 to 3 times per song).  There was also a portion devoted only to arms, with weights conveniently placed in holders beneath the handle bars.

As is usually the case, I ignored Richard's advice and kept the tension at the level he instructed rather than taking it easy and focusing only on my tempo.  I should have backed off...way off.  Nevertheless, I did keep the beat with the songs, even though I felt like my legs were going to rip away from my body in protest.  A few times, truth be told, I did drop to half tempo.  I figured a slow dance is still a dance. 

After class you receive a link to your results, including a summary of calories burned and milage covered.  For your viewing pleasure:

I would like to draw your attention to the asterisk.  I ain't no 145 lb rider.  So I am going to throw on a couple hundred more calories just for good measure.  That is an amazing number of calories burned in just 45 minutes.  Stunning actually.

Will I go again?  Absolutely.  When?  Shortly after I strike gold.  I have already programmed my Groupon searches and Living Social bots to alert me of any Flywheel deals.  Free is such a great price, it's hard to beat it.  

In short, the class definitely scratched my workout itch.  And, honestly, it was fun.  Bonus that it happened on New Year's Day--hopefully a good sign for the coming year.

Tim

Here we go...2014

This is my third shot at this blog post.  The first two have been pathetic.  Frankly, they were well written, but pathetic nonetheless.  Imagine a teenage girls diary.  Now add big words.  That was essentially what I producing.  Drivel with an almost Victorian sense of drama.

2013 has been challenging.  I made a move to Boston that has been as unexpectedly rewarding as it has been disappointing.  Leaving New York City is one of the greatest losses I have ever experienced.  I know that my love of New York is neither unique nor overly interesting, but I feel an ownership of that city that I don't believe will ever fade.  I feel a part even while apart.  I continue to take offense when people drop their affiliation with New York into a text or email--as though they are intentionally rubbing their good fortune in my face.  It's silly, but it's happening.

My job here in Boston, however, has been wonderful--which I am quick to add so that I do not sound like I am whining without any sense of perspective.  Though I recognize that I am whining, of course.

To add insult to injury, 2013 was the year I truly dealt with heartbreak, for--unfortunately I am sure--the first time.  The details of that affair do not bear repeating, especially not here.  I've told the story from start to finish to a few patient souls and feel my mission to spread that word has been fully accomplished.  I always suspected a sort of weakness in people who were not able to simply scrape off a bit of heartache and start anew.  I want to apologize to those people--I'm sorry.  I get it now.  Your mind creates a perfect story, you settle into it, learn the words--and that's precisely when someone tells you it is over before it really even starts.  Next you are left to wonder how you misjudged things so badly, was it your decision to move that ended it, would you have moved had you met sooner, should you have, was it just you or was it just, you know, "life things."

My tenure in Boston started with a magical confluence of crappy weather, terrorism and emotional turmoil.  I like to say "a blizzard, a bombing and a breakup."  Boston lost a lot of ground with me in April.

So, I turned inward.  Oddly enough, I kept hearing people make the same statement that essentially boiled down to "Time spent improving yourself is never wasted."  That hit home to someone who felt that every second outside of his predestined city was time ill spent.

It's no secret that my time in New York has been a period of increased happiness and increased calories.  They seem to go hand in hand.  While I was still well below my all time high, I certainly gained back a good portion of the weight I had lost before moving to the Northeast and in doing so lost a lot of ground in the war that is my Fitness Revolution.  In June, I set goals for myself self--deeming them "Things to do While 32."  The first--lose 50 pounds.

I began running again--slowly and slowly (both the training schedule and the speed of my gait).  I starting taking yoga classes.  Actually, I started taking hot yoga classes.  The "hot" makes a difference.  Trust me.

As of today, I weigh exactly what I weighed when I ran the New York City Marathon in 2010--and guess what--I'm running it again in 2014.  That means I have lost a little less than 60 pounds since moving to Boston, and I still have 6 months until I turn 33.

