I am a firm believer in the reward system.  And since I’ve given over to gluttony and the fact that this diet will involve a year of my time.  So I’m giving myself little glory fist pumps when my body reaches certain points.  The downside is, it’s going to be a backslide.  I mean, right now, it’s taking almost 3 days to lose about a pound.  Which I’m totally awesome with.  I’m already under 200!  I’m rocking about 198, according to the taunting of my Wii Fit.  (Why you no call?  Why you no visit, fat man?  You fat.)

So at 200, I promised myself a DVD as a present.  Because really, at this dietary point, I shouldn’t be presenting myself with a bad food option.  And since it’ll take about a month and some change to work hard to reach my next target — 185 lbs — I’ll know how hard it is to lose weight and the reward food will have been earned.  

Here’s my reward system.  My current weight is 198.  My target weight is 140 lbs.  Apparently, I have to lose 60 pounds to be considered “normal”.  Despite the fact that I’m built like a brick shithouse, because I’m short, the dietary gods demand sacrifice.  I’m cool with that.  I’ll replace fat with muscle.  My body fat percentage is at 39.1.  Which, is still like morbidly obese, but closer to that 25% normality goal I’m striving for.  

Anyway, here’s what I’ve promised myself for my weightloss: 

200 lbs — Hulk Vs. Blu-Ray (one for me, one for my brother on his birthday)
185 lbs — Cheeseburger.  A Double-Double from In and Out.
175 lbs — Beer and a Taco. This is around the time of SXSW, and PajiBacon.  I expect a bit of a backslider on this.  But no more than 5 lbs.  Because I’m gonna be walking around like a sumbitch.
160 lbs — Pizza.  Round Table Ulti-Meat.  All the greasy food that makes baby jeebus cry.
150 lbs — Ice Cream Sundae.  I’m not a big sweets guy, to be truthful.  If I see cake, I eat it, but if it’s not there, I don’t cry over it.  But I’m totally getting a huge hot fudge sundae.  
140 lbs — Steak Dinner.  I’m either going with a $35 steak from some fancy joint where me and the missus can look spectacular in new duds.  Or we’re going to the chirrascuria and getting an all you can eat meat buffet.  Swords of steak.  It’s like I died and went to nerdly man heaven.

The thing is, it’s not like I’m going to allow that food back into my life at that point.  I will still be no red meat, no salt, no sugar, no cheese, no fried foods, no caffeine, etc.  But as I hit these goal points, I will celebrate with a reward meal.  And we’re going to make it a celebration.  And then we move on.  Because it’ll be a case of a little weight back and a little weight down.  

I’m about 13 lbs, so maybe a month from my reward cheeseburger.  I will also reward myself with blood tests to see my levels so that I can see if all this healthy living has fixed up my cholesterol and such.  

Viva los In-and-Out!

Wow.  It’s been a while, eh, kids?  News, news, news. 

Well, over Christmas this year, it was my turn to get hospitalized.  My blood pressure has been fucked up.  It started spiking again.  Very scarily.  It jumped up around 186/134.  Yikes.  I had been trying to switch medication with my doctor, and none of it was working particularly well.  Well, long story short, it’s been a mess, and I am back, on a low sodium-heart healthy diet and taking a double maximum dose of 100 mg of Atenolol, the choice of choice hearts that don’t wanna asplode. 

My cholesterol shot up to something like 300, which sucks.  My heart however is healthy.  I mean, there are no blockages, no attack damage, nothing.  My pulse is normal.  My blood pressure has been relatively low.  Unfortunately it’s still hypertensive.  

Basically, I’ve been taking this year over.  I read back over my posts and I realize that I’m a mess.  I go away for a couple months and come back talking about I got back up to 220 lbs but this time I REALLY MEAN IT!  And then I lose a few pounds, bitch and moan about how hard it is, and then give up and eat cheeseburgers.  

Well, let’s say hitting thirty and being hospitalized for dangerous blood pressure is a wake up call.  I don’t want to die.  I don’t want to be on medication.  I don’t want to be fat anymore.  I’m scared.  I’m afraid that it’s affecting my life.  My negative attitudes are increasing my stress and causing me to be depressed.  

I’m doing a complete overhaul on myself this year.  And I started already.  I figured it’s harder to make pretty speeches about how hard I’m going work, if I’ve already started.  I’m in the middle of my push for weight loss.  It’s going to take a fuck of a lot of work.  It’s going to be hard.  I’ve given up a lot of things.  But I want to live.  Even if the world is ending in 3 years, I want to at least be healthy for the last two of them.  So I’m taking this year off.  

