What a Year!

One Year out from Surgery...130 pounds gone, health improved dramatically.

    What a year this has been! Last year on this date, I was in the hospital, doped up and bloated, in pain and groggy from having a few ounces of tissue snipped out. The next few weeks, quite frankly, sucked! Liquid diets and pain pills, YAY! I was actually dreaming about cheeseburgers!
    Since that fateful day, I have seen some remarkable changes in my life. I have lost 130 pounds, an average of 10.8 pounds per month. My diabetes is gone, completely disappeared, as is my sleep apnea - no more Darth Vader sleep mask for me! I used to squeeze into 46 inch waist jeans, now my 34's are too dang loose. I have to keep drilling more holes in my belts, or my pants fall off as I swagger along. Yes, I swagger, I strut like a rooster, I act like a sexy, badass hunk of a man...I'm actually completely ordinary looking, but I feel awesome!
    I used to be, for all practical purposes, a fat, non-functional cripple, incapable of doing anything even remotely physical. These days, I run road races, work for hours in the yard, swim, lift weights, and this coming sunday, I am living a dream come true - I will make my first solo skydiving jump! I have made 3 jumps so far, all of them tandem jumps, with an instructor strapped to my back. I will have several hours of additional training, suit up and strap up, go for a plane ride, and beat the plane back down to the ground - awesome! I'm already stoked...
 

    No, that's not me, but it will look something like that, except I'll have an instructor on either side of me, making sure I don't go splat. Think about it for a minute - going from a hobbling, lurching cripple, constantly in pain, walking with a cane and barely able to function at all, to a walking, running, lifting, working, swimming, skydiving birdman, in one year! I only have one regret - I regret I waited as long as I did, and I was such a miserable bastard to be around for so long...my family had to put up with entirely too much bullshit for far too long, because I was in such sorry-ass shape, so miserable and so sick. I can only hope they can forgive me for the pain I caused them.


EDIT....THIS is me!

        and it was a nice, soft landing, too!

 Time to get on with the rest of my life...the fat man is dead, the real me is here, and the voyage of change will continue - but this particular year of change has come to an end, and so has this blog. Time to jump, goggles on, stand in the door - GERONIMO!!!

Geronimo!

   just about one year since my surgery, stuck at 230, so I'm down about 120 pounds...

    I drove up to Lumberton to hang out at the drop zone,  at Gold Coast Skydiving. I was just going to hang around, take a snapshot or 2, talk to the folks, and just be a spectator...until the lady behind the counter asked, "Are you ready to go skydiving?" and I said, "Sure!", which was kinda stupid, because I wasn't actually planning on going today...I was just gonna watch, right? Ten minutes later, I'm buckling into a harness and getting a safety briefing from the staff (great folks, by the way). I met the instructor who was going to jump me, a sharp young guy named Jesse. He explained it all again, we boarded the plane, and just as the plane started flying, the jokes started flying. I said something about the fall isn't what kills you, it's the sudden stop at the bottom, and the guy next to me said, "no, no, no...the sudden stop simply breaks all of your bones, it's the bounce that shoves all of the broken pieces into your vital organs, so if you do go splat, make sure you grab 2 handfuls of grass the first time you hit, that way you won't bounce, and you'll probably survive!" For some reason, this gallows humor was some of the funniest shit I've heard in a long time...

   The first guy to jump rolled up the door (they roll like a garage door), shook hands with those of us in the front of the line (a small palm slap and a knuckle bump) and simply stepped out the door like he was popping outside for a smoke. It was the coolest thing I had ever seen! I mean, the dude just smiled and hopped out of a plane at about 7,000 feet! He was quickly followed by another cool, casual dude...slap, bump, smile and wave, and the dude just falls sideways out the door! Awesome! The third guy was at least 75 years old, and looked as relaxed as a retired stock broker at the Clubhouse sipping a fine single malt scotch. He asked me, "How does my hair look? Does it look OK?" I said, "No, it looks awful!" Then I laughed and told him he was beautiful...palm slap, knuckle bump, smile and wave, and out he goes...

