The Fear

I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
- Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear


God created Missouri to train the faithful.
- Mid Western Fremen Proverb

I have learned a lesson in the last few weeks. A lesson that has been working its way through my conscious mind for the last couple of months.

A few months ago, I took advantage of money from my employer and got a certification I've long wanted and talked about getting. I made every excuse to not get it. The excuses cleared, the money was there and once I decided to do it, the certification came easy. I already had the knowledge, I just had to prove it and pay for it.

The last couple of weeks, I've been studying a computer programming language; Java. For a couple of years, decades depending on what you consider a "language", I've been wanting to learn to code. I always got bored and stopped. No, not bored - afraid. I said I was bored. I made myself think I was bored. I blamed the fact that I'm all about instant gratification and that the learning wasn't coming fast enough. But, the truth was, I was afraid. Afraid I couldn't do it. Afraid I would fail. In the last couple of weeks, I have picked up a lot of Java. I have written working, clean, functional, useful code. I've written fun code. Once I decided to do it, once I gave myself permission to suck, it came fairly quickly. And, honestly, it's been fun. I've dived in and really explored. I've only scratched the surface but I want to learn more. I want to put "Java Developer" and "Test Automation Engineer" on my resume.

Why am I writing about this on my diet blog? I want to talk about The Fear. I literally want to confront my fear of The Fear. I'm not a confrontational guy. Never have been. I'm most likely to just walk away than fight. If I'm yelling at you, it's because I feel cornered and don't see a way out. I'm really good at walking away, figuratively and literally.

Confronting The Fear is hard for me. But, I need to do it.

I don't think I ever learned how to fail. I'm not blaming anyone for that, who teaches their kids how to fail? There are no classes, no Learn to Fail 101. But, I think a lot of people learn to fail naturally by doing stuff, failing, surviving and doing it again. I never did anything. I have no real accomplishments. I barely tried in school, barely passed because people thought I had potential and I had natural brain power, used or not. I didn't get a degree because I didn't ... hell, I don't even know why. I know now that four years is not an eternity and while my generation might be the last that having a degree means something, it really would have served me. My work history is fraught with unemployment and mediocrity at best because I didn't have any proof I was useful at anything because I never did anything but scrape by.

It goes beyond that. I never figured out what I want, who I wanted to be. The few times I tried to figure that out, The Fear kicked my ass. As a youngster, I wanted to be an Astronaut. My plan was heavy on STEM in school, let the Navy pay for college, with even more STEM. NASA is a civilian agency, but most of the Shuttle pilots and previous program crews were ex-military with a lot of emphasis on carrier landings, so I wanted to be Naval Aviator. The rest would be easy enough, right? Okay, I know I had way too much Star Wars and Top Gun in my skull, but it wasn't a bad plan. The only problem was I sucked at Math and Science - because I really didn't apply myself. Why? Fear of failure? Likely. Regardless, when the Navy told me that 6'2" and 230 pounds was way too big to be a fighter jock, I was angry, but I had a way out. I could let the dream die and it wasn't my fault - look at how unfairly life had treated me! There were other options, I even knew about them. I said stuff like "Mission Specialists are just cargo." What a jackass! If I had buckled down and done the homework, maybe I could have gotten somewhere. Certainly further than I got.

A school guidance counselor turned me on to the idea of being an archaeologist. I had seen Indiana Jones, I was hip. Off to college I went, with visions of digs in my future. A professor says "the science only has about thirty years left" - The Fear says "See? Loser!" I flounder and flunk out. The professor was wrong, by the way. But, I had my out. I didn't have a chance to fail if I didn't try. Somehow my brain, that thought four years was an eternity, also thought that a career that might extend to 2015 or 2020 was unsustainable. See? Bad at math!

I told myself around 1999 that by the time I was 35, I would be a freelance writer. Yeah! As if! I barely write in this blog! I've always loved the idea of learning to play drums. I currently have bongos in the back of my car. Bought those in 2008. Do I know how to play them? Nope. I'm sure by now you see the pattern.