I have given up:  caffeine, red meat, alcohol, cheese and dairy, fatty foods, salt, drinking anything but water, and not exercising.  All of it.  I’m on a diet that consists of about five small meals a day, with plenty of calories.  I’m eating crazy amounts of fruits and vegetables, whole grains, and lean meats and fishes.  I’m eating good fats, and healthy foods.  Tons of Omega-3s.  I’ve basically cut sodium down to awesomely low levels.  

My average daily meals:

BREAKFAST:
Whole grain oatmeal with fruit (occasionally a scoop of flaxseed)
An Omega-3 Egg sandwich on a multi-grain bread or bagel with spinach
Multivitamin

SNACK:
Smoothie: with 2-3 fruits and vegetables.  Varies every day.  Some days I just eat a banana and orange.  Today it was peaches, bananas, and apricots, and a cup of hempmilk.  I know.  My fucking milk comes out of  a box. Somebody milked a plant.  Hemp milk isn’t bad and comes in chocolate and vanilla varieties.

LUNCH:
Turkey burger with spinach, avocado, olives, grilled peppers on a flaxseed multigrain english muffin.  
Sweet potato fries with cinnamon and spices.  

(This was actually a pretty hearty meal.  Normally it’s natural PBJ or a veggie burger on a english muffin.  Or a simple salad of sliced vegetables.)

SNACK:
Carrots and hummus.  Cucumbers or celery dance in there too.  
Apple in peanut butter.
Handful of raw almonds.
Low-fat microwave popcorn.

(That’s four different snacks.  Sometimes it’s just another piece of fruit.  I don’t chow on all that.)

DINNER:
Millet with omega-3 butter.  Grilled vegetables.

(Often we throw in some salmon or chicken.  We’re trying to front load protein and ease on down on the carbs towards the end of the night.)

I try to vary the amount of nuts I eat.  I don’t eat nuts every day.  Occasionally I throw in some turkey bacon.  We just eat a shitload of vegetables and fruits.  We bought a bread machine and pedometers.  

We are working our way up to walking 10,000 steps a day.  That’s about 4-5 miles.  Right now, I’m at 5000 miles.  I’m working on getting the nerve to use my Wii Fit.  I don’t want to hurt myself through overexertion.  I know — killing myself with stress over a toy.  But I’m pushing through on it.  I’m going to get there.

Right now, my weight is around 202 pounds.  I weigh in tomorrow.  Again, I continue the slow arduous trend down to 140 lbs.  Realistically, I’ll be losing about 1-1/2 lbs a week, if I’m lucky.  So it should take a long time.  I’ve also got a scale that measures my body fat.  Right now, it’s at 42.1%.  Which is massively obese, but not nearly as bad as I thought I’d be?  I need to be down around 25%.  But that’s been climbing down.  I weigh myself every three days.  

I’m doing it this time.  I can’t afford not to.  My health will crush.  I will die.  I know I miss out on drinking with friends.  I know I miss out on eating out at fancy restaurants.  But I will die if I don’t get my health in order.  I can do this.  I am strong enough.  I have the lovely Higginbottom by my side to help me with it.  We’re going to kick ass.  She wants to get down to 150.  She has less of a journey than I do.  

But goddammit.  It’s time.  It’s time for me to change.  To 2009.  The last year I weigh 200 lbs.

Hahahaha.  I suck.

Whew, it’s been a while, and I wish I was explaining how I can finally fit into tiny-people clothing and that I have all this muscle and I look dashing, just in time for my friend’s wedding next month.

But I don’t.  I’m back up over 200 pounds.  In fact, as of this morning, I’m 212.  That’s depressing.  I cannot stay below the forbidden deuce.  Every time I work real hard and get down there, I just go back to eating for crap.  Because I like to.  Because that food tastes good, and I don’t care.  And then I make pretty speeches about how I need to get a regimen, how I need to work hard, how I need to start blah blah bloop. 

Maybe I’ll always just be a fatass.  Fatassery runs rampantly in my family.  My maternal grandparents were both large folks.  A lot of my family consists of short fat people with really skinny athletic kids.  Go figure. 

I’m back on South Beach, heartily pushing through Phase 1 (Day 10), and I know tonight I’m going to end up probably breaking the diet, because we’re going to visit my cousin and his wife and baby.  That baby learned me but good.

