Fat? or Fit?

I can't believe that it's already November. The past few months have literally flown by -- and it's hard to believe that in just about a month and a half, I'm going to be heading out west for Christmas break at my parents' house in British Columbia. I'm looking forward to the getaway, but I'm also looking forward to seeing my sister from New Zealand, who I haven't seen in three years. She and I are quite close, and traveling this journey towards better health is something that I always thought I'd do with her by my side. Needless to say, the first moment that I see her is likely going to be an emotional one -- but it's going to be amazing.

I also had a reveal moment last week. My parents came to visit me here in Toronto for a week. I saw my dad in July at a family wedding in Pennsylvania, but I hadn't seen my mother since last Christmas. And even though I was already well on my way at this time last year, I was 110 pounds heavier. So I don't know what I was expecting, when I picked them up at the airport, but I was more than thrilled to know that she didn't recognize me and at one point wondered why my dad (who I saw first, coming out of the arrivals area) was hugging a strange man. Knowing that I look like a completely different person is something that I'm learning to get more comfortable with, but I have to admit that I still have moments where I wonder if I've really changed.

This morning, for example, I arrived at the spinning studio a bit early. It was a gorgeous fall day -- the perfect day for a run. So, I had decided to go for a light run before my spinning class. I arrived at Legacy, and one of the women who was there for this morning's boot camp class said that she didn't recognize me at first. I commented that it was my legs (because I was sporting a new pair of running tights, thanks to Dr. Steels!), and another one of the members said that it wasn't my legs. She could see a noticeable difference in my mid-section. Spinning has been a fantastic workout over the past two months. If you've read my two previous blog entries, you'll know what I high I get from them. In fact, I've dropped about 25 pounds since I started spinning, so I'm pretty thrilled with the results. And I do indeed notice a difference in the strength of my core, my flexibility, and also that my shirts, jackets and coats have a more generous fit through my mid-section. But at the end of the day, I still have moments where I take a look at my gut, and wonder if anything has really changed.

I carried a large percentage of my weight around my mid-section. As such, I've got a flabby belly, and the skin around my stomach is the least 'resilient'. Skin around other parts of my body has been quite elastic -- responding well to the work I've been doing, and nicely embracing the new and toned shape of my body and muscles. But my mid-section? Not to much. I was soaking in the tub the other night after an intense leg workout, and noticed just how much 'belly' still remains. And even though Sebastien tells me that the belly fat is the toughest and last to lose, there's still a part of me that wonders if it will ever really go away. Will I ever really get rid of it???

After spinning this morning, my friend Patsy and I took some time for one of my favourite weekend rituals: a coffee at Red Rocket Coffee in Toronto. As we were sitting outside enjoying our post-workout drinks, we were talking about all of the various things we've been doing to get fit. I always love a good long talk with Patsy, because she gets it. She understands where my head is at, and is always enthusiastic about trying new things. Over the course of our chat this morning, she stopped me at one point and said "We need to work on something. You have to stop calling yourself 'fat'."

I still think of myself as a fat man. I've dropped over 180 pounds and I still consider myself fat. I eat better than most nutrition books (except for the Skor brownie last night), and still refer to myself as fat. I ran 5km this morning and cranked out an intense spinning workout, and I still call myself fat. Combine all of these things with the fact that I still get disappointed because my gut is big and flabby, and I begin to wonder: "Will I always be 'fat'?"

There is a big part of me that thinks I will always be a fat man -- if not physically, then cognitively. And I'm not so sure I ever want to let go of that. I've been told (by others and myself) for a large part of my life that I'm not worthy of many things because I'm fat. I've been ridiculed, harassed, and objectified because I'm fat. And it's only in the past year or so that I've actually grown more comfortable calling myself 'fat'. I think there's a bit of reclamation happening here -- that I'm reclaiming the word 'fat' and using it myself to take the negative power away from it. And growing more comfortable saying the word, and describing myself in this way, I think has helped me to reach out to more people and advocate for fat people who want to actively make change in their lives. So I don't ever want to forget who I've been for the past 36 years -- and changing one word in how I describe myself is going to be much harder than I ever thought it would be.