   The guys to my right did their thing, then it was our turn...when you are doing a tandem jump, you have an experienced instructor strapped tightly to your back - he does all the work, and you just do a couple of small things to make his job easier, like pull your feet in tight, and try not to pee on him in catatonic fear. He will take care of the rest...what's odd though is, you jump from a kneeling position. You actually walk towards the door on your knees, with your instructor right behind you (naturally, he is strapped to you at four points). You walk up to the door on your knees, grab your harness at chest level (so you won't grab the door frame on your way out), and the instructor asks, "are you ready to skydive?" Only a total douchbag says "no" at this point, so you yell something brave-sounding like, "Hell yeah, let's rock!" (I'm sure my eyes were the size of silver dollars at this point)  and the instructor rocks forward, rocks back, and out you both go...this is what is known as a triple oh-shit moment. You think, "Oh shit! I'm about to fall out of a plane at 14,000 feet!"... "Oh shit! I'm falling through the sky from 14,000 feet!" As you do a slow roll forward, you find yourself looking straight up... "Oh shit! There goes the plane I just fell out of!" That's three "Oh shit"s in about 3 seconds...then the instructor deploys the drogue chute, and you stabilize in the face-down position, and you think, "WOW! What a view!"

   Here is something very important about freefall - when you are in a stable, face-down position at terminal velocity (120 MPH straight down),  you do not have a sensation of falling. You simply feel like you are in an incredibly windy situation. It is not stomach-churning, you don't panic, and you don't feel the need to grab something...it is, however, incredibly LOUD! You fall for about 60 seconds, feeling the skin on your face quivering in the wind, looking around at the awesome view, feeling the instructor kicking your feet back into the proper position (almost everybody forgets about proper foot position), and then suddenly, you feel a tugging sensation, and your shoulders are pulled upright - the boss has just pulled the ripcord, allowing the chute to deploy, and you go from 120 MPH to about 20 MPH, and you are no longer falling, you are flying! Seriously, you are soaring through the air like a big-assed bird, the noise is gone, and the boss will ask, "You OK? How do you feel?" I told him I was great, that was awesome (that word keeps popping up, cuz it fits), and then he asks me if I want to do some spins? Well, hell yeah, I want to do spins! I have no idea what he means, but I'm game for it...and he pulls the right steering toggle, and we go on a wild-ass roller coaster ride, cork-screwing to the right for 2 or 3 circles. He asks if I want to go the other way..."Yeah, bro, that was awesome!" (there's that word again...) We rip 3 or 4 tight turns to the left, then we settle down, and he tells me about the landing.

    Honestly, the only part that actually had me worried was the landing. Flight is optional, but landing is mandatory, and with my bum knee, I was a little worried about a hard landing doing some damage. No need for such concerns! The passenger in a tandem has one job on landing; don't let your feet hit the ground. Seriously, pull your feet up and don't let them hit first...I slid on the grass on my butt, he slid on the grass on his knees, and it was completely painless, exciting, thrilling, and safe...and awesome! I hooted and yelled, slapped the ground, laughed like a maniac, and cheered like a drunken soccer fan. I shook Jesse's hand about four times, slapped him on the back, told him, "I luv ya, bro!" and hooted at the sky some more...I'm sure the word "awesome" was shouted several times, by myself, and by others doing their first jump...what a fantastic day!

   The change in my life is so dramatic, so profound, that I simply cannot find words to describe it...I went from being a fat cripple, barely capable of walking, to a running, weight-lifting, skydiving, living being...I am so grateful, and so humbled, by the second chance I have been given, that again, words fail me...

I do have a problem though...how am I going to pay for free-fall lessons? They don't give that stuff away, ya know?

Blue Skies!

In Training...

    A few weeks ago, my best bud sent me a note, telling me there was a 5K race coming up - the Bridgefest in Bay St Louis. We would start the race at the east end of the Bay Bridge, run across the bridge into Old Towne in Bay St Louis, and finish in the middle of the festival itself...I had managed to stagger through a 5K run just about a week before, but it was painfully slow, and downright painful. Lot's of walking breaks, lot's of foot-soreness. I knew I was not actually ready for a 5K race, even a race I had no hope in hell of winning (let's not be delusional here - I don't think I will ever come in first)...so naturally, I said, "Hell Yeah, lets do it!" Race day comes along, I crawl out of bed, down a couple of Ibuprofen, choke down some Powerade, sugar-free, of course, and get ready to race. I started well back in the pack of about 300 or so. The horn sounded, and the crowd started shuffling along to the starting gate. I clicked my stopwatch when I went thru the gate, and started my great journey...I jogged along with Robbie at my side for a few minutes. I told him I didn't want him to pace me, but run his own race...I was soon by myself in a sea of equally slow strangers, and that was fine with me.