I had to hold the baby on my lap, and I was scared, because this little guy was like barely a week old.  I’ve never held something so small.  And it made me realize that one day I want to have kids.  I want to be around to enjoy them.  So how delicious is that pizza now, tubbo?  The saddest part was I sort of had to rest the baby on my manboobs, because my gut is so fat, I don’t even have a lap to set the baby on.  I just have a big old buddha.  And that embarassed me.  The poor baby had to be all jammed up in my face because I’m so fat, I don’t have a lap to hold him in.  I almost cried.

So I’m going to push myself over the next month to make sure I get below 200 before my friend’s wedding.  I’m going to stay on Phase 1 of South Beach until I make it below that goddamn deuce.  Around the 190’s is when I look my shiniest.  Wish me luck.  I’ve already lost 10 pounds.

I’ve been getting a lot of questions about my experiences with the Trader Joe’s Complete Body Cleanse.  The lovely Higginbottom, if you’ve been keeping score, is a seasoned french-fry when it comes to pain of the gall bladder.  She had to have her gall bladder removed earlier this year after several severe hospital trip inducing bouts of attack.  I started to have gall bladder pains myself.  So we decided to try it out. 

I was having sharp pains in my side and symptoms I was attributing to mild heartattack (thankfully I was wrong, it may have just been gas pains).  I did the full 2 weeks, even delaying the start of my blood pressure medication because I wanted to give it the full try. 

I pooped a lot.  That was one thing.  Mostly in the mornings, I would unleash my vengeance on the pipes.  The gall bladder pain went away, but I was also eating moderately more healthy.  Based on what was in the pills, it appears that Trader Joe took the policy that you should throw everything at the problem and probably something would stick.  So at the end of the whole run, my gallbladder pain DID go away.  But I don’t know if that was because of the Trader Joe’s cleanse.  I’m not exactly what one would deem a “healthy body type”.  I’m rather “gelatinous and fat-gorging”.  So perhaps it was just eating healthier that benefitted me?  

On the Simpsons, Lisa tries to explain to Homer the concept of flawed deductive logic.  She holds up a rock she finds on the floor of the house and says “Because there are no tigers here, I could say that this rock prevents tigers.”  Obviously it doesn’t.  So while my gall bladder and digestive pains temporarily went away, I don’t know whether or not that was because of the cleanse. But I did feel better after doing it.  

Weeks later, I’m still having some gas pains, but I’m also eating for shit.  If you are looking for a better gall bladder cleanse, Higginbottom prefers a harsher flush that involves drinking a cup of olive oil and orange juice as well as fasting for two days.  It’s pretty heinous.  I haven’t tried it.  

So does trader joe’s work?  Probably.  

I was thoroughly shamed by Higginbottom, who got up this morning at the asscrack of dawn so she could go and do yoga in our tiny, dirty living room. She is getting all up on the whole bootcampery while I am laying in bed and dozing.  I fail at life. 

I weighed myself this morning, prepared for the inevitable.  My blood pressure has been spiking as of late, and I’m worried about it.  The BP has been weird in that that systolic has continued to go down, but the diastolic is going back up.  I want it stay under 100.  It has to be below 90.  It better go below 80.  But it was above today.  However, the sys has been 139-145, which while not a victory, is cool. 

But my weight this morning?  203.  The fuck?  My goal weight for this week is 202.  Which is three days away and completely doable.  Much like Jesus.  That was sacredelicious, even for me.  I need to get my shit together and start busting it out.

Higginbottom believes I will benefit from yoga, in that it should lower my blood pressure.  I find it too….fruity?…to take seriously.  Who knows though?  My heart’s been doing the rage cage tango all week, so that would probably help.  Higs says that thinking positively and acting positively might be causing me to lose weight. 

All I know is, I can see my ribs.  Over my tremendous gut.  I truly feel like the Buddha.

Man.  I am atwitter with serious fuckery. 

I’ve pretty much managed to completely allow my life to be derailed by my insanely hectic schedule.  That’s no excuse.  And it’s beginning to wear on me.   I am currently trying to find new employment, which will hopefully come to fruition sometime this week.  I had promised myself I would be out of Glide Rite by March.  I hadn’t intended on it working out this way, but so much the so better.  I am also trying to match up a busy rehearsal schedule with a writing schedule.   I have to have the first draft of something turned in by April 15th.  Now, the cheater that I am, I actually already have two things already written out.  But I’m still trying to write new stuff.