The Fear has ruled my life. I've allowed that to happen.

My health has followed the same pattern. My family is obese and has heart issues, they all die relatively young, why even try to be healthy? Sports are hard, TV is easy. The gym is hard, sleeping is easy. Some of this just sounds like laziness, but I'm starting to see that laziness is a great disguise for The Fear. I was even able to hide it from myself, and mentally kick myself for being a lazy loser in the process.

I've previously talked about giving myself permission to suck. But, this is going deeper. I have to give myself permission to TRY. To TRY AGAIN. Maybe it's not permission, maybe it's kick-myself-in-the-ass to TRY. I dunno. This is all new. I'm still mulling it around. Success of any kind is kinda new to me.

Why didn't I know these things at 17? At 20? Would I have been smart enough to listen?

Healthy Paranoia

New Year's Resolutions? It's always the same:

• Lose Weight.
• Get Healthy.
• Get my shit together.
• The "shit" and my current definition of "together" are the only variables.

So, as per usual, I couldn't even get to like the second or third day of the year before anything resembling resolutions were a thing of the past. The good news about me is that my "New Year's Resolutions" are pretty much the same things that "I'll start on Monday."

This being Monday, I managed to actually get up at 5 AM and hit the gym. I know! I'm as shocked as you!

After my little hike on the dreadmill, and a well deserved hot shower, I slithered to the scale and stealthily climbed its heights. If I sneak up on the device, I can fool it into thinking I weigh less - right?

Umm - yes, yes apparently, I can.


365


That's 15 pounds since October, 33 pounds since March of 2016.

What's my secret? It certainly isn't diet nor exercise. Perhaps it's still the Mystery of Misery at work? Maybe. I've shoved enough candy and full sugar soda in my face to get me through the death of the only real father figure I ever known, not to mention the holidays - so, no, certainly not diet. I was sick for a few days, but I doubt I was 15 pounds sick. In short, I don't know.

And, not knowing is starting to scare the hell out of me.

I'm guessing my lack of gym attendance has lowered my muscle mass and bone density. Buuut - what if that's not all?

After a good bit of gym time last year, I noticed a lump in my belly button. My innie was becoming an outie. It never progressed beyond half filling my belly button and there was no pain. I didn't have health insurance, so I ignored it. I've got a dull ache from it now. It's likely a hernia.

About the same time, I noticed a growth on my chest. Just below my sternum - it almost connects my ribs together. Every now and then I get a sickening "click" between it and my right rib. My brain immediately went to "bone cancer!" and a dozen other nightmare scenarios. It's likely a calcified cyst.

Both are likely going to require surgery, especially if they are NOT what I think they might be. I also think both are the result of a sedentary 40-something going back to the gym, doing as many as 10 push-ups, All At The Same Time! Health through exercise! Bah!!

Buuut - what if that's not it at all? What if it is cancer ... or something worse? It would explain the unexplainable weight loss. I can hear a bunch of you screaming "Go See a DOCTOR!"

It's not that easy.

This is the first time in my life I'm afraid to go see a doctor. Seriously, genuinely afraid. I mean, yeah, my paranoia is, in general, out of control on this point, I get it.

Even without that, this will be a brand new doctor. I was spoiled with my last doc in Seattle. I loved her. Too many horror stories from my friends about asshole doctors. I have a story myself, that asshole has given cardiologists a bad name in my book. I really don't need judgement and bullshit from some local Trump Voter with an MD!

Even if it isn't cancer, two surgeries is going to be a shit ton of pain and trouble, not to mention piles of money. I'm just now crawling out of the money-pit I've been living in since 2009.

Wouldn't it be easier to just let my Malaria induced AIDS/Cancer kill me in my sleep? Or waste away to nothing over the next year? I know; no, it won't be, because long before any of that I'll be just another fat bastard with a frightfully painful strangulated hernia.

