A favorite post from the past:

June 10, 2008 — When I Was a Superhero

Bullgrit

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My birthday present to myself this year was to be a set of six-pack abs. After finishing P90X, back in May, I had lost 18 pounds of middle-age padding, and had toned up my muscles to a level they hadn’t been in for many a year. But I still had a layer of padding that hid the muscle tone of my midsection. It wasn’t a pooch or spare tire — my stomach is flat, now — it was just a layer.

I went into maintain-mode with P90X for four weeks. Instead of 6 heavy workouts a week, I dropped to 3-4 a week. During those maintenance weeks, I lost another 5 pounds of padding, (for a total of 23 pounds lost). These numbers astonished me — I would never have thought I had 23 pounds of fat to loose. I didn’t feel really fat. I just felt middle-aged.

But after those 4 weeks of maintenance, I could see a bare hint, a shadow of where my six-pack abs would be. In the right pose, I could imagine those muscles showing through the last little layer of padding. I was so, so close.

I decided to pick up the regular routine of P90X workouts again. I had the proper diet worked out, and had been following it during the maintenance weeks, so surely the last thin layer would burn off quickly with the full-on workouts.

I lost another pound in the first week of the second round, (for a total of 24 pounds), but then for the last three weeks, no weight loss; no visible difference that I can see in my midsection. Frustrating!

Three weeks of working damn hard physically, keeping to a proper diet, (with only very rare misteps), and no fat loss to see. One theory is maybe that my muscle increase and fat loss ratio has reached an equilibrium — I’m gaining muscle weight at the same rate I’m loosing fat weight, so the scale doesn’t change. But if this were the answer, surely my ab muscles would be showing clearly by now?

Is my problem the curse of an over-40 body? What the hell!?

Bullgrit

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“PLACE YOUR BANANAS ON THE BELT.”

“PLACE YOUR RED DELICIOUS APPLES ON THE BELT.”

“PLACE YOUR YOPLAIT PEACH YOGURT ON THE BELT.”

This is why I hate using the self checkouts at the grocery store. This morning I stopped by grocery store to pick up some snacks for today and tomorrow. There was no cashier at the regular checkout lane, so I had to use the self checkout.

I touched the computer screen, weighed my fruits, and scanned my yogurt. Every time, the computer voice announced loudly what I was purchasing. For an interesting twist, when I looked up after the yogurt announcement, I spotted one of my coworkers standing up at the customer service desk just twenty feet away. (This grocery store is across the street from our offices.) She looked over at me and we exchanged waves.

I was annoyed at the machine announcing so loudly each of my items, and I admit that the yogurt announcement made me blush a bit — it’s not exactly a manly-man snack food — but there are many things I’ve purchased over the years that I woulnd’t want broadcast to other grocery shoppers.

The old gag about the cashier calling over the store intercom for a price check on some embarrassing item is a classic because we’ve all either been there or feared it.

Note to Grocers: if you want people to use the self checkout, to save on your employee costs or speed up lines, make the self checkout registers –

“SHUT THE HELL UP.”

Bullgrit

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Yesterday, the temperature hit 102 degrees. It’s actually been trying to break over 100 for weeks, and now it has.

It’s been so hot that our boys don’t want to play outside. They don’t want to ride their bikes, push their scooters, or swing on their playset. And we don’t blame them. Hell, walking to get the mail out of the mailbox is uncomfortable.

And the humidity? 110%. Good God, y’all, this is brutal.

I don’t remember if I’ve mentioned this before, but a couple years before we had children, Cowgrit and I spent a week in Arizona during the week of July 4th. . . .

— I just checked my archives, and yes, I’ve mentioned this before. In fact, I was about to completely repeat what I had previously written on August 10, 2007. So, well, go read that and we’ll call this a post for today.

Bullgrit

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It’s so easy to get lost in a tunnel.

Bullgrit

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I spent all day last Saturday with my brother. During that day, even with all the family stuff going on, we managed a good deal of just him and me time. It’s been a long while since we had such a chance.

Every time we get this kind of opportunity to catch up with each other, I realize just how much he doesn’t know about me. Most of what he “knows” about me is far out of date, or is extrapolation from the few times we’ve gotten together in our adult lives. The old info he has about me is 20 years past or more. The extrapolations are based on rare visits that are, by definition, highly unusual situations.

For instance, he thinks I dress up for work — slacks and button-up shirts. (I think the only reason he doesn’t include a tie in my attire is because I’ve said in this blog that I don’t wear them.) He even commented, “You’ve always dressed like Dad, even when you weren’t a dad yourself.”

Wha-huh?

(Lest anyone think this particular comment bothered me — it didn’t/doesn’t; it does surprise me – let me say I’m only singling in on this because it is the easiest to illustrate how wrong it is.)

I think this idea that I used to dress in slacks and button-up shirts is based on: the last times brogrit ever saw me “at work” was when I was working in electonics retail back in college.

I think the idea that I currently dress in slacks and button-up shirts is based on: he apparently thinks that working, now, in a “professional office” environment means one dresses up “professionally.”

My daily attire is now what it has been for most of my life: jeans and t-shirts. Even at my office. This is the standard for most places I’ve worked over the past many years. Every once in a while I need to wear something dressy, (up to a suit and tie), for some rare customer meeting. But that’s an exception, far from the norm.

How brogrit has seen me dressed on a weekend, (the usual time when we manage to get together), is pretty much how I dress Monday through Friday, too. It never dawned on me that he thought my weekday attire would be different.

And even when I worked retail in college, (and waited tables in high school), I didn’t dress “like Dad” when I wasn’t at work. But I realize, now that I think about it, that was how brogrit saw me when he visited me in my college town. He’d come into town, and stop by the retail store to see me. When I got off work, we’d go hang out somehow, and I’d be in my slacks and button-up shirt. (The tie would be removed.) But that’s just because we’d leave directly from my work.

So, based on the usual situation that he saw me, (at retail work), during my college days, and based on what he must see of other folks who work in “professional office buildings,” I can see how he would think I dress up normally.

But this is an example of how he doesn’t know much about me and my life, really. If he has this totally erroneous and backward vision of something as mundane as my normal dress, think of how many other ideas he has wrong about my life. Every time we have our little get togethers, it’s revealed how much he really doesn’t know about me — at least the me in the past 20 years or so.

Bullgrit

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When I was in high school, (grad 1985), my school bus was number 127.

I have no idea how long the state keeps buses in operation, or how many buses throughout the state may have the same number. But when I saw this one, it made me smile. No matter how small the chance, I like to think this is actually the same bus I rode to school in when I was 13-17 years old.

Bullgrit

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