So my diet has gone off the tracks, over the trestle and into the fucking ravine.  I have been essentially eating not just too much, but horribly.  I’m talking chili cheeseburgers, Cap’n Crunch milkshakes, pizzas, quesadillas, just absolutely horrible for you delicious gross shit.  I’ve been skipping breakfast and lunch because of stomach pains, then housing a big old meal, then laying around feeling sick.  Seriously, yesterday consisted of three meals of cake and butterfinger ice cream.  It’s like I’m a fucking six year old.

Strangely enough, I’ve kept my weight at or around 206.  I don’t know how or why.  And my body isn’t particularly fatter.  I’m still a husky lad, but I’ve been eating for shit. 

I wanted to be sub deuce for St. Paddy’s day, but that was a pipe dream that never came to pass.  Because I figured this would be a pass weekend.  But then I forgot I’d be taking my blood pressure medication.  It’s still coming in high, at like 142/90, and I need it down to at least 130/85 to feel better.  But I’ve been taking my medication and then passing right the fuck out.  Drowsy and unable to operate machinery?  Try instant fucking coma. 

Well, because it wasn’t coming down fast enough, the doctor wants me to potentially up the dosage.  I don’t want to do this.  I didn’t want to be on hypertension medication to begin with.  But, I have to do something so my heart no asplode.  But it’s still spiking high, and I’m afraid that I’m going to need to go up another notch on the ol’ medical belt buckle.  If I dieted like a normal boy and I kept taking my meds, and I got exercise, I should be able to combat this.  But I’ve been feeling like hell.

St. Paddy’s Day proved to be problematic.  I called a pharmacy to find out whether or not I could drink.  On my medication, it doesn’t say do not mix with alcohol.  On the safety packaging, it doesn’t say not to mix with alcohol.  I looked it up online.  It says with Atenolol, the effects of the medication could be increased by the usage of alcohol.  It also says not to skip a dosage.  That’s what’s on most of the paperwork.  Do NOT miss a pill.  If you remember, and it’s more than 8 hours between  your next dose, then take it.  But if it’s less than that, don’t take it, and go to the next one.  But it’s really important not to overdose.  Because that could be potentially coma city.  The pharmacist said, well, it doesn’t recommend it, but one or two drinks couldn’t hurt.  And then, because he’s a smart guy, he says, but I figure you want to do more than one or two drinks?  I said, yup.  He says, wait 10 hours between drinking and not drinking to take the pills.  But I don’t recommend it. 

Well, I like my alcohol.  But I like not going to the hospital more.  My weapon of choice is the Irish Car Bomb.  I bought the mixtures, and even some shot glass and Guinness pub glasses for the occasion.  So that afternoon, I chugged the car bomb, and then gently sipped the remaining Guinness.  I would wait two hours, and then drank one more.  I drank two on the night.  Then at our friends party, I wore my beer mug foam hat (best dollar spent at Target evah) and drank one more Guinness.  Then I stopped.  It kind of killed me to stop.  I wasn’t even acquainted with the word buzzed.  I wasn’t even tipsy.  I wasn’t even delightfully ribald.  I was essentially stone cold sober.  Which is not the point of St. Paddy’s.  So I failed myself and my heritage. 

Later that night, after much deliberation, I decided to take my pill at midnight.  I had stopped drinking at 8 or eight thirty.  Being the meaty fellow I am, I figured, the alcohol has to have processed by now.  So I took my pill. 

The next morning, my blood pressure was 129/89 the lowest it has been yet. But it also means I can’t consume alcohol until I fix myself.  Or at least, no more than one drink. 

I am putting myself on a boot camp regimen.  I seriously need some order and discipline in my life.  I am measuring and preparing and adhering to my tightened schedule.  Food plans, exercise plans, writing plans.  I need to do this.  My chest pains are starting to rear their ugly heads again.  And I don’t want that on my conscience.  I want to be healthy so I can enjoy my life.  I don’t want to have to worry if an occasional cup of coffee will kill me.  I want to be able to enjoy a big dinner because I eat healthy most of the time.  I want to be able to run around and play with the kids I will be able to have because I didn’t fucking die. 

I’m sad because I feel like I have to put away the foam hats and the Hawaiian shirts and the beer bongs and start acting all grown up and mature.  I feel like I have to relearn how to have fun.  It sucks.  I feel like I’m sacrificing the part of myself that’s fun and entertaining to stay alive.  And that’s depressing. 

