Hot Hot Heat

I hate sweating. The sticky, slick slimy feeling of your shirt clinging wetly all over; like being pawed at by a moist-palmed pervert. And that little trickle down a leg or the small of your back, it's a sudden jolt of ickiness. A reminder of how disgustingly flesh and bone you are.

It's been remarkably hot lately. My room nearly reached 100 degrees Sunday and yesterday. My apartment has AC, it just doesn't reach my room. I have a large, towering ineffectual fan instead. If you want to move hot air around, I can't recommend it enough. At least today is a little cooler.

I've been good with the exercising, and up until a brotherly visit last week, good with the eating. I'm back on track now, though, so hopefully my goals can still be reached this summer.

July Update

So far so good with the running. Getting up early, running, then heading to work knowing I don't have to hop on the treadmill before eating some lunch. Of course, getting up is still a bitch.

Eating is going pretty good too. I'm fixing a lot of meals at home, then saving half for lunch the next day. The extra tupperware cleaning is annoying, but it saves a lot of money.

Just have to keep it up.

July

I've decided July will be dedicated to my fitness and health. I've been pretty good about the gym since February, going five to six times a week. I've lost almost 20 pounds(while being asked if I was remembering to eat...believe me, I would never forget that, I love food too much).

Going into July, though, I find myself plateauing. So, I'm going to start seeing a personal trainer on Sundays, and I'll be eating better(during the week...I still cave to some cravings during the weekend. Like pizza. Hmmm, pizza...). A food journal is in order.

My goal is to drop to 10 percent or below in body fat. Last time I checked, I was in the 11-13 percent range, but I'll get a definitive measurement Sunday at my first session. After that, I'll have a new weight program that I'll be doing three times a week.

In a sort of addendum to the fitness goals for the month, I'm going to try and get up at seven at least three days a week to go running outside, instead of doing the treadmill at lunch. For one thing, I'll feel like I'm using more of the day, and for another, I'll be freeing up my lunch time for other things. I've done this twice so far this week. Getting up at seven can be hard, but once I get running, I feel great.

I'll be posting about how all of this goes.

The Times They Are A-Changin'

In the last two weeks, I've gone from this:



(the Nike 500 miles run club) to this:


I can't claim any real innocence; after all, I asked for this job, and I really want to do well. I've been staying late of my own volition.

Still, it's kind of striking. I haven't been to the gym in over a week; I haven't seen my girlfriend in almost two weeks; I've been putting in ten and twelve hour days(or more) - it gives pause, to say the least.

After dinner with a close friend -- who warned me of his similar experiences at his last job -- I've decided I need to set some better boundaries at work. There has to be a balance. If I learned anything from The Karate Kid, it's the need for balance. If you have no balance, you end up in a freezing lake. A very important lesson, second only to "if you do Karate 'I guess so', squish! - just like grape!".

I do love my new work. It's stimulating, creative, and for the most part, fun. I'm still getting used to this new, strange city - and it's success-driven work culture.

"If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere". That's what they say about New York. Maybe, just maybe, if I get the balance right, I will make it. Then this will be me:

Above Ground, Where The Warlocks Really Are

At my old gym, in the heart of DC's Chinatown, the facility was buried in the bowels of the complex of buildings that had sprung up around the Phone Booth(the erstwhile MCI Center, now going by Verizon). It was the official gym of the Washington Nationals, which is a lot like the Washington Generals sponsoring a basketball court(I kid, I kid...the boys in Federal Red are actually playing well lately, almost .500 ball since a 1-8 start). Being twenty feet underground brought one very appreciated blessing: cell phones were useless.

At my new gym, near Times Square in NYC, the gym floor and locker rooms are actually two stories above ground. Now no one is dumb enough (yet) to bring a cellphone onto the gym floor -- though I have seen some crackberries -- but the locker room is apparently a no-holds-barred zone. Conversations with colleagues, friends, and significant others abound.

The topic is usually mundane: business, errands, what to TiVo, etc. What's interesting, at least to me, is that no one is the least embarrassed to say where they are calling from, or what they are doing. I often hear:

"Yeah, I'm in the gym locker room...toweling off, putting on my pants...anyway..."

It's very nonchalant. Since modesty is not an issue, I think they should go a step further:

"Yeah, I'm in the gym locker room...toweling off my testicles, spread-eagle...putting on my pants, sans underwear, doing a nice tilt-a-whirl impression as I'm trying to balance the phone while getting dressed, mooning three or four people in the process..."