There's a lot of power in language. There's profound meaning in the words we use to describe ourselves, and in how those descriptions link ourselves with people around us. And I still cringe sometimes when Sebastien calls me an 'athlete' or 'fit'. But it's going to take time for me to embrace these new ways of knowing and understanding myself -- especially at a time when I don't feel like the word necessarily matches who I am. How can I be 'fit' when I've got a big lump of flab around my mid-section? How can I be an 'athlete' when I weigh over 250 pounds? There is still a big part of me that's struggling to embrace the new person that I've become -- in part because I've programmed myself into thinking about who I am in only one way for so long. All I know is that it's going to take a while to re-program myself and my thinking to match the person I know I am well on my way to becoming.

So even though I run 5k, do spinning classes, and have such strong focus on my health and fitness, this is still a tough journey. It ain't easy. I still have moments where I have to stop myself in my thought patterns, and reprogram what I'm saying to myself so that I don't fall into old habits. I still have days when I'd love to stay in my pyjamas, and not go to the gym at all. And I still have moments when I'd love to devour unhealthy food in hopes that it might make me feel better than I'm feeling at that moment in time.

And that's the key.

Each time that I think about not working out, not eating well, or spiralling into some screwed up way of viewing myself and the world around me, I have to recall my past experience and know that if I don't workout; if I eat that pizza; or sit around calling myself 'fat' that I'm not going to feel any better at the end of the day. However, if I do workout; if I do eat a really healthy meal; or if I do take a moment to try on a new suit and admire the athletic figure before me, inevitably, I feel better. And that makes a whole lot more sense.

But I'm still working on it. And that's what matters most.

Kia kaha.
Stay strong.

Finding my hero...

As many of you know, I have recently taken up indoor cycling as an amazing way to crank up my cardiovascular training. Things were getting a bit boring on the elliptical machine at the gym, so I went to a spinning class, and got hooked instantly. I wrote about it in a recent blogpost, and since then have grown more and more excited by the prospects of getting stronger and better at this new activity. I suppose that one of the reasons why I get such a great kick out of it is because I feel like I'm part of a community of sorts. I know that many people participate in exercise classes, go through the motions, and don't necessarily feel any sort of connection to the people around them. But there are many people who do... so let me tell you about why the people who sweat by my side are such an important part of my journey.

In my previous post about spinning, I talked about what it's like to do a ride with a group of other spinners. The energy is palpable, and sometimes the shared sense of dread can be kind of intense. But at the end of the hour, you take a look around and see the satisfaction and pride on everyone's faces that you had accomplished something -- that somehow today, you worked harder than you did the day before, and you're a better person for having done so. That's such a huge part of what drives me to go to a class 4 or 5 days a week now -- yes the workout is fantastic, but the sense of community is close to spectacular.

Over the past year or so, I had also taken up a kickboxing class -- a weekly meeting of some people at my gym who hammered out some amazing kicking and punching sequences on a couple of WaveMaster bags. The class was fantastic, but over the past few weeks, I haven't been totally feeling it. I've gone, I've punched, I've kicked, I've sweated. I've done everything the instructor told me to do (and then some), but I wasn't feeling that great at the end of it all. And it is only in reflecting upon my spinning classes that I have begun to understand why.

Sebastien and I were talking about this very topic this past week, and we both realized that to a great extent, this journey has been a pretty solitary one for me over the past 18 months. Yes, I have tremendous supporters and people behind me every step of the way, but most times I am alone for a few hours at the gym cranking out my weightlifting or hammering through a run on the treadmill. It was only in the past few months that I started working out with other people -- my weekly runs with Alison and Lisa were not only a wonderful way to train for our 5km road race, but also a wonderful opportunity to shift the paradigms of some of my relationships. My friendships over the past year are no longer centred around social connections that focus on dining out or going for drinks. In many ways, my social connections happen more in the context of physical health and fitness, and that's a very empowering way for me to no longer feel so alone in this battle.

Where does spinning fit into all of this? Well, I have learned that I am at a point where the physical challenge of indoor cycling is defined by two things and two things alone: the extent to which I can crank up the physical resistance on the bike, and my mental/emotional willingness to actually do so. And there have been days (like today) when all I want to do is go to a class, take it easy, and blend into the background. But when you get a group of people around you who are cranking their dials, hopping out of their saddles, and grunting and cheering -- you can't help but get motivated by that. And at Legacy Indoor Cycling, having Andy pounding out the routine on his own bike to the music pumping from the speakers, you cannot resist the urge to crank up the dial and try to win the race -- the race between you and your body.