You know what’s an excellent way to lose weight?  Not eating anything!  All day!  Except one meal!  That’s how all the girls in my gymnastics troupe do it, and they’re SUPER skinny, for reals!  I mean, I have to actually choke down a sandwich or a piece of dark chocolate here or there, because I’m not dedicated like Shaundra!  I mean, she looks totally pretty.  For a xylophone draped in cloth.  I can’t wait until my periods stop!  Saving money all over the place!

Higginbottom and I both seem to be on the receiving end of some sort of monstrous dysentery or some such shit.  I’ve not been eating much of anything since Sunday, and she’s barely getting meals in either.  I don’t feel weak, I just feel sick to my stomach.  So I haven’t been eating. Needless to say, my weight is at 204. 

I have headshots scheduled for today, so I went and ate something so that I don’t look like a melting pumpkin.  It felt good to ingest food, but it’s totally sitting in my stomach and complaining right now.  I don’t know if this is a side effect of something or I just don’t need a lot of food right now.  I just don’t want to shell out tons of money for my meals.  We’re on a stiff budget. 

or, How I Went on an Inadvertent Vision Quest, Found My Balls In An Oasis, and Decimated An Indian Tribe

I’m starting over. 

To say I fell off the wagon might be accurate, but there wasn’t a wagon to fall off of.  Also, I didn’t fall that far.  It’s more of a realigning of my priorities and the means by which I achieve my goals.  I am doing the right thing, but I’m doing it the wrong way, and I need to find a better way to do the same thing but differently.  Let me simplify things.

I am starting over.

This past week into the weekend has been particularly stressful.  I had a long heart-to-heart with my cousin and realized that I had my priorities all out of whack.  I went through a desperate struggle to finally get the medical care that I needed so badly, and I still don’t have coverage.  I am moving forward with my life, but getting there is all out of control.  I feel like I was carrying groceries down icy stairs, slipped, all the groceries flew up into the air, and I slid down the stairs, managed to stay on my feet, and all the food fell back into the bag.  None of it was exceedingly graceful, but I landed and all is well.  Well, I’m still in mid fall, but all the groceries are back in the bag, and I’m pretty sure I’ll make it. 

But I went right off the South Beach Diet, delayed taking my blood pressure medication until I finished the Trader Darwin’s Complete Body Cleanse, and concentrated on putting myself in a happy place.  The Complete Body Cleanse feels like it worked.  I had intense gallstone pain prior to taking it.  I don’t anymore.  I was incredibly gassy the entire time I did it, and I would poop like it was a game show, and we wouldn’t win the Nissan Versa unless I filled the plastic bucket.  But it was expensive, and may have been a waste of money.  You can’t really purge gallstones.  You can only settle them.  But I took medicine that let my liver clean itself up, and that’s always good.  And now I’m on the blood pressure medication.

The doctor put me on Atenolol, which is also for angina.  I have to take it at night, because it’s totally making me groggy.  I get severe night sweats, and my heart always feels weird.  But I think it’s because my body is actually calming itself.  My blood pressure is down to 129/93.  That’s fucking huge. And I’ve taken two pills.  But I think it’s because my body was so used to running at full steam, that now that it is slowing down, it’s beginning to hurt.  My chest gets sore, but not stabbing pain sore.  More like muscle pain sore.  Like if you’ve been walking a while, and stop.  Your legs hurt.  My chest has been beating so hard, it’s now starting to relax.  My heartbeat is strong, but slower.  MUCH slower.  So that’s awesome.

My cholesterol is 204.  Which is not great, but I don’t need to be on medication.  My LDL is 137, and my HDL is 38.  So I’m just short of the safety zones on those.  But that’s the entire point of the South Beach Diet, is that it will reverse the cholesterol.  It did the last time I did the diet, and there’s no reason to expect it not to continue.  I had a 36 point switcheroo.  I don’t have kidney stones, or calcium issues, or diabetes dangers.  My triglycerides are in the good zone.   So as long as I keep taking my hypertension meds, I should be great. 