I'll call someone tomorrow. Fuck.

The Disappointment Factor

My recent mental monologue has looked a lot like the following:

"Look at that treat! I so WANT that!"

"No you don't."

"Wha ... ? Why?"

"Sure it looks good, but it's a couple of bites, it won't taste as good as it looks, it won't entertain you for more than a moment, there is no sexual satisfaction in that treat, that treat has more calories than a whole meal and you'll just end up disappointed."

"Oh. I don't want that."

"Right."

This isn't a new phenomenon. A while back I found myself in the cookie aisle in the grocery store on a Friday night. I put up a pic on Facebook with a caption that said there was no entertainment or sex in that aisle. I was lonely, horny and bored, not hungry. Since then, I've frequently had the thought, but just went ahead and fed my addiction and proved myself right.

The last few weeks, the Disappointment Facor has kept me pretty close to perfect. I've had some fruit a few times, but I haven't had candy, cake or real sugar soda in working on five weeks. I think I'm just really tired of eatting a bag of garbage, then being disappointed, then being angry with myself for having done it.

However ...

I eat a lot of fast food. This diet accommodates that very well, you just have to be prepared to ask for no bun and eat your burger with a fork. Extra mayo & pickles & bacon - Yay!

But, no fries? That sucks. No fries, no potato cakes, no hash browns nor tater tots. No Fries!! I've eaten a ton of Wendy's chili recently. Wendy's fries dipped in their chili is about perfect! I nearly broke the other night. I wasn't proud when I left, I was angry and breathless - those fries called to me that hard!

No fries. Sigh.

HFLC Me!

Week three of the latest diet adventure: High Fat Low Carb.

I tripped over this site - and pretty much read the whole thing. It's all about High Fat, Low Carb diets. The idea is that eating sugar, especially in the amount we Americans eat, is bad for us. All of us, but especially diabetics, should be cutting our carbs. They further postulate that adding fat, not removing, will aid in normalizing metabolism. Newer science points to this. This is pretty much the reverse of the 80s & 90s "STOP THE INSANITY!" attitude that you can eat all the baked potatoes you want, as long as you skip the butter and sour cream.

Not sure what the value of a pile of butter and sour cream might be without the baked potato, but I digress.

Back in '09, as you might remember, or as you can read in the beginning of this blog, I tried out Adkins/Low Carb, with some mixed results. It was a long fight, there were positive results, but they were hard won and frankly unsatisfying. I couldn't stick with it. That pretty much began my journey, and a roller-coaster it has been.

However, there were some things I liked about Low Carb. In fact, any time I've "been on" since, I've aimed at low carb. I like meat and veggies, and sure I miss donuts and pizza, not to mention candy and full sugar soda, but it was pretty easy to follow. And, for the most part, wholly ineffective. I kept missing the mark and just blamed myself.

The last three weeks have been different. Biggest difference: no fruit. Totally cut out fruit. The Diet Doctor site above kept calling fruit "candy from nature" - and maybe they're right. I'm sure other people do fine with fruit in their low cal diet, but as a diabetic, I've always been concerned.

Second big change: MOAR CHEESE! I'm lactose intolerant, but I decided to just endure the gas and even diarrhea. Neither has shown up. I'm eating cheese right and left and have had no ill effects, not even gas. Do I know why? No. But I ain't complainin'.

Third big change: OMG Olives! Coinciding with this new diet has been the three hardest weeks at my new job of just under two months. Two weeks ago I worked 60 hours, last week was 75 hours. I essentially live at work. The Diet Doctor site says that you won't need to snack as much - I disagree. Finding low carb, high fat snacks that don't require refrigeration isn't easy. Thus: olives. As a kid I didn't like them, now I'm eating them a cup at a time. Yum! Dill pickles, too.