But last Friday, I was reminded how this is more than just a race between me and my body. As much as Andy challenges us to 'break the bike' and hammer it out as hard as we can, indoor cycling is about more than just pushing the actual limits of my physical capabilities, it's about continuing to push the limits of what I actually think I can do.

And winning the race against my own mind is often the toughest one to win.

You see, part of why I started indoor cycling is because my friend Jonathan has challenged me to join him on the 2010 Friends for Life Bike Rally -- a 600km bike ride over 5 days from Toronto to Montreal. I told him I'd do it, but shortly thereafter began to freak out about how I was going to train for it. Enter indoor cycling -- and Jonathan has now started joining me at spinning classes, along with another rider friend of his, Andrew. Jonathan also promised (tonight in fact... so note the date) that he would join me for the half-marathon next October if I rode with him next July. Perfect. And to be honest, observing the training that John did last summer, along with how he used the experience of the ride (which raised close to $1-million for programs/service for people living with HIV/AIDS) to connect himself to one of the most significant health issues facing not only the gay community, but people everywhere... well, watching all that happen was pretty inspirational. And my spinning class last Friday night helped me remember that fact.

Last Friday was a bit of a special day. Normally I would do two of Andy's classes back to back (incredible workout of well over 1500 calories!). But last Friday, James Gekko (a Schwinn Master Trainer, and a bit of a spinning guru) was teaching the second class. So I went to Andy's class at 5:30, which he claimed was the 'fluffer' class -- a warm up for what James had in store for us at 6:30. And he promised us that what we would experience in James' class would be pretty spectacular.

And it was.
But not for the reasons that I thought it would be.

Physically, it was challenging. But again, the extent to which I challenge myself in a spinning class is determined by my dial, and my desire to crank it up. The instructor is the coach -- encouraging you on, and helping you visualize what it's like to take it to the next level. But the 'work' happens on the bike.

On Friday evening, a lot of 'work' happened in my head.

James started the class with a great warm-up (I was already warm from Andy's class, which in keeping with his reputation, was not at all easy) and then took us through three different rides. Rides consist of a series of terrains (hills, steep climbs, flat road, mud, rapid declines) that are simulated by how you position your body and how manipulate the resistance on your bike. Now, I don't recall the physicality of the terrains -- because again, it wasn't the physical experience that resonated with me most. It was what I visualized along the way that was indeed the most powerful.

On the first ride, James (whose soothing coaching style instills great confidence in you as a rider) asked us to close our eyes and imagine riding with our best friend -- riding with someone who you enjoy being with, and whose presence was going to bring you joy. My mind raced through a number of different people who I consider among my closest friends -- some of whom I've never been on a bike with, and others who were in fact by my side that night. But it wasn't them I was thinking about. I began to think about one person in particular. And then I started to feel a bit overwhelmed. So I focused more on the ride and less on the person and hoped that we would quickly move on to the next stage.

Shortly thereafter, James asked us to think about riding against our greatest rival -- the person who was most competitive, who would rub it in our faces if they ever won a race against us, or who would never let us live down the fact that they had pulled ahead on a steep climb. Again, I thought of many people in my life who I have considered rivals -- some of whom I would even consider enemies. And I tried to visualize them riding by my side, each with his/her own sinister look on their face, as they pulled ahead of me, and I powered through the ride to catch up. I overtook every person I pictured in my mind's eye. Victory! But then another rider -- another rival who I never expected to be in the race pulled up behind me, met me shoulder to shoulder, and then powered on ahead of me. This rider's skill, speed and endurance drove me to push harder, pedal faster, and find the desire somewhere to beat him. Eventually, I pulled ahead -- however, feeling even more overwhelmed to the point where I thought I actually had a few tears in my eyes. So I pulled my cap down over my face, and thankfully, James moved on to the next stage in our ride.