   I talked to myself, making bargains with my inner child, the whiny little brat; "Quit complaining, see that sign post? We'll walk a little when we get to it." We would reach the sign post, and I would say, "Nah, just a little bit farther, see the next sign post? We'll keep running to that one..." I did take several walking breaks, but only long enough to catch my breath. I would walk when I noticed my form was starting to go bad, when I would start to heel-strike, or drag my toes along the road. Those were signs that I was truly fatigued and actually needed a short break. I never stopped moving, and actually felt some competitive spirit rising in me. "I wonder if I can catch that chick up there. She looks like she's getting tired - that Grammaw just dropped her, maybe I can too." I passed a few folks, they passed me back, I pushed myself as hard as I could, and eventually I saw the finish chute. I did my best to finish in good form, no staggering, up on the toes with arms pumping, and I think I did OK...nobody laughed and pointed, so it must not have been too bad...

   I powered thru the chute as fast as I could, but I was completely drained by that point. I got my finish time, remembered to click my own stopwatch, and met Robbie at the gate -he wasn't even sweating, the damn show-off! He helped me post my name on the finish board. I don't know what place I finished, but it wasn't last, and it sure as hell wasn't near the top - and I couldn't have cared less, because I Had Done It! I had actually finished a 5K race with a not-too-terrible personal time of less than 44 minutes. The time wasn't the important thing. What mattered was that I had kept going, believed in myself, refused to quit, and accomplished my goal. In that respect, I won!

   I am now running about 5 days a week, at least a mile and a half at a time, with one 5K run per week minimum. I'm still way too slow, but I'm walking less and less, and starting to pick up short bursts of speed every once in a while. I am actually getting out of bed early to go running before work - shocking, but true. I think I can safely say that my old life is over. The fat, shuffling cripple is dead, and the new me is here to stay. Instead of limping with a cane, I strut like a rooster, and tell myself that I am one sexy, badass hunk of a man, which isn't true, but that's OK...it feels good to feel good, ya know? I have set fitness goals for myself, some easy, some pretty dang tough, all of them doable with determination and drive, sweat and stubbornness.

I'll keep y'all posted about how it goes...

Then...and Now

almost 10 months out, down 121 pounds, actually enjoying life...

Ran a race today, only one mile, but had alot of fun. They haven't posted all of the times yet, but I know my time is somewhere in the middle of the pack of the one-milers, which means I run on average like the other new runners, the moms with small children, and the small children themselves...I got dropped by a 4 year old girl - AGAIN! One of these days I'm gonna kick her tiny little butt. So embarrassing. (Not really, its actually kinda funny).... I look back at old pictures, and the change is just ridiculous. To go from the sick fat bastard on the left, to the entirely ordinary looking guy on the right, is just a whole new life. Call me Walt 2.0

Old Walt 1.0 profile pic...

and Walt 2.0 profile pic...

yeah, a big improvement, if I do say so myself.

I now have about 3 months to get ready for a 5K race here in Pass Christian, the Summer Beach Run on August 4th...August. Ya think it might be kinda hot? Meh, I can hack it!

Just a quick Update...

May 8,  a little more than 9 months after surgery, down 119 pounds...

    I'm still working to rebuild the rusty old hulk that is my body. I'm lifting weights, riding bikes, and running 6 or 7 days a week. I rest by doing something different, that I haven't done for a while - example, the other day, I went swimming instead of running. Some might say I am a bit obsessed with my fitness, I would say they are right. My horrible fitness level ruled my life for years and made me a miserable son of a bitch, now it's time for some payback! Yesterday, I went for a one mile run around noon, missed my turn-around point, and just said "screw it" and kept going. Wanna know why? Because I CAN keep going now. If concentrating a large part of my time on my own health makes me a selfish bastard, so be it. I like to think that being healthier will make me a nicer person to be around, if for no other reason than the fact that I no longer hate myself, how I feel, and how I look.