So, with the start of a new year, comes a renewed dedication to sharing my Fitness Revolution.  I have a lot to catch this blog up on and the New Year always seems like a good time to start.  I don't have many resolutions, since I tend to make them around my birthday in June and not in January like the masses, but I have missed writing these little passages and maybe a few of you have missed reading them.  Many of the things I want to write about have nothing to do with fitness--so that will be fun too.

Incidentally, the last time I posted on here I wrote about fireworks I saw over the skies of Manhattan.  The sense that I was meant to be exactly where I was at that moment.  That I had been prepared for it and that something was being prepared for me.  So it is not lost on me that only a few minutes after I began writing this blog post, I began to hear the thuds and concussions from pyrotechnics just a few blocks from my window.  Another show that I did not expect, that was taking place in a spot that I would have missed if I wasn't exactly where I am at this moment.

Let's find out what happens from here--

Tim/Timmy/Teem

Preparing for the Show

Frankly, I thought today would just end with some quiet tears in my parents' apartment while I shook my fist and pledged to make up for lost time.   In what ways...well, that would take an entirely different blog.  And not just a post or two.  Fitness, of course.  Job, absolutely.  My love life, undoubtably.

Rather then just lazing around my own little 325 square feet of rented contentment, I decided to spend the evening watching cable (a luxury I no longer allow myself) at my parents humble abode.  I hadn't been over in quite a while, so it was fun to wander around the place while they were out of town.  Most of my wandering centered on the pantry, which holds more grocery store bought food in its current state than I have purchased in my adult life.  And it's a very small pantry.

I finally picked a can of chili and allowed my laziness to win over my one earth child tendency and threw it in the microwave--for some reason I have developed an aversion to the thing...it's a combination of the suspicion that it will give me cancer and the certainty that food doesn't taste as good after it comes out of there.  Sometimes I forget how good chili can be.  I mean, seriously.  Delicious.

Unfortunately, in the process of selecting the can, opening it, scooping out, heating it up and applying the proverbial toppings (I substituted cheezit's for the crackers AND the cheese...your welcome), I came face to face with my favorite picture of me and my sisters.

The picture was taken at Grand Lux Cafe about a month after I ran the marathon.  My sisters and mom were on their annual Christmas gift buying weekend and dad and I joined for dinner at the Galleria.  Incidentally, it captured a moment in time where I was at my absolute healthiest since high school.  Not only was I at my lowest weight, but everything (except my hip) was in great shape.  I am confident it is the only picture that has ever been taken where I come close to looking as good as my sisters.

I was already planning a fun trip to Chicago and I knew--and I was right--that it would be one I would remember forever.  My hip surgery was on the horizon, but I wasn't afraid.  I was happy to have a solution that would allow me to run again.

I came directly from work to have dinner with my family and I remember wandering the Christmas Tree Shops next door after that dinner carrying my blackberry in my right hand (you might say my hand fit it like a glove).  I was waiting for it to buzz or blink or whatever it was that it did.  That it always did.  I am willing to bet I showed up late, and was probably the first one to suggest we leave.

The picture is actually just a computer print out.  It was stuck on my parent's fridge.  At an angle.  It's folded and wrinkled from months of soggy hands and residue.  And it made me incredibly sad.

I miss that moment.  Not the blackberry and the hurry, but being over the hump healthwise and not climbing up from the bottom.  I miss the security of the job.  And I miss my friends.  Man I miss my friends.  The immediacy of them.  The availability.

And inevitably my mind wandered to the place where you decide that everything you've done for the past year has been a tremendous mistake.  That you should have stayed the course.  I would still be thin(ner).  I would still have the security if also the blackberry.  I could see the people--family or not--who I love most in this world without a flight across the country.  It all amounted to a singular, horrible, thought.  That I am wasting time.

Needless to say, my trip to my parents house had taken a very dark turn.  Though the chili was delicious, and the tears added just the hint of salt that it had been missing.

The picture.

It was with this mindset that I began the trek home.  Not exactly the happiest I have ever been.