In the third stage, he dimmed the lights and described riding at sunset -- at a time when dusk was upon us, and we had to try to make it home before nightfall. It wasn't going to be easy, but riding beside us he asked us to visualize a person who has inspired us -- who has been supportive, encouraging, and who has always been there. Again, I thought of many people -- my friends, my family, my trainer, my spinning instructors, my fellow spinners. I was at no deficit here. I have been surrounded by so many fantastically supportive people over the past 18 months, yet none of them seemed to 'fit' for this last leg of the ride. And then I pictured someone in particular -- riding closely by my side as night fell and as the air got cooler. And having him by my side gave me tremendous confidence... great happiness... tremendous peace. And I'm glad my hat was pulled over my face because at that moment, amid the grunting and sweating of the ride, I really did begin to cry. Not tears of sadness. They were tears of joy. No, I wasn't sobbing... but I had a moment of incredible emotional release when I came to experience great peace about this ride -- about this moment -- about the past 18 months.

Why? Who were these people? Why did they provoke such an emotional response in me?

In all three cases, the other rider was me.

The past 18 months have helped me to grow more close in my relationship with myself -- to better understand who I am, what's important to me, and why I matter. In the past 18 months, I've learned to be my own best friend... and it has helped me be a better friend to those around me.

The past 18 months have helped me to overcome my own self-rivalry -- to appreciate that I need to focus on challenging myself in positive ways, and discourage myself less. I have learned not to rub my face in my own failure, but instead learned to create opportunities for me to experience success.

And finally, the past 18 months have helped me to draw a tremendous amount of inspiration from deep within me. I am surrounded by so much encouragement, support and love that at times, it is indeed overwhelming to imagine. And the energy and inspiration I draw from my fellow spinners each day goes unmatched by any other group fitness experience I've ever had -- and for their energy I am tremendously grateful. But at the end of the day, I have learned to rely more upon myself. To find motivation from my failures, and inspiration from my possibilities. To take the time each day to think about what I am doing and how I can do better -- in every part of my life. I've learned to be my own hero.

And I've never felt more at peace.

At the end of the ride with James, we did our stretching and cool-down, and I quietly went to the locker-room to change. Once back in my civvies, I made my way out of the studio -- and I normally take a few moments after each class to chat with Andy and thank him for a good class. But on Friday night, I threw on my coat, tossed on my hat, gave a quick wave to those who remained in the studio and made my way home. I wasn't yet in a place to begin to truly articulate how important that class was to me. I knew it had been a powerful experience, but I couldn't really describe why. So, I didn't get a chance to thank Andy or James right away. But I hope that what I've described in this blogpost conveys how grateful I am.

Andy and James

At each class, Andy tells us that this is a race between us and our bodies. After Friday night, and at every class since, I am mindful of the fact that it has the potential to be a bigger race than that. Just like my 5km run, this experience of personal transformation is a race against my physical, emotional and cognitive self. And it's a race I know I win each and every day. Because after every workout -- weight training, kickboxing with Sebastien, running on the boardwalk, walking the dog, or spinning at Legacy...

I know I've won because I smile the whole way home.
Doesn't get much better than that.

Kia kaha.
Stay strong.

It is what it is.

I've taken a bit of a break from running in the past two weeks. I did my 5km run and am still feeling incredible about my accomplishment. But, the weather has been crappy, and life has been a bit nutty. My landlord decided to put the house up for sale, so for the whole of last week, I hardly got to spend any time at my place because teams of agents and potential buyers were coming through for private viewings and open houses. This surrender of my home really threw a wrench in my week. My friends Liza and Lindsay were a tremendous help with my dog -- Rosie was able to go hang out at there house during the day while complete strangers walked through my house (without taking off their shoes), opening cupboards, closets, and one person even used my toilet. Not sure how I feel about that. So, the surrender of my home also meant a temporary surrender of my routine for that period of time, too.

Last Wednesday, I went out to for a belated birthday celebration with my friend Jonathan, his boyfriend Elliot and Jonathan's cycling amigo, Andrew. We went to comedy night at a local bar, had lots of beer, ate pizza and nachos, and had a fantastic time. I stumbled home late that night, got a little bit of sleep before rising early to vacuum, sweep and prepare the house for private showings that day. I also didn't have much of an opportunity throughout the week to cook my meals. It's difficult to begin whipping together a culinary wonder when the phone rings and an agent is 'in the neighbourhood' (i.e. outside the front door) with a potential buyer. So, let's just say that the eating regimen got put on hold as well. And I didn't get as much time in the gym as I would have liked.

All of those factors combined, and yesterday, when Seb weighed me before our workout, we realized that I had put on just under three pounds.