    Since I got my guts trimmed, I have more than tripled my upper body strength, lowered my blood pressure and blood sugar, greatly improved my cholesterol, dropped 14 inches around my waist (size Medium shorts!), and I can run 2 miles (with a bit of walking here and there)...last year, I could barely walk with a cane, hated everything about my body,  and I was always taking pain medication. I don't even know that fat, miserable son of a bitch anymore, and I am so glad he is gone. Anyone who can't understand my new interest in my health will just have to step back and let it be...

    On the other hand, I will try to be a little more attentive to the people in my life, because they deserve it for putting up with the old me, until the new me came along. If I seem to have ignored you, it wasn't intentional...

Trials and Tribulations...

March 1, 2012, seven months, stuck at 243 pounds while my knee heals...dammit!


Rebuilding the Wreck

   Have you ever seen these shows about people who rebuild old cars? They go find some rusty old car, hiding in a barn somewhere like it is ashamed to be seen. The car guy finds this old rust bucket and says, "Oh my God! This is a 1967 Buggernaut Coupe, built in Luxembourg by Dummass Motorwerks! It's a classic!" He's hopping up and down, all grins and excitement, and then the camera swings to the car, and it's a disaster! The tires rotted out during the Clinton administration, one headlight is hanging loose in it's socket, a chicken is roosting on the roof, and the whole thing is so dirty, you can't tell what the original color used to be. The car guy lifts the hood, and when the dust cloud settles, he gets all excited again, "Yes! It has the original 9 cylinder engine with the turbo charger and the titanium spark plugs! Awesome!"  And you are wondering how he can tell all this, because the engine looks like a pile of rusty, discarded parts in a junkyard somewhere. He buys the heap, and the rest of the show is all about the restoration work he has to do, with whacky little scenes of fun and hijinks by the guys in the shop...

   While the camera rolls, the car guy runs into one unexpected problem after another, because there are so many things rotted out, rusted away, frozen solid, or just missing, and he has to fix one screwed up situation after another. Some parts he has to special order from Bavaria, some he scrounges from a guy in El Paso that owes him a favor, some he actually makes from scratch in the shop, but eventually, he gets it running again. It runs like crap, but it can actually move under it's own power...that's where I am right now with this rusted hulk of a body of mine.

   I was so fat and so badly out of shape that many of my muscles atrophied. The tendons tightened up and the muscles wasted away because I wasn't able to get any decent exercise, so now I'm running into all sorts of little problems. My thigh muscles are weak, and I have tendonitus. All those little muscles in my lower back, hips, sides, rib cage, etcetera, are all weak from lack of use, so when I try to exercise, I am shockingly weak compared to my younger self. I am doing all sorts of therapeutic exercises, but I still have a long way to go...

PLANKING - SIMPLE AND EFFECTIVE   

  No, I'm not talking about those morons who post pictures of themselves lying flat and motionless on park benches, coffee tables, railroad tracks, or where-ever. I'm talking about one of the best, most effective exercises I have ever experienced. It is stupid-simple, you can do it pretty much anywhere, and it is amazingly effective. All you do is lie facedown on the floor with your elbows tucked under your chest and your hands under your chin, and lift your body up while keeping your back straight or ever-so-slightly humped.  Don't let your back sag! Think of it like a push up done on your elbows instead of your hands. Concentrate on trying to tighten up all of those abdominal muscles, and hold that position for 15 to 20 seconds. 

shamelessly stolen from someone else's blog...

    This exercise actually works pretty much everything from your neck to your ankles, including all of those little muscles in your lower back, abdominals, and hips, the collection of muscles people have dubbed "The Core". Do that 3 times, with 30 seconds of rest in between planks. If you are in decent shape, 20 seconds won't be too challenging, but you will feel it working. If you are in crappy shape, like me, 15 seconds will have you sweating and shaking like a heroin junkie going through withdrawal. I did three planks of 15 seconds each on Monday, and I'm still feeling it on Thursday morning. For now, one planking session per week is plenty...especially if I do the side plank version while I'm down there on the floor. It is the same principal, just performed on one elbow with your body sideways instead of face down. It is idiot simple and abs-olutely effective! (Get it? Abs-olutely? Never mind, bad pun.)  It hurts, but it's good pain, the kind of pain that happens when weakness is leaving the body...

More sweat and good pain coming soon...


and a word or two about Vodka!