The walk to the Roosevelt Island tram from the apartment is about a mile.  Maybe less.  It's a very pleasant walk if you haven't decided that you're a failure.  Tonight I was in no mood.  I trudged head-down, not wanting to see or talk to anyone.  Much to my annoyance I was followed the entire time by the sounds of construction blasting at random intervals from across the island.  Just what I needed.  More reasons to make me regret my relocation to Manhattan.

I just wanted to get home and be done with the day, but first I had to ride the cable car back across the East River.  I have a gift for missing the tram and getting to "enjoy" a long wait for the next trip.  It's usually about 15 minutes or more if you time it just wrong.  Tonight, for once, I was in luck.  I was there with 4 other people and the tram was built to hold over a hundred.  So I had to roll my eyes a bit when a tiny old woman rammed her walker right in front of all of us so that she could be sure to board first.  New Yorkers.  There was a collective sigh amongst the rest of the crowd that express something between good natured humor and the frustration that we hadn't been trusted to do the right thing regardless of the old lady's place in the crowd.

The conductor took longer than necessary to start the return trip.  So we sat for quite a while, just waiting and listening to the late night ruckus from the construction down the island that had bothered me since I left my parent's building.  I grabbed the seat next to the elderly woman and we sat quietly together rocking gently in the suspended car.  I was just ready to go.

Finally we ascended.  It wasn't until the car had cleared the first set of mid-rise buildings that I had a clear view of the fireworks.  The random booming and explosions that I so easily cursed were, in fact, the highly orchestrated sounds of a pyrotechnics show playing itself out in a field at the end of the island.  The conductor slowed the car a bit, but still most of the riders stared at their phones waiting for them to buzz or blink or whatever they do.  So, I turned to my elderly friend and just pointed.  And we sat there, suspended over the East River, halfway to Manhattan, watching a tiny, but brilliant display.  It was a magical moment.  One that will never be repeated.

I realize that life isn't one long Footprints in the Sand poem.  Not everything gets tied up in a little package with a clever bow and a lesson.  But I do think I was meant to see those fireworks.  I think sometimes we leave one place that is safe and happy and start a new path.  On the way we get bombarded by a lot of distractions and hassled by a lot of noise.  But eventually, if we can stay the course, we get to look back and see that those disruptions were just preparation for the fireworks.  We just have to be a little ways down the road to see that clearly.  And when we can, it's going to be quite a show.

The old lady and I watched until the buildings on the west side blocked our view.  At which point she turned to me and said "Thanks for showing me that.  I think that makes everything better, don't you?'  I couldn't agree more.

The last firework of the night...the pinkish blur on the left.

Quiet Beginnings

This morning I ran 1.15 miles.  It's not much, but it's a start.

The first time I started running, my initial attempt lasted exactly 1 minute.  This one lasted 13.  So, yeah, my pace has slowed a bit.  And, sure, my stamina needs some work.  And, yeah, my hip still hurts...a lot.  But it's a start.

What better birthday present could I give myself than reclaiming my health, right?  Well, maybe a nice car...like a REALLY nice car.  That might be better.  Otherwise, health is right at the tippy top.

Or a puppy...I might like a puppy too.  A puppy would be awesome, actually. Okay, puppy, car, health...

Get It Girl!

For those of you looking for some inspiration this week, please look no further than my sister Ginny Swearingen. This past weekend she finished her SECOND half marathon this year. And she only started running this summer!

So proud of her!

Ginny keeps me motivated every day. Such a lucky brother. Love you Ginny.

It's 6:00 p.m.---Breakfast time!

I'm not much of a cook. Correction, unless I have a full kitchen and an sous chef, I'm not much of a cook. My primary cooking tools are a cell phone and a debit card. But, I have learned a few tricks when it comes to breakfasting. It's not exactly a laundry list of dishes, but it's enough to keep it interesting.

I have learned to love the egg. In all it's forms. Well, actually I guess there's only one form, but in all it's uses.

The only problem with breakfast is that it's so early! Why!

As many of you know, I am spending a few months working the overnight shift at my job. The schedule certainly does not reflect my dream hours, but there are some benefits. Namely, now breakfast occurs for me at 6 p.m.! It's amazing.