I felt like crap. I had just dropped over 5 pounds the prior week, bringing my total loss to 177 pounds. And after a week of little routine, not a lot of structure, and an awesome night out for my birthday, I put some weight back on.

Not good.
Or is it???

Of course, my initial reaction was not positive. I went silent, pulled my baseball hat further down over my eyes, and sat with my arms crossed in frustration. Clearly, my body language indicated that I didn't want to talk about it. But Sebastien tried, and we processed what I was thinking/feeling a little bit. We even checked the scale twice, and it still showed a gain.

"It is what it is," I said.
Exactly.

It is what it is.

I've been saying that quite often over the past two years as a way to help me accept the fact that whatever happens in my life, is likely something over which I have little control. So why obsess about it. If something bad happens, there's not a lot I can do to change it in that exact moment. But there are many things I can do to better deal with it the next time it happens.

So I gained three pounds.
It is what it is.

I gained three pounds because I was stressed.
It is what it is.

I gained three pounds, because I unclenched about my routine, relaxed a little and allowed myself to enjoy an amazing night out with friends in celebration of my birthday.
It is what it is.

The more I think about it, I like what it is. Why do I like the fact that I gained weight?

Because now, more than ever before in my life, it's not the end of the world. My weight fluctuates. It always has and it always will. I've come to accept more fully the reality that weight is just a number -- not an indicator of overall health, wellbeing, and more than anything, self-worth.

For example, I now weigh in at about 260 pounds (which I haven't weighed since the 12th grade, by the way). And last week, I had to go to the emergency room because I got my finger closed between two car doors. Long story, gory at the beginning, all good now. When I met with the intake nurse, she looked at my finger, took my temperature, and then put a gadget on one of my other fingers to take my resting heart rate. She let the machine do its thing, and then she said, "I want to try this on another finger."

I realized at that moment what she was doing.

Sitting before her was a 260-pound man, who had just had his index finger slammer between two car doors -- a mildly traumatic experience. She likely assumed that my blood pressure would be through the roof. She likely assumed that my resting heart rate would be very high. I mean, I'm still a big guy.

And even after taking the heart rate for the second time, it still read: 49 bpm.

Yes, my resting heart rate (even when stressed) is 49 beats per minute.
My blood pressure is totally normal.
My weight is under control.
I'm healthy, I'm happy, and I'm pretty wise.

So, three pounds is not such a big deal after all.
If other people still get hung up on their assumptions about who I am and what I'm like. Well, that's their problem. At the end of the day, I don't care a whole lot about what they think. The only opinion that matters to me, is mine.

And that's why it is what it is.

I'm coming to this conclusion not only because I've finally made an important reconciliation in how I think about myself, but also because it's an important time of year. This weekend is Canadian Thanksgiving -- a time of year when we celebrate the harvest and reflect on all things for which we are thankful. However, over the past year, I've tried to remain acutely aware of all of the abundant things in my life for which I am thankful. And I make sure people around me know it more than just once a year at times like these. But indulge me if you will, and allow me to share my list of things for which I am most thankful.

I am thankful for...

My family, who is incredibly wonderful, fantastic, supportive and loving. And even though my parents and brother live in British Columbia, and my sister lives in New Zealand with her husband and three kids, they are always with me each and every day, each of them in his or her own special way.

My close circle of friends (Tony, Liza, Lindsay, Alison, Jonathan, Lisa, Patsy, Steve, Adina) who provide me with an unending level of support and love knowing that this physical and emotional transformation is the most important work I will ever do in my lifetime. I am particularly grateful because run with me, spin with me, workout with me, indulge in bad food with me, walk with me, drink coffee with me, and make me feel more incredible each and every day. They also understand me more than anyone else in my life. That understanding is a pretty powerful thing.

My dog, Rosie. She's a dog. She thinks I rock. She licks my cheek every night when I come home from the gym. What more could you want?

My trainer and friend Sebastien. If you've been reading this blog regularly, you know how important he is to me. I hope to have the opportunity to one day truly thank him for all he has done for me. But I think he takes great pride in knowing that he's created a monster. He's ignited a fire. He's taken a 435 pound man and tranformed him into an athlete. More than anything though, he's helped me learn, accept and celebrate the fact that out of all of the bullshit I deal with in life, that above it all, I am the most important thing out there.

The rest is, well...
It just is what it is.

Kia kaha.
Stay strong.
And Happy Thanksgiving.