Saturday, Higginbottom and I decided to go to Anzo-Borrego State Park to see the desert bloom.  There are supposedly 400 different kinds of plantlife, and it only blossoms really strongly for two weeks out of the year.  So we drove the three hours plus to the park.  We packed a case of waterbottles and peanut butter pretzels, cereals, lots of starchy carbs for the exercise.   The park is the largest in California, and Higginbottom loves to take-a the photographs, so I said, let’s do it.  Me, I fucking hate nature.  I admire it, it’s great, but I’m not the camping/hiking kind of guy.  Even though my youth was spent running through Pennsylvanian deep woods over boulders and cricks. 

We got to the visitor’s center, which was packed like fudge.  Because everyone else had the same goddamn idea.  We strolled around the visitor’s center, admiring the different kinds of cacti and little flowers.  There was a cement walkway leading off towards the Campground Trail.  Now we knew that there was the Palm Canyon Trail that lead into Bouquet Canyon.  Supposedly this was where the really awesome flowers were.  So we walked the path.  It lead through a psuedo garden landscape, with little signs explaining the different foliage and fauna we would see. 

As we were coming around the path, I see a dark shadow springing towards us at high speeds.  My brain instantly processes that this thing was a rabbit, a wild hare, because it’s ears were literally 3 times the size of it’s body.  I throw both my hands out and back into Higginbottom to block her, shouting out, “WHOA!”  It turned out to be two rabbits dashing across the desert plain.  I was proud of myself that my instinct was the protect Higginbottom, not to flee.  She laughed at me, saying, “You were scared of bunnies?”  I told her that, yes, I was freaked out, but what worried me wasn’t the first rabbit, but whatever was chasing it.  Since, it could potentially have been a mountain lion or a coyote.  And if they saw all this meat, they’d probably decide on a bigger meal.  Because I am Wilderness Jones. 

We walked the 1/2 mile path to come to the campground, and saw a sign that lead down a sandy path that said Palm Canyon Trail 1/2 mile.  So just when we thought we were walking the trail, we found we were at the beginning again.  So we walked a full mile to come upon a smaller parking lot that was full.  This was the paid lot, which was the beginning of the actual Palm Canyon Trail.  There was a little sign that said, at the end of this rocky mountainous 1.5 mile hike is a beautiful oasis.  So we just hiked a mile to get there.  There was no water at the end of the trail, so we filled our four little water bottles and decided let’s give it a go. 

As Higginbottom sagely pointed out, it was very Zen.  Just as we thought we were at the end of our journey, we had reached the beginning.  I pointed out that it wasn’t as if we had to hike 1.5 miles.  We had to hike 3 miles, up and back, to get to the fresh water again, since there was no water suitable for human consumption at the oasis, which I found to be hilariously ironic.  But we didn’t just have to hike 3 miles, we had to hike that, and then the same mile we just went across.  So it was actually going to end up being a 6 mile hike.  In the desert.  Under a blazing sun. 

We went for it.

It was an arduous trek, up boulder strewn canyons.  It was very narrow, and we kept taking the wrong path.  It wasn’t exactly delineated out with a path or anything.  There were arrows here or there, and little number markers that were seemingly randomly strewn along.  There wasn’t much shadowy areas to rest.  And it was a crowded path, with at least a hundred or so hikers going along with us.  We would take constant breaks.  Higginbottom looked like she was getting heat stroke, and I kept asking her if she wanted to go back.  Because I couldn’t carry her back.  She would rest, and then we would push forward.  It was very spiritual.  I was proud of myself, because I was able to endure.  I kept looking back and helping Higginbottom along the way.  I didn’t want her to hurt herself, but I knew she’d be crushed if we didn’t make it. 

It was demoralizing at times, because there were some Abercrombiesque couples fitnessing their way past us.  Also, families with small children.  And groups of senior citizens.  But we made it along at our own clip, careful not to over exert ourselves.  As I said, I had been raised running through woods as a kid, and climbing up hills and mountains.  So I know to climb with your hands.  I looked like I was doing parkour at points, springing off of rocks and using the sides of things to slide myself along.  Once Higginbottom got into the stride, she was doing much better.  We finally crested the oasis, which was essentially a bunch of palm trees at the foot of a creekbed.  It was a huge shady, boulder-strewn area, where we rested.  I finished reading A Canticle for Liebowitz, which is about the end of the world, and a desert monastery.  It was the perfect place to finish up. 

We rested, and ended up eating the entire bag of peanut butter pretzels and we were still hungry.  I knew from having marathon running friends that we needed limited proteins and much carbs for all the exertion.   We weren’t sweaty, because all of our hydration was going to our bodies.  We had to conserve our water on the walk back, but the sun had gone down a bit, and we were rested, so it wasn’t too hard.  We finally crashed back at the cars, and told ourselves while we were out this way, we’d go visit the Salton Sea.  And get some seafood.