Of course dinnertime is somewhere around 3. In the morning. Hmmm...

The Squeeze Down

Let's face it. One of the main reasons I decided I needed to lose weight the first time around is because I like nice things...specifically clothes. There was a whole world of men's apparel just waiting for me to have a small enough waist, chest, tummy and arms to cram myself into them.

I won't tell you that I ever got small enough to walk into a store and buy a standard pair of jeans off the rack...though once I did actually buy jeans from Neiman's without having to special order them...but I did have some luck with things to be worn above the waist line.

Now, I love a button up shirt. Truly, there's no substitute. You can wear it to work, wear it to dinner, wear it cleaning the house. They are the most comfortable and flexible garments I own. And when they fit...perfection. When they don't....depression. And, as you may have guessed by now, during my recent, shall we say, inflationary period, some of my favorite button downs have fit me in a fashion more befitting a straight jacket.

So...I thought I'd post updates on my favorite of shirts...just to keep things interesting. It's a purple check Isaia button down that I bought last winter just after completing the marathon. Hopefully this will provide some visual evidence of my victories. Hence the picture above. To you, gentle reader, this picture may look fine. But to me, all I see is a shirt that is too snug through the shoulders, the stomach and the arms. And anyways...I thought this would be fun.

Stay tuned.

Timmy

A Street with a View

This was my view last Sunday. If you ever need inspiration to push yourself farther than you thought possible...look no further than Central Park South on marathon day.

I'm Sorry, I've Been Away...

Hard to believe that it's been a full 12 months since I ran the NYC marathon. A few minor things have changed since my last post on this site...let me summarize

- I had hip surgery

- I turned 30

- I quit my job

- I moved to New York

Frankly, I'm still recovering from all of those things. Living in New York is something I have always dreamed about. The transition to the city has been a surprisingly easy one--granted, if you asked me for my thoughts on August 1st when I showed up with no place to live and no long terms plans for where to sleep until my apartment was ready, I might have indicated otherwise.

Now I am settled in the Upper East Side and feeling very much at home.

One thing you may not know about NYC is that there is food literally everywhere. Sure there are fancy pants places to eat like Per Se and Daniel...but those are for special occasions...like a Tuesday...when you are paying. I have already found my favorite gyro place, favorite bagel shop, favorite diner, favorite cupcake and, of course, my favorite pizza place. The list just keeps on growing. I'm in heaven.

You'd think that all of the walking I do would offset said gyro-bagel-diner-cupcake-pizza-apoluza. You'd be mistaken.

With the lingering pain I am still dealing with in my hip and my basic desire to sleep at all times (in some future post we will discuss the wonder of working nights at a luxury hotel and the joyous effects this has on my sleeping schedule), I am teetering on the edge of disappointing myself when it comes to my weight and general fitness goals. Correction...I have fallen off the edge, but am hanging to a branch that will either break and send me plummeting or will rocket me back upwards onto stable ground--Wylie Coyote styles.

Last Sunday was the 2011 NYC marathon. I wrenched myself out of bed at noon (after 2 hours of sleep) and walked the block down to 1st Avenue. As I approached the runners I could see the participants streaming past me at earth shattering speeds. I thought "I must have looked like such a bad ass last year." It was at this point that I realized the people I was watching were on pace to finish the marathon in approximately 3 hours. Trust me...I looked nothing like those people.

After reconvening with my bed, I awoke later to cheer on "my people"...the ones who were on pace to finish the marathon in 5 hours or more. I walked down to Central Park South and set up my own personal cheering section in the middle of marathon way. Within minutes of watching those exhausted, weary, agonized souls trudging the last few pain filled steps to the finish line, I knew I wanted to do it again.

So...here we go people...it's off to the races.

This blog is going to be a little different than last time. If you recall, I wanted to start a blog to keep people posted on my training status because I was raising money for Fred's Team...the charity I ran with during the NYC marathon. I pretty much limited my blog entries to running related items...frankly, folks, I have given all there is to give when it comes to running exposition. So, no more running-only boundaries.