Why leave out any details?

Gym Security

I never used a padlock to protect my gym locker until today. That's roughly twelve years of leaving my belongings naked to whoever came upon them. Why do that? I never felt it was a serious threat; not serious enough to spend eight or nine dollars to prevent, anyway. Of course, if you ask people who know me, they would say something different:

A Random Friend: He's too trusting.

My Brother: He's fucking stupid.

Girlfriend: He's too trusting...and fucking stupid.

Today, though, I bought a metallic green lock to protect my locker. Why? It was the first time I had my laptop with me. I was planning on hitting up an Internet cafe right after my workout. Access at my apartment has been slow and sporadic lately. And has trusting -- or stupid -- as I may be, I'm not leaving a two-thousand dollar computer sit by itself, unprotected, while I do singe leg raises¹.

So World(or as my mother calls it, common sense), you win. I'm using a padlock. Happy?

¹Interestingly, I have no problem leaving my laptop -- albeit in its carrying case -- next to sweaty gym clothes while I shower.

Rap Brings Brothers Together

Ghostface Killah thunders from the blue car's speakers. My two younger brothers sit up front; Scott(four years younger) driving and Mike(eight years younger) beside him going through CDs. The blue car is a Saturn Ion. My entire family owns Saturns, so we differentiate them by color. Mike's car is the blue car, my mother's is the black, and Scott's is the white.

Normally we would be in the white car, but someone stole Scott's massive speakers out of the back while he was at work.

"Did you hear? Someone stole my fucking speakers, right out of the back of my car!" he says.

"How much was all that shit worth?" I ask.

"...a couple grand," he answers.

"Well...fuck."

He asks Mike to skip to the last track, "Three Bricks.", featuring the from the grave flow of the Notorious BIG. I ask Mike to instead to play the badmouthed kid skit. He chooses the latter and we all laugh at the child spewing profanities at Ghostface while he laments the perceived lack of discipline in today's children:

"That's the problem, ya'll kids don't get beat no more..."

I get Mike to play "The Champ" next, my favorite track. The fusion of lines from Rocky III and the boasts of Muhammad Ali delivered in guttural rage along side Killah's rapid-fire delivery is sick.

Mike moved into rap from metal during his last couple years of high school, though he still wears a Tool hoodie. The fact that we both own Fishscale -- though I bought it from Best Buy like a sucker -- is comforting. To say nothing of the nearly decade age gap it bridges, to me it shows that I haven't completely shed my connections with them and the old neighborhood. Or at least I hope it does. I've always had the sneaking feeling my brothers suspect that since I left PG County to live in relatively quiet Towson, then Foggy Bottom and now Columbia Heights, that I became somewhat...too highbrow for Laurel. Or that living in walking distance to Georgetown, having a real job and briefly being a married man, that I had grown up and looked back at them the way an adult might marvel at his baby pictures.

Ghostface brings me back to them, albeit with tons of obscenity.

We arrive at their gym in Bowie. Years ago when I still lived close by in Laurel, I worked out here. There was a Laurel location, but the basketball courts here are 94 feet long, like God intended.

The place hasn't changed much. The walk through the gravel parking lot; the climb up the stairs; the glass double doors; the familiarity is thick and I have to remind myself I wasn't just here yesterday. They even have my old information in their computer, and I spend a few minutes explaining to the front desk man that I don't live around here anymore, I'm just want to workout with my brothers today. Somehow, giving a former member a guest pass -- even at the absurd price of twenty dollars -- feels dirty to this man.

Catching up to Scott and Mike, I get berated for asking how much the guest pass was.

"You never ask how much," Scott says. "They might say 'fuck it' and just let you in, they don't care."

"I know, I just froze up. Technically I think I still owe them for four months back in 2002."

I have my own routine to do, so Scott and Mike go off to do their regular workout. I walk to the mat area, still in the same place. The machines are set up identically, though some are new. The walls are still lined with before and after pictures of the more persevering and disciplined members, portraits of the personal trainers, and basketball and racquet ball sign-ups.

Has nothing changed in Bowie?

It's painfully obvious one thing has when I rejoin Scott and Mike. I haven't worked out with Scott since before his stint as a Marine, and even then I considered it an accomplishment to lift the same weight, do the same amount of reps, or just to plain keep up with him since he was the athlete of the family. That was about four years ago.

