How This Fat Guy's House Has Changed in Two Years

It drives my wife crazy. They're everywhere in our house. You can't swing a cat with out hitting one. My house is cluttered with items used in the support of an active lifestyle.

The winter of two years ago was different. The house was much less cluttered by comparison. There were a pair of gloves, a toque and a standard winter jacket. That's all I needed. My big endeavors were to go to the grocery store. Maybe do a little fast food eating in the minivan. The rest of the time was spent on the couch or in bed, sore from a high-fat diet and jellified muscles carrying a ridiculous amount of weight.

Walk in my front door with me now, will you? I'll give you the tour.

The front porch is heavy with indications that I'm no longer sedentary. You'll notice two sets of cross country skis. I only started a week ago and I'm already on my second set. Picked up some waxless skis yesterday that are easier to use. Cost me $20.

Your eyes will no doubt dart towards the snow sleds sitting by the front closet. I have three, one for each particular sledding condition. My latest is soft to keep my spine from compressing and has a fin to guide it true.

On the floor you'll see winter boots for the first time in decades. I need these for tobogganing and winter hikes. A cheap pair of runners is dedicated to icy conditions. They have metal cleats strapped to the bottoms. Can't let ice keep me indoors.

Inside the closet you'll find drawers with not one, but three, sports balaclavas. Each for a different temperature range. Beyond that, there's an assortment of toques, beanies and skull caps for cycling or winter exercise. On the floor, runners for jogging, complete with orthopedic inserts that finally provide relief to my calves during vigorous exercise. And be careful of the freshly sharpened ice skates. They're waiting for December.

You'll have to forgive me for the bike wheel by the front door, I don't know where else to put it right now.

The open stairs as you enter the house are littered with Jameswear. Three sizes of fleece jackets, made for a man who sweats, all of which can be layered if necessary. There's T-Max Heat socks ready to go for cold days, long underwear (which I haven't used since I was a kid), ski pants for very cold weather, and layers of sweat pants for cooler weather. A heart rate monitor and watch sit at the ready, along with my iPod and headphones. Athletic shorts and shirts for the gym are also all over the place. All these clothes are at the ready. Every day some of them get used in the pursuit of fitness.

Which leads me to something else we have a lot more of: Laundry detergent. I'm washing a lot more clothes. Usually there's a fresh pile of clothes soaked with sweat that gets cleaned almost daily. Two winters ago, I rarely worked up enough heat to require clothes to be washed on a regular basis. Now, the washing machine is running constantly.

Entering the kitchen, there's a serving cart that couldn't be more full of bike helmets, sweat bands, cycling gloves, hydration back packs, water bottles and a few cycling tools and bike spare parts.

In the laundry room, more skis for the family, and a bike rack for the car.

The shed had bikes in it two years ago. Now it has twice as many. I picked up bikes on UsedRegina and at garage sales for me or the kids.

Our home and our life is hardly recognizable from two years ago. Thank god!

Inspiration and Wonder from My Time as a Personal Trainer

No, no one's hired me as a personal trainer. I decided I would help my son succeed in his first attempt at competing in an individual sport: cross country running in the Public School system. He's eight years old.

My son has always struggled physically. He's not physically handicapped but he has other emotional struggles that have limited him in the past. He has always lagged behind with his fine motor skills and is even surpassed by some things that his four-year old sister can do. As his father who loves him, I have fiercely tried to help him overcome these limitations.

He's active but not a "jock." He's not a sports-oriented kid by any means. He's played soccer and it was a struggle. Mostly he doesn't participate in the games and is overwhelmed by the whole thing, but he happened to be on three teams that won A or B-side trophies so he felt proud and happy about the experience. 

Cycling is something that got into him at an early age, long before his dad could even get on a bike, so it wasn't me who influenced him. He runs around a lot, but not for sustained periods. In fact, he used to skip or hop involuntarily after taking only a few strides while running. This slowed him down in his soccer games. His coordination has been very slow to develop but it's coming along.

Even as a fat kid I had a whole lot of fun playing unorganized sports when I was a kid. I was no jock either but I had fun. In a world where obesity seems like an unstoppable epidemic, I want to encourage my kids to embrace an active lifestyle for the rest of their lives.

I started my son training about a month or so before his first race. I put him on the treadmill at home which he's used before, but mostly because he's seen me using it. He'd walk fast and hop every few steps involuntarily. It was unnatural and a little bit concerning. He loved looking at the numbers and seeing how far and how fast he was going. That continued into our training.

I got him to jog at a speed that prevented him from hopping every few steps. The treadmill forced him to keep going in a continuous, fluid motion. His heart and lungs could more than keep up at that speed. Soon he was asking me if it was time to do his training each day. He made charts to put on the wall to track his progress and even set goals for himself. I'm so proud of him.

Quickly, the hopping disappeared and he was getting faster and faster, covering the 1.2 KM distance of the race. He started running 1.2 KM at 10 minutes and 40 seconds. As he progressed, he pushed himself further to beat his "record" times. And he did, shaving 30 seconds or more off when he tried hard. I told him that you try to shave one or two seconds off when you're doing this sort of thing but he proved me wrong time and time again.