I also am going to focus a little bit more on my general fitness goals. Since running the New York City marathon I have gained back about 30 pounds of the 90 pounds that I lost. That is not something I am proud of. When I initially lost my weight and passed the sub-300 pound mark, I told myself that never again would I weight more than 300 pounds. Well, I failed myself in that regard and I feel like I have failed you too. When I stepped on my scale last week, it read 303. I cannot express to you the disappointment I felt at that discovery. I feel like I have let a lot of people down, but particularly, I know that I have not lived up to my own potential--which, of course, hurts the most.

This, however, will not be a pity party. Instead, it's going to be an embarrassment free forum for me to talk about all of the ridiculous things I am doing. To gloat about my successes and to air my frustrations about my set backs. I'm going to make some interesting changes and try some new stuff.

So here we go...

I Didn't Know It

As some of you might recall, I committed to write 5 posts each week for the last 3 weeks before the marathon. So far...I'm on target. What most you of don't know is that my challenge came with certain...let's call them "requirements." MK mandadated that a certain number of the entries have a twist/touching ending (a request that a sap like myself could easily oblige), while KC stated that at least one of my entries had to be in the form of a poem or a puzzle. So....it is with great pleasure I present, for your reading pleasure and cultural edification...."Ode to a Gu"

When training for a marathon one really must remember
That whether weather's hot or cold in May, June or December
Your body needs some time to heal for when it takes a beating
And no you cannot hitch a ride for that would just be cheating
Instead, be sure to bring along some little packs of power
And take them every 45 or at least one every hour
At first the taste is horrifying and makes you want to spit
The package says it's strawberry but it's more akin to sh*t
Worse than that the viscous mass'll make you lose your footing
Like chomping vaseline or styling gel or maybe instant pudding
But supress the gags and swallow hard and continue on your way
Cause in five to ten your little friend will help you through the fray
It may just be a mental kick, or perhaps a caffeinated jolt
You're legs are weak and back is tired but still you'll want to bolt
So keep a around a pack or two to help you pass the miles
They'll get you up and down the hills and through the other trials
So pack your belt and hit the trail and don't forget the GU
Just don't except these little friends to run the race without you

Preparations

So much to do!

I never realized how stressful packing for a marathon would be. There are obvious things that everyone thinks about...the running clothes you will wear for the race, the shoes, your running watch...but there is also a whole list of things that I would never think of. For example, chap stick for the frigid weather, plastic bags for the wet ground, old shoes for before the race, clothes to discard before you start running, toilet paper for...well, for what toilet paper is used for.

I have spent so much time focused on being physically, mentally and emotionally ready for this marathon, that I forget I have to pack.

There are so many contingencies to plan for...rain, no rain...cold, not so cold, warm, hot...wet ground, hard ground...and you want to be prepared for it all.

The funny thing is that the one consistent piece of advice you will receive when you are planning to run a marathon is "don't do anything on marathon day that you didn't do while you were training." Not EXACTLY sure how that is possible...I will be in New York City, taking a ferry and a bus to get to the start line, waiting for several hours outside in 40 degree weather, starting 6 hours after I normally start running, and running for a crowd numbering greater than 1 million spectators. Just a typical Sunday run.

The beauty of running is that all it takes is a pair of shoes and a piece of dirt. Apparently running a marathon requires that, plus enough stuff to fill a hang-up bag and a full sized suitcase.

Timmy

The Beginning

Since this is the last week before my marathon, I thought it would be fitting to talk a little bit about the beginning.

As all of you know, the last 2 years have been a period of pretty dramatic change in my life. On December 26, 2008, I decided that I had had enough of being overweight and out of shape and set out to change it...all of it. I'm not done yet, and I won't be done when I cross the finish line in New York, but the trajectory has changed...permanently.