The Salton Sea is the world’s largest saltwater accidentally man-made sea.  I don’t know the full story, but wikipedia it, and you’ll see.  Anyway, we just followed the road 30 miles or so out to the Salton Sea.  It was nothing.  It was less than nothing.  It’s a trailer park desolated wasteland on one of the sketchiest beaches this side of Revere north of Boston.  We pulled up, Higginbottom snapped a photo, and off we bolted.  We didn’t even try to stop.

We guessed our way home by going north on the 86 until we passed Coachella.  Coachella, also a disappointment.  Though we didn’t actually enter the city proper.  Because there doesn’t appear to be a city proper.  Maybe it’s similar to Iowa City, and it’s a hip college town.  Or maybe it’s a desert joint in the middle of nowhere. 

Instead we ended up on the 10 West, and followed the same trail I took to LA a little over a year and a half ago.  I’m stealing from Higginbottom, but so far on the adventure, we’d learned many lessons.  Sometimes it doesn’t matter what path you take, it will always lead to where you need to go.  I truly love Higginbottom, because it was more important to me that she make it and she be okay, so it really strengthed our relationship.  I have strong stuff inside of me, and whatever I’ve been doing to better myself is working, even though I’m still wrestling with a crushing depression.  Also, fuck what other people are doing, go at your own pace, and you’ll get there, and you might get more out of it.  We got to see a desert bighorn, because we stopped.  We got to see iguanas and birds, because we were walking slow.  It worked out for us.  Also, no matter what a place has for name reputation, it means nothing.  That’s right Salton Sea.  I’m fucking talking to your dumb bitch ass.

So on our way home, I talked Higginbottom into stopping at the Morongo Casino to hit their buffet.  We got there, sat down, and proceeded to demolish their impressive layout.  We decimated that motherfucker.  I had to laugh that we went on a vision quest and THEN ended up at an Indian casino, but since when have I ever done anything the right way?  We piled up six or seven plates of garbage.  I have officially cured my need for bad foods.  No more will I crave fried foods (at least for another couple months) or deserts or chinese foods.   I’ve killed them.  I waged war with the Gods of Chicken Fried Steak and Taquitos.  I vanquished Baron Burnt Pizza, and his minions of Hush Puppies and Sausage Gravy.  Emperor Dessert Bar tried to hurl cake and cookie and creampuff at me, trying a final wave of “iced cream”, but my papaya fu is strong, and pineapple helps break down protein enzymes.   I kill you, Morongo Casino.  I kill you dead.

So home we arrived, and collapsed.  I have been running illness and fever, so I haven’t been able to eat much.  But as I said, I’m starting over.  Since I’ll probably be leaving my job, that means no more Y membership.  So my exercise regimen has to change.  I’m on the hypertension medication, and that’s working, so I have to keep tabs on that.  I’m running around for the new theatre troupe I’ve joined, and I’ve got rehearsals and meetings and all sorts of crap.  It’s wild.  It’s also hard to work my diet.  But I need to be on the South Beach Diet.  So I’m going to redo phase 1.  I’m already having problems trying to figure out how to eat right.

But I weighed myself this morning.  And I was 205.  So all my damage has been done.  And I can push myself below 200.  I have the will power.  I have been to the Oasis at the end of Bouquet Canyon, and I have cursed its Champagne Supernova.  I have defeated the proud warriors of the Pechanga Canyon Buffet, at Morongo Casino and Resort Spa.  I have carried Higginbottom into the mouth of Hell itself, and protected her from the killer rabbits and varied cacti.  I have proven my love.  I have miles to go before I sleep, but I am strong. 

I’ve got papaya fu, motherfucker.

Alright, so between stress and laziness and feel-goodery, I managed to fall wholeheartedly off the wagon.  We got a pizza the other night.  An extra large Papa Johns.  And then because I was running around not eating for my medical appointments, and was totally fucking stressed out, I went to Uncle Hogly Wogly’s Tyler Texas BBQ for lunch.  Because of all the crazy shit that’s been ongoing, I haven’t been working out at all.  We’re back on track, managing to keep a relative Phase 1.5 to get our shit in order.   And so it was with a heavy heart (pun fully intended for those in the know of my maladies) I jumped on the scale this morning. 

