It has been three months plus a safe distance from April Fool's Day... and so I present

OPERATION: GREEN ARROW.. Update #2

 

One Year                          

 

 

Part 1: Bananas are good!

 

Minor additional changes have been made to my routine.  These changes have been hinged around my thrice weekly boot camp sessions.  The first change is the addition of bananas.  Evidently bananas have potassium and it was lack of potassium which was making my calves cramp up.  Boot camp days are punctuated by the consumption of at least one but usually two such yellow potassium sticks.  I don't know how true it is, but the science fiction nerd in me feels that I'm somehow helping to keep the banana groves of Villengard going.

 

Note:  the first one to comment which sci-fi character visited the banana groves... wins a cupie doll.

 

The second alteration to my diet is a concession to my age.  I turn 34 this week.  Here's something for you 30-somethings.  Working out hurts and it hurts more the further you are from your 20's.  20-somethings have superpowers, don't let them know this, but do understand performance enhancing drugs exist that help even the odds.  We're older, smarter, and have better jobs so we can make ibuprofen a part of our daily diet.  A little anti-inflammatory and pain inhibition helps.  Don't be too proud, age will bring us further down so we may as well use whatever means to stave it off.

 

 

Part 2: Quantification is a Harsh Mistress....

 

Three months I've been drinking sparkling water, going to boot camp, and forestalling a very long-standing love affair (I knew it would never work out in the long term despite the short term passion.  As enjoyable as it was, I never was able to get the approval of the father, Carl's Sr.). 

 

There are two types of measurements of success.  The first is qualitative.  Qualitative measurements are inexact, hard to pin down, how one 'feels' about something is a qualitative measure.  How do I feel? Well, three times a week I feel right awful.  Nasty nasty boot camp lady makes me do push-ups and run up and down a hill for three hours every week.  Nast nasty boot camp lady is made every nastier by her endless optimism and perkiness endlessly reminding me that physical fitness is simply an application of mind over matter.

 

If these updates have a villain it will be her.  I know she's doing her job, I also know that I'm paying for her to do her job, and I also know that she has been nothing but professional and competent through the whole process....

 

However at 5:15 every Monday I go to the Agoura Hills Community center.  By 6:00, she will say "Alright, now jog up the hill again,".  Subsequently by 6:00, I am always learning newer depths of resentment and bitterness. 

 

Thankfully I have made a friend of similar disposition.  Karen is another boot camp subject who is unafraid, when given the request for the seventeen thousandth push-up, to give the concisely sincere response of "Like Hell!". 

 

 

Karen has unfortunately been coming to these boot camps for about a year, so she doesn't give the "Like Hell" response nearly as often as I'd like, but she sounds like a blaspheming angel when she does.

 

 

However, advancement has been made.  My ability to do push-ups has tripled.  My endurance has roughly doubled.  These are qualitative measurements subject to arbitrary whims of feeling.  I love qualitative measurements subject of arbitrary whims of feeling.  I love them so very much as should you for such estimations make the world go around.  It is the power of such estimations that make Politicians call themselves successful and George Lucas think he can write dialogue.

 

The other kind of measurement is quantitative.  These measurements come in harsh, unforgiving numbers.  The number on the scale is one of those.  That damning numerological verdict that tortures the psyche of women and men alike.  The scale gives a number, but the number is more than a number, it is a missive from the vengeant fitness Gods staring through you to and revealing your sins.

 

My sins used to be 214 pounds.  Now, they are 214 pounds. 

 

There was hope, I thought boot camp lady could help.  They say muscle is more dense than fat and one would also expect some redistribution.  Boot camp lady took a body-fat measurement at the early stages, perhaps they have gone down, perhaps I am not losing weight but I am getting ripped.  Getting ripped is good right?

 

My hope spun in my brain as boot camp lady used calipers to pinch my belly, arms, legs, and back.  My former value screamed in my head, 21%.  21% body fat, 21% flab, 21% useless, 21% vile, 21% wicked irredeemable sin for which I should pay the penance of twenty one thousand scourges administered by the justly punishing inquisitors of the order of the holy washboard. Perhaps I would show cleansing?

 

My cleansing was but 1%. Now I am only 20% pustulent lipoid evil. 

 

Part 3: Next Steps...

 

Moving more and light diet changes have helped but 1% and I try not to think about the uncertainty of measurements.  What now?

 

Now cometh The Chicken Breast.  Working out is one thing, but now I must clamp down if I am to get into any better shape by coming Halloween.  The keys to that are three, Chicken Breasts, Broccoli. and Brown rice.

 

God Help my tongue.