In all, it's a big change. But, it might be a successful one. In March, I found out I broke the 400 pound mark. I didn't jump on the scale before I started this new deal, but I hopped on today: 380. Don't know if it's what I'm doing or just a continuation of my Misery plan, but something is working. Today I will be ordering test strips for my blood glucose meter - that's definitely a metric I want to follow. I'll jump on the scale again at the end of the month to see my progress.

Wouldn't it be cool to make my first visit to my next doctor be a "Well, you weigh 350, but you're losing weight and your blood glucose and A1C are perfectly normal" visit? Yes. Yes it would be cool!

The Misery Diet

So, for those that don't keep up with my life outside of this blog, since November, 2014, I:

• Lost my job. Again.
• Ran out of Unemployment Insurance
• Moved back to St. Louis where I am sponging off friends who are in even worse financial shape than I.
• Was unemployed until November 2015.
• That contract ended and I am now in my second low pay, high stress job.

In short, I've been pretty miserable. I grew up in St. Louis and for many reasons, not all of them logical, I hate the stinking pit of a town, a place I like to call "Lil' Detroit".

Sponging off my friends isn't good, the fact that they are doing this out of the kindness of their poverty stricken hearts while I bitch about their beloved home town makes me a huge heel.

Because I'm living out of a small room, I really can't have much of a love life. In fact, I've tried and just really can't come up with one. The fact that I left all of my lovers in Seattle makes this even more painful.

In fact, I pretty much feel like a lost teenager. I live out of a small room, I have a crappy job to keep the payments on my car, I have to obey the rules of the house and I don't have a love life. I'm 17 all over again, except fatter and with less hair.

To make me feel even more immature, I vented to Facebook and my own mother told me to grow up. Apparently having feelings AND showing them, not to mention being disgusted with the bigots I'm surrounded by is immature. I will now commence to bottle up my feelings and become a frigid prude like just about everyone else in this town. It's the mature, grown up thing to do!

Having said all of this, the last time I got on a scale, I weighed about 430. Today, in an effort to find that happy sex life (ever the closet optimist!) I went for an STD test. I try to go every six months, but I haven't in two years. Anyway, they got me on a scale:

398

I asked repeatedly if the scale was accurate and was assured it was.

398

I have been trying for nearly a decade to get under 400 pounds. I was so close several times. I have tried every diet I could think of to get past that 400 pound mark. I've tried positive thinking and meditation and anger and, well, it turns out misery was the answer.

It's not even good misery. I mean, I have a roof over my head and a full belly. A very full belly. Food is, as my readers know, my drug of choice. I have been eating a ton of fast food and candy and full sugar soda - so, food, indeed. My needs, for the most part, are being met. I am surviving. It's not like I'm starving or in a war zone or some place I can wear my misery as a badge of honor. No, I feel guilty about feeling this bad because so many others have it so much worse.

I also figured I'd have a huge sense of accomplishment when I crossed that line. But, I didn't do anything. I'm eating crap, I have a membership to the Y that I don't use. I just lived and ate and masturbated. Ta-dah! Thirty pounds gone. A part of me says, yes! Use this! Diet. Exercise. Work it. But, another part of me (an admittedly stupid but none the less convincing part) says, don't do that! You got the weight off by being miserable, don't worry that you've probably lost thirty pounds of muscle and bone mass, worry that the weight might come back! Worry!!!

For the moment, I'm just marking the milestone. I went to Arby's and got two big sandwiches, I went to QT and got a large Iced Tea with Splenda. I went to the grocery store and bought quinoa and cheese puffs. Confused? Yup. I'm working three twelve hour shifts the rest of this week. Maybe I'll go to the gym Saturday.

My poor finger ...

Been about a month since my last entry. Most of that time I spent burning off the remains of my anger & frustration over not getting the surgery.

Purple!