On Christmas day in 2008 I woke up full of the usual Christmas excitement and anxious to get the day started. I also woke up feeling...well...bloated. Christmas is far and away my favorite time of year, and between the parties, the trips to Duncanville to see the family and the office merriment, I had eaten my way through the holiday season (like any red blooded American). As I do every day (and sometimes multiple times a day) I stepped on the scale in my bathroom when I got home that night and after a few blinks it read "354". Sadly, I wasn't overly shocked or upset by that number. It had been a long time coming. I remember very clearly the day I stepped on the scale before college and it said "299". I vowed it would never say "300", but things happen, pizzas get eaten and next thing you know...bam...you're morbidly obese.

This revelation gave me no pause as I continued to enjoy the Christmas festivities and merry-making. But the next day, I stepped on my scale again. I waited for the screen to blink its customary blinks. I waited for a number somewhere in the neighborhood of 354 to pop up. I just waited...as per usual. When I looked down again, all the scale said was "Error."

I had broken the scale.

The earth did not shake. The lights did not flicker. I just knew, at that moment, it was time for things to change.

The picture on the left was taken about 6 months before I managed to break the scale...the picture on the right was taken 2 months ago after one of our Saturday 12 mile runs).

From that day until May 2009, the only thing I changed about my lifestyle was what I ate. I did go to the gym occassionally, but I really did not "workout" in any meaningful since of the word. By mid-May I had lost 30 pounds but had hit a wall. I was seeing (and still do see) a nutritionist named Jill Lane (http://www.jilllane.com/), who I adore, and we decided that the only way through the wall was through exercise.

Enter Kristi. My wee blonde friend was already planning to run the NYC marathon in November of 2009. She was investigating running programs and had decided to sign up with Luke's Locker to train for the summer. At some point we must have discussed my need/desire to get serious with my exercise, because Kristi encouraged me to sign up for a program at Luke's called Get With It...which was designed for people "just like me" who had never run before...the program was supposed to take you from zero to a half marathon in 6 months. I remember telling Kristi that I wouldn't and couldn't run and that was final. I also remember climbing onto a treadmill with Kristi on the next machine and hearing her say "all you have to do is run for 1 minute...that's it, just 1 minute." And so I did. At the end of that minute I decided (possibly due to the pure pain and exhaustion I was no doubt feeling at that moment) that I would give it a go.

Later that night, I called MK to tell her that I had lost it. Before I could finish completing the sentence which started "I've decided to sign up for a running..." MK's response was "I'm in."

Now it's been almost 2 years. I've lost 90 pounds and about 15% body fat. I weighed 264 when I stepped on the scale this morning...which is only 40 pounds from where I want to end up. Like I said, I'm not done yet.

When I look back over the past 2 years I am struck by something that may seem odd to people who have never struggled with their weight. When I look back, I don't remember a single thing that I didn't eat. Two years ago I viewed passing up food as passing up an opportunity...I would never be able to eat that exact thing again and I had to seize the moment or regret letting it pass me by. Wasn't I taught to live life to the fullest! My happiness was contingent on what I consumed. Now it's only influenced by what I don't.

Success in life is not measured by your waist size. Perhaps more importantly, neither is failure. But I do think success is measured by little victories. So far I can count 90 little victories. And on Sunday I will count 26.2 more.

Timmy

At this moment, one week from today, I'll be crossing the start line!

One (Satur)Day More...

Apparently, I am all about the Les Miserable references today...

Tomorrow morning is the last Saturday of my training! The last Saturday I have to wake up at 4:30 and make my way to White Rock Lake. The last loop around the lake this training season. The last Friday nights of playing by the rules and eating/sleeping as directed. And perhaps most significant of all...the last trip to the Taco Joint.

It hardly seems possible that 24 weeks ago I went to the lake for my first of many runs this year. For an entire month before that, MK and I did practice runs a few times a week, just to build up to the initial 5 mile time trial. Having done the program last year with Get With It! (TM), I can tell you with no small amount of confidence that this year's program was hotter, muggier, more draining, more exhausting, and more rewarding than the regimen I endured the year before.

I am so thankful for my coaches, who offered encouragement and coolers full of refreshing beverages every single week. But I am even more grateful for Cat, Bethany, Jon, and of course, MK and KC, who fulfilled the role of faithful running buddies each and every week. Truly, having friends to pass the time and the miles makes it so much more rewarding. They keep you motivated, accountable and honest. I truly couldn't have done it without them.