206.

The fuck?

It was almost 205.  And I didn’t even go commando as is my wont.  I lost a pound.  Eating like fucking garbage.  And I’ve still got more of the week left to lose more.  But I feel fatter, so I checked the measurements.  I went down another half inch on my stomach and chest.  And my hips.  I think what happened was, my fat has gone into fallout mode, and is falling into my stomach again.  So my stomach just LOOKS fatter, but it’s actually not too shabby.  Plus, since I will be starting rehearsals, that’s usually guaranteed to net me another couple pounds worth of hard core workout.  Try jumping around like a jerkoff under hot stage lights for a solid hour.  You’ll sweat like Michael Jackson at a Chuck E. Cheese. 

But this was a lucky break, and fallout may still occur later because of it.  So I’m on notice.  But it is nice to know that I can still have a day or two once in a while where I can let things slide.  And if I’m going to do this seriously, I need to get my shit together. 

Well, this week has been a thorough disaster as far as eating habits go.  Yesterday, since thin crust pizza is legit on Phase 2, though probably later on in the phase, I ate a whole thin crust pizza from California Pizza Kitchen.  Because of this, dinner consisted of a non-fat, decaf, sugar-free caramel latte with splenda.  I decided to take all the purposes out of coffee-beverages and leave a tasty husk in its place.  Dessert is normally a ricotta creme, but it turned out I was completely out of fucking ricotta.  So instead, I ate 7 dark chocolate covered blueberries.  (Which is also allowed by Phase 2).  I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked up this week solidly. 

I worked out on Wednesday, and it went alright, but the gym was so fucking crowded I just didn’t have any ambitions.  So I did 20 on the bike and 25 on the treadmill and called it.  This weekend was going to be our date weekend, but in the next two days we have to get groceries, workout, go to the free clinic (thanks American Healthcare System!), audition for a theatre group, memorize and prepare my monologue, work 8 hours to make up for a sick day last week, and you know spend time alone with my lady.

Like I said, this is the difficult part of the diet, the part where you continue to bust your ass for minimal results.  I have committed to spending the next 6 months busting my ass to lose weight, in a safe and healthy way, and it’s going to take me over 30 weeks to maybe lose a pound or two a week.  It’s really frustrating.  And I have to mete out my carb intake and it STILL might be too much.  And I still might have to start over, because I fucked up that first two weeks. 

I’m just furious.  And I don’t want to work out, because I think by doing exercise, I’m building muscle, which is actually fucking up my weight loss.  I don’t feel like I’m losing any weight anymore.  And it’s annoying.  I hate this fucking diet.  I hate that I got so fat in the first place.  And that I’m so severely out of shape, I have to go to a doctor before I AUDITION, to make sure that I don’t fucking die first.  That I can’t afford to do this.  It feels like it’s taxing every single part of me: financial, spiritual, social, and emotional.  Physically, it’s not a hard diet to follow.  It’s just that it is a diet.  I don’t care what fucking Agatston says.  You cannot live your life without pasta and bread. 

But am I going to give up?  NO.  I’m so pissed off, but I can channel that better.  It just feels like I spend my life rushing around from one place to the other and I don’t have any time to appreciate it.  I can’t sit back and say, “Ahhhhh.”  Our gym takes 20 minutes to drive to (if we’re lucky), and then my workout can run over an hour, because I have to work out aerobically.  I can’t do bursts of intense exercise, because it could kill me, or at the very least severly hurt me.  Which I can’t afford, because I don’t have healthcare.  And so, any time I want to work out, it costs me 2 hours of my day.   Which must occur after 6:30, because that’s the earliest Higginbottom gets home from her toiling at the salt mines.   It sucks.  It just sucks.  It does not leave any time for anything else.  And even on the days when we don’t work out, we have to fit in time to prep food, or shop for groceries or do laundry, or any of the other nonsense that’s day to day responsibility.  Don’t forget, after the workout, we still have to cook dinner.   Even if we don’t have chores, we’re so fucking exhausted from our day to day shit, that we pass the fuck out.  I honestly have insane amounts of respect for parents.  How you do this, and fit in time to raise children, is beyond me.

I weigh in tomorrow, and I’m dreading it.  Granted, I’m still fighting, but I feel like if I could just break under 205 some time soon, I’d feel a little better.  Especially if I could break under 200.  That would be awesome.   I’m still fighting.  It just sucks.