Today, I find the Marines combined with his own discipline turned him into a machine. After watching him tear through an exercise, I don't even consider trying to keep up -- lightening the weight each time it's my turn. Mike does the same, though it doesn't seem to bother him at all.

"I don't think the kool-aid worked," he says.

The kool-aid is some kind of energy drink mix they took(and made me drink) before we left. It tastes like a sour version of it's namesake.

"This will get you jacked, son," Scott had said. "And this time, you won't puke."

Brothers never forget. Before a workout -- five fucking years ago -- Scott and his best friend(and current Marine) Greg coerced me into drinking a protein shake concoction of theirs. I downed the entire thing quickly, held it with a smile for a split second, promptly walked to the kitchen sink and heaved it all back up. Somehow, I still worked out that day.

Scott was right this time; I kept the entire thing down. Unlike his previous drink, this one doesn't taste like liquid feet.

Anyway, it doesn't seem to be working for Mike.

"Maybe it's because your working on four hours sleep dude," Scott says. "You stayed up all night again."

"That...could be it."

Good, two things haven't changed.

Here It Goes, Here It Goes Again

Above, you can see my running totals for 2006(or at least as far as I've been tracking it with Nike+ for my iPod, July through December).

76 runs since July, 311 miles, at a pace of about eight minutes a mile. That's the addictive part of Nike+, the raw numbers are right there in front of you. I almost look forward to updating my "stats" more than I do running the actual miles. This is the closest I will ever get to seeing my name in a box score.

About 50 miles a month, and I don't really plan on improving that in 2007. I'll be happy with just keeping up the pace, and adding some actual weight routines to the mix(I've been doing it slop-job and piecemeal, with no focus or purpose - I need to do some research, because personal trainers are way too expensive).

I do enjoy running, at least when I'm consistent about it. Three, four times a week - for me - is very good. When it drops to less than that, it becomes a chore instead of an accomplishment.

One thing I do want to change in 2007, though, is what I eat. I was doing pretty good for a while, but I collapsed under the weight(ha!) of the holidays. Now, I need to add more fruits, vegetables, and lean meats(I have almost eliminated read meat, though, from my daily diet, so that's something).

My girlfriend is back in New York, which makes me sad, but she left me some healthy things to fix for breakfast and dinner, which makes me less sad.

I just realized next week is restaurant week. Well, even when changing eating habits, there are always exceptions. Everything in moderation.

Ho Ho Ho...Holy Sh!t, the scale says what?!?!

The holidays have done their damage. This past year, through steady exercise and somewhat restrained eating habits, I lost about 15 pounds. The past month, I've gained about three, really three and a half, back. I wasn't running as much, and I ate well. Too well.

So it's back to my usual routine, which means more running, and hopefully some weight lifting. I was thinking of investing in a personal trainer, but instead I'll just do some research, buy the soundtrack to Rocky Balboa, and hit the weights more often.

I'll also have to get back to my better eating habits, which means more fruits, vegetables, fixed lunches, and less holiday sweets, California Tortilla, and fried chicken.

Head start on New Years, bitches.

Look Out For My Shameless Product Placement

I'm having dinner with my girlfriend and her sister tonight. I have never met the sister before and I'd like to make a good impression. Especially since the sister is in the Navy and I won't get a chance at a second impression for at least a year. I'm usually very good with families; I already have the adoration of the mother. I think.

I actually was able to go to the gym today, on a Saturday. Since my gym was in DC I never got to go on the weekends before; living in the suburbs it made no sense. I would always go during my lunch break, Monday through Friday, the gym being only two metro stops away from the office making this possible. It felt good to go there when there was no rush and no crowds. Another little benefit of living in the city, many of which I'll probably discover in the days to come.

Anyway, I had a good run. Five miles at a good clip, and it was all (geek moment) documented by my iPod(I highly recommend Nike+ for the iPod, it's an excellent motivating and tracking tool).

Back at home, I'm faced with the reality that my roommate is never, ever here. I know she travels a lot for work and loves to go hiking and what not on the weekends, but still. I don't want to fool myself and get used to having the entire place to myself, then be disappointed when she shows up. I just hope I have nothing to do with her not being here. I was a little worried that maybe she hasn't taking a liking to me. Then I met some of the neighbors, who had no idea who she was even though she has been living here almost a year. They thought I was moving into an empty apartment. So I guess I will get used to having the run of the place and face reality.

I'm also faced with a lesser, though a little more depressing, reality: my towels do not fold and put away themselves.