Last week I got my new blood glucose meter. I've had others before, but I rarely used them and by the time the battery died, the strips were impossible find. Heck, half the time the company had gone out of business. So, I decided to get a new in box, but older model of a popular meter off Amazon, the OneTouch UltraMini - in Purple! The strips are still plentiful and I think they will be for a while. I ordered some generic test strips and they seem to work fine. I've been testing my sugga daily, much to the chagrin of my poor left index finger. It only hurts for a few minutes, but my finger has tiny polka-dots. More like poke-a-lots!

I should have listened to my doc a while back and done the daily meter thing sooner. It has been a real indicator of change. So, I started measuring last week, I only managed to get on the treadmill once and I didn't care what I was eating. My numbers were in the high 200s and low 300s - not good. This week, I've been careful about my intake and have worked out three times so far - nothing super awesome, just some walking. However, yesterday morning, right after my walk, not having eaten for 10+ hours, my sugga was 205. I continued fasting and went to the doctor. She measured my sugga at 168. Now, a normal person should be around 100, but I'll take 168 over 300+ any day.

So, that's a metric that works and shows promise. A metric and method that failed was upping my steps per day. The whole 10k steps a day thing has been a popular meme, but it's just not going to work for me. I got this way by having a sedentary job: I sit at my desk, I think, I type, I click buttons and make computers do cool stuff. If I'm up walking, I'm not actually working. I need the job. So, that bit won't work. The pedometer apps for the phone had a variety of issues as well, making the idea of using walking as a metric basically impossible. I am, however, going to ask for a standing desk, at least I'll get off my ass. I may also get an exercise ball to sit on. Do a little shaking and grooving while I sit.

Probably the biggest difference between last month and this is my attitude. Frankly, I've climbed down off my own back. We are our own worst critics. No one has ever given me more crap about being overweight than myself. I'm trying to let that all go. I'm working on my health. I'm making progress. If I can't get over that, if I can't get past the fact that this process is going to take time and on-going effort, then I can kiss my own ass and go straight to Hell! Hmmph!

Okay, off to eat a salad with chicken and a vinaigrette for lunch. Y'all have a good day.

Too Angry to Diet

I'm done dieting.

No seriously. It's pointless. Ten years. One #diet or another, on and off. Where has it gotten me?

It's gotten me angry.

It's gotten me frustrated.

It's made me feel stupid & useless.

All the money I've spent on this gadget & that product have made me poorer.

What I haven't gotten is lighter or healthier. Not a bit. All of the above stress, all the anger at my inability to win this fight - a fight with my own body. I feel like a big pile of fail. A Fail Whale indeed.

Then, we find the fight is rigged. Read this article. I'll wait.

That's not the first time I've heard this kind of thing. I've heard this a few times. Certainly my anecdotal evidence backs it up. Even the numbers I got out of the weight loss surgery seminar were telling. On average, at the five year mark, people that get WLS have kept off 70 to 80% of their goal weight. The numbers on average at the ten year mark are 60 to 70% of their goal weight. At the time, those numbers sounded fab. But, spending tens of thousands of dollars and still, in my case, being 100 pounds overweight sounds, now, in the cold light of day, utterly ridiculous. At the time I was thinking, well, heck, there are 50% of people above that average that lose a lot more, right? The problem is that there are 50% below that average, too. Imagine the soul crushing horror of taking off 250 or 300 pounds only to watch it all come back.

I can't be that guy. I refuse to be that guy.

I haven't been able to lose weight. The game is rigged, I likely can never get down to my goal weight. What's left?

I see two options:

Option 1
Eat donuts until I explode.
Option 2
Do anything but Option 1.

Option 1 sounds like it would be fun in the very short term. Frankly, I think mostly due to my recent, but failed, Anger Diet, I have shrunk my stomach significantly. The mere thought of a dozen donuts is nearly nausea inducing. I cannot commit "donut suicide" with three Krispy Kremes ...

That leaves us with Option 2. What exactly is Option 2?

I've spent most of this week eating everything in sight, making myself sick (seriously shrunk my stomach!) and considering the above question.