   Do you like vodka? I mean really like vodka? I'm not talking about a splash of the stuff in some orange juice, I'm talking super cold vodka shots, no ice, no mixer, just toss the bottle in the freezer for a couple hours, then drink it straight. If you really like vodka, then you know the difference between the good stuff and the cheap stuff, right? Don't be so sure...

   When you buy a really good whisky, like a fine single malt or a nicely aged sourmash, you are paying for the materials in the mash, the distillation, the fine oak barrels, the long patient aging process under strictly controlled conditions...and it's worth it. When you buy a nice, top-shelf vodka, do you know what you are paying for? If you plunk down $35 for top-shelf vodka, you are mainly paying for the name and the fancy bottle. Vodka is simply the purest distillation of ethanol, mixed with the cleanest water available. There is no careful aging, no oak barrels, no fine aromas and flavors. The best vodka is simply really clean ethanol at about 40% strength, diluted with clean, pure water. So what is the difference between the cheap stuff and the high-dollar stuff? Impurities...those other chemicals in there that make the stuff taste funny. Really cheap, crappy vodka tastes like paint thinner mixed with diesel fuel and a dash of battery acid, and it may actually have some of the same chemicals in it. Cheap vodka tastes bad, leaves a harsh or oily aftertaste, and gives you a skull-splitting, please-kill-me-now hangover. What to do, what to do?

   The answer is simple - purify the stuff! I recently experimented with a cheap bottle of rot gut, the cheapest in the store. I took a small shot of the stuff, gagged a little, and debated just pouring it out, but I decided to go ahead with my experiment anyway. I got an empty bottle, a small plastic funnel, 2 coffee filters, and about 50 cents worth of aquarium filter charcoal, the stuff you can buy at Walmart. I filtered the cheap crappy vodka through the charcoal once, and it was noticeably better. I filtered it through the same filter again, and the stuff was almost good. After 4 trips through the charcoal, I honestly don't think I would be able to tell the filtered cheap stuff from the really pricey stuff with the goose on the label. I tossed the bottle in the freezer for a couple hours, and enjoyed several shots later in the evening while watching something educational and spiritually uplifting - some gun porn on the outdoor channel! I went to bed, woke up fully functional, no hangover at all, no headache, no feeling of being poisoned the previous evening, just one glass of water and I was ready to rock. 

   With whiskey, you pay for all of those subtle flavors and aromas that fine, careful aging can produce, but with vodka, you are paying for what you don't get - all of the chemical impurities that come in the really cheap crappy stuff. Save a pile of cash and simply filter out the stuff you don't want. Trust me on this one, it works!

Physical Therapy Sucks...

but not for the reasons you might assume.

Six and a half months, stuck at 243 pounds, down 108 pounds, and limping from knee surgery.

     The knee-bone doctor did his thing, cleaning up a good bit of damage in my left knee. He said I had torn and frayed cartilage, a pretty bad bruise on the end of my thigh bone, water on the knee, and tendonitus. All I know is, it hurt a whole bunch before, and it still hurts but not as much, and hurts less every week. He prescribed six weeks of physical therapy, which is about what I expected, so I started last week - and it isn't what I expected at all!

    I was very athletic when I was younger, and have always worked hard in the gym and on the field. When lifting weights, I always try to lift to the point of failure, always pushing, striving, working to get that last bit of effort into the iron. It has always been my belief that pain is simply weakness leaving the body, that I can do more than I am currently doing, that I am capable of digging down deep and coming up with that inner strength...and that is exactly what I CAN'T do during therapy! My therapist is a very smart cookie who really knows his stuff. I understand the reasons he tells me to take it easy, don't push, be patient. "You are not working out, you are in therapy, you are not trying to get stronger, you are trying to heal." I understand, I get it, I see the logic, if I push too hard I can do some seriously permanent damage...but it is still driving me nuts! For a few weeks there, I was running, hiking, walking, moving, and it felt so good after being crippled for so long. Now, I'm crippled again, if only for a while. I feel like I was let out of a cage, only to be tossed right back in again as soon as I was getting used to the freedom - and to be blunt, that feeling fucking sucks!

    So for now, I'll hold back, and not push it. I'll stop myself from digging deep and striving for excellence, I'll shut the fuck up and do as I am told, and strap my icepack to my leg when it is sore, and be a good little therapy patient...and I'll hate every minute of it.

    Shit.