I have loved this experience, and, who knows, would at least consider doing it again...maybe...but for now, I am really looking forward to having my Friday nights again!

Timmy

Who am I...

There are several numbers that define us. Our height, our weight, our social security number. Telephone, address, zip and area codes. But right now I am only focused on one number...

55204

That's my bib number of the 2010 ING New York City Marathon.

I'm in the Orange Group, Wave #3, Corral # 55. Which means I will be starting my run at 10:40 a.m. (Eastern) with a brisk 2 miles jaunt over the top of the Verrzano Narrows Bridge...with 15,000 of my closest friends. The orange path stays separated from the other groups until mile 4 or so. Eventually my fellow 15,000 strong orange runners will meet up with 30,000 runners of the blue and green persuasion and we'll run the last 22.2 miles all together.

I know that I am one of many in this race, but I am the only 55204, and somehow I feel like this marathon is being organized solely for my benefit.

Timmy

Curb appeal

As I mentioned on here before, I enjoy running to a destination. The first time I ran anywhere with a purpose was to Blockbuster to return a movie that was probably several weeks overdue. Since then I have run to the grocery store, to a restaurant, to pick up my boss's newspaper while she was out of town, and, last night, to KC's house.

Running (as opposed to driving) makes you keenly aware of everything you've been missing. It also makes you realize how far apart everything is. It's similarto the transistion from passenger to driver...suddenly everything becomes much more important.

Last night I had agreed to meet KC for dinner post-run. She, too, had to put in a full hour run before we could feast so I told her I would meet her at her house, as per usual. The thought of running my "usual" route just wasn't exciting me, so I pushed a few buttons in my GPS and found that the Wee One's house was a mere 4.6 miles away. Sadly, that's just about what I run during an "easy" hour, so I was set.

All was going well, until I hit Mockingbird. No matter which direction I chose, there were no sidewalks on which to run. To be clear, neither Inwood or Mockingbird can be described as "pedestrian friendly".

The next five minutes of my run are best visualized as a game of real life frogger (sans the logs and sound effects). I wasn't so interested in crossing the street as I was in just making my way along it. Finally, after spending a while in the median waiting for a break in the traffic, I was able to sprint my way to safety on the far side of the street. Fortunately, I was not forced to repeat this 5 more times or move up a level.

Having not yet voted, I am changing my number 1 issue for this mid-term election from education to sidewalks. I am sure the candidates that went door to door are sympathetic to my plight.

Timmy

New Shoes

As you know, I have recently adopted a pair of new shoes. I took them for a test spin last night and I have to say...I am impressed. They are springy and comfortable. And white. Man are they ever white.

After one run in my new shoes, I realize that I might have clung to my old ones a bit too long. These new sneakers cradle my feet like clouds supported by gossamer tissue resting on a baby's bottom. The shoes still feel foreign and in some ways uncomfortable, because I haven't spent enough quality time in them to truly break them in, but I feel like these shoes and I are going to go far.

When I was getting ready for my run yesterday, I instinctively reached for my old pair. Sliding them on I felt the pleasant sensation of clinging moisture accumulated from Saturday's high humidity run. Which caused me to think..."I wish I had a new pair of shoes..." Which made me realize..."I have a new pair of shoes." Elation followed.

Whenever I buy the shoes, I am always amazed at the price. Don't misinterpret what I am saying, Luke's charges a fair price for a good product, but having grown up with shoes from Payless in the 80's, I am always taken aback at having to pay $130 for shoes. These aren't just any shoes though...apparently I have a tendancy to "roll" when I run. I beg to differ, because "rolling" sounds much more pleasant than whatever it is that I am doing, but nonetheless, my shoes job is to put a stop to that nonsense.

So, with all that said, it is with great pleasure that I introduce you to my new running shoes...Shoes, this is my blogging audience...audience, Shoes. Damn, I really should have taken a picture.

Timmy