Yesterday, Friday, I came to a conclusion. As we said above, I can't commit donut suicide and go to donut heaven. Further, I don't wanna die. I want to hang onto my life, such as it is, for a few dozen more decades or more. Being alive is all I know and apparently I'm a glutton for mediocrity. Losing weight, as we discussed above, is also a bit of a far fetched idea. So, all that is left is health.

That's right. Health.

For ten years I've been chasing the number on the scale. Every time some restrictive diet fails to give Instant Gratification Lad (that would be me) huge, lasting results, I give up and go eat everything. I've been on this stupid roller-coaster for far too long. Look at this blog. What's at the top? Before any content, there is a weight tracker - obviously I'm a bit obsessed. I'm tired of chasing the number. The scale has made me nothing but unhappy.

What makes me happy?

I have to admit, not that I haven't admitted it here before, but I like to go to the gym. The getting up early is the part that sucks. But, when I am done, the rest of the day usually feels a hell of a lot better. And going to the gym later in the day never seems to end well, if it happens at all. I like eating right. I usually feel better, well, after my body gets past some of the gastrointestinal issues of upping one's veggie intake. I like doing active things, I just hate the aches and pains, sometimes severe, that show up afterward. Going for a walk sounds like fun, until the skin on your sole separates and turns into a giant blister that keeps you off your feet for a day or two.

Oh, yeah, what makes me happy ... right! Eating right, going to the gym and being active. Losing weight, like a donut, only feels good for a moment. Eating right feels good all day, having gone to the gym does, too.

So, to sum up, here's the new plan:

1. Tell my brain, over and over, that losing weight, chasing the number, is a bad plan. Reduce looking at the scale to once a month. I think the end of the month. I may not even set a day.

2. Eat. Just eat. Lean meats. Veggies. Fruit. Small portions. The Big-ish Breakfast, Big-ish Lunch, little-or-no dinner thing has been good in recent attempts. Usually when I do this, I can barely choke down 2000 calories. If I fall off, get back on. Not the following Monday, but the following meal.

3. Gym. Lots of it. Really ramp up the gym attendance. Five, six, seven times a week. And why not? Just do it. I'd like to get back to Simple Cardio Monday, Wednesday & Friday with Lifting Tuesday & Thursday and a Cardio, Lifting & Swimming thing on Saturday and/or Sunday. Lots of gym time. Nothing that will kill me, just regular, everyday movement. Slowly ramp up the cardio & weight. I am envious of people with muscles, not to mention useful, flexible bodies. I want that. I can give myself that.

4. Activity. Go be active. Go swim after work. Go for a walk. Why am I watching six TV shows back to back? Go walk!!! Already went to the gym today? So?!? GO WALK!!!

5. Measure. My metric up to this point has mostly been weight. I have been good on and off keeping track of what I eat, but, frankly, it was a pointless chore. When I am careful, I eat about the same stuff everyday, I was just cutting and pasting from the previous days in my diary. Not to mention, it all felt like guess work. Was I eating 100 calories of grapes every time? Not likely. It was annoying. I think I'm gonna drop that. But, I am going to buy myself a new blood sugar meter or two. I need to get my sugga down. That will get measured and tracked daily. I will certainly track my exercise. I may not track my activity. So what if I went for a walk after work? If I am just out walking, looking at stuff, stopping here and there, that's not really organized effort. It's just being active. I want "being active" to be fun, no stress, just something I do because I can. I think I may try to keep myself active at work, maybe track my steps, try to spend 10 minutes out of every hour standing, stop being a lump in a chair.

If weight comes off, great. If not, I don't want to care. If I am still 450 pounds, but can walk 4 miles in an hour, I'll be a heck of a lot better off than I am now. That's new hotness: Health.

I'm pretty sure that if +Tonja Davis  is reading this, she's thinking "Told you so!", likely +Advocata Vasquetzl as well. Well, sometimes I'm slow, it takes a while for the wisdom to sink in. But, here I am, older & wiser.