His last training session on the treadmill came in at 6:12. When we started, I had hoped he'd get down to 7:30. In the qualifying race he came in 14th and got to go onto the final race of fifty kids. We never dreamed he'd do that well. In his final race he came in 23rd. We call him the 23 fastest eight year old in the city. Had he shaved another 20 seconds off, he'd be the fastest. It's been surreal, especially since the kid couldn't even run properly when we started.

Even now he doesn't hold his arms up in a punching like motion when he runs. Instead, he flails them around randomly. We worked on this a bit at the end and made some progress. But it illustrates how physical things don't come naturally to him.

So what have I learned?

It was an astonishingly wonderful gift to watch my son's body and technique improve the way it did in a few weeks. And it was hardly work for him. The kid barely broke a sweat. 

Even in the last week, I could see his heart and lungs getting undeniably stronger from the training he did the week before. He could do far more at the same breathing level than he did a few days earlier. An eight year old's body can repair itself and strengthen really fast. A night's sleep does the trick.

I've seen this progress in myself, measured by constant heart-rate monitoring. But to see it happen before your eyes in a person you love is beyond description.

It reinforces the notion that you are the master of your body. You can change your body and it is ready to change for you. 

Running, I hope, will be a part of my son's life until the day he dies. He needs it, not only to stay healthy physically, but for all the psychological benefits it will bring him as well.

Some Memorable Outings Seem Epic

I still remember the time I heroically ventured out for a walk on the coldest night of the year. The -46 C wind chill was blocked out by carefully chosen winter clothes. It was epic, that walk. Cinematic, even. The sounds, the smells, the adrenaline and the excitement produced a vivid, wonderful memory that won't die anytime soon.

This summer has provided for some epic adventures too. Minor achievements for the non-obese outdoorsy types, but significant and memorable ventures for me, the former "bed potato." (I aspired to be a couch potato a year and a half ago, that's how bad things were.)

Last night a number of things happened to create a perfect storm for me and the kids to attempt something unusual. First of all, my four-year-old fell asleep during supper and had a huge nap which was destined to keep her up late. Secondly, it was a strangely hot night for the end of summer in Saskatchewan. I took the kids out after dark (the sun sets 75 minutes earlier than it did at the beginning of summer) for a bike ride in the night.

The kids and I rode through the hot city streets, among the hurrying cars, lit up like an airliner with bright flashing LED bike lights that assured our safety, at least in my mind. The experience was unusual, even surreal.

It created a memory for me, it certainly must have made an impression on my young girl who pedaled her tag-a-long bike trailer, attached to my bike, through the traffic with me. She chatted relentlessly as we rode, even bonding with me before getting philosophical about how often I get angry at her and how I should take a different approach by comforting her instead. She's four!

It all could have been a dream, for either of us, but it wasn't.

The night before found our whole family on a highway in the Qu'Appelle Valley near Katepwa, one of the most beautiful places in our prairie province. We road the Trans Canada Trail between Katepwa and Sandy Beach. It was beautiful and challenging. Hills are new to me and boy, you'd better be ready for them. Even going down takes full concentration and some braking skill. It was a bit like a roller coaster except there were no guarantees you wouldn't go off the rails.

The sun set, glowing orange over the valley. We were all but alone on our ride on a rare hot night for the end of August. We cycled back on the vacant highway (narrow but with only 70 KM speed limits) in a setting that seemed nothing short of magical.

Doing new things heightens the senses and I like that. Can't get enough of it. I want to do it more. Having a fitter body can get me to that goal. The sedentary, obese me from recent history had NO such experiences. Life was a straight line. A finite line.

I'm hoping to rid myself of more body fat so I can do more and more things and have more epic evenings like I had this week.

My Eight-Year-Old Trainer Pushes Me Hard

My kids, like most these days, aren't big on getting off the couch and doing things. Even though we try not to hyper-parent or be overly protective, keeping them on a short leash, there still seems to be little that gets them out into the real world. But my eight-year-old son rarely says no to a bike ride with Daddy, even if it's clear across the city to visit Grandma. Even my four-year-old daughter joins us on the ride-a-long bike trailer sometimes. We did 90 minutes in the warm sun the other day.

My boy, who has always been slower to advance athletically compared to many of his peers, is pretty gung-ho to head out on a bike and pedal to the best of his ability. His ability used to lag behind my rapidly improving fitness level, but now his fitness is improving too (building muscles I presume) and he's pushing me. You wouldn't think we'd be a good match for workouts but I'm still a very overweight middle-aged-man and he's just beginning to blossom into a young athlete as he grows like a well-watered weed.

I don't know what affect our bike rides will have on the kids in the long term, or what they'll remember of it. I do know that I couldn't imagine my parents even going on so much as a walk with me, let alone a bike ride.

I refurbished an old mountain bike to compliment my road bike (hybrid). It's opened up the door to all sorts of new adventures and put at ease my anxiety over breaking a bike wheel again. However, mountain bikes are less efficient than road bikes and I have to work harder to keep up with the boy who won't slow down.

We also bought a deluxe bike rack for the car. This makes us officially a cycling family, like the happy, adventurous ones you see pulling up to bike shops or occasionally depicted in tourism commercials on TV.

It's such a far cry from the other stereotype I used to be.

Just Like That, Something New Realized

Sometimes I forget he's only eight.

Tonight I did something I've never done before.

I've said that a lot in the last year, haven't I? You know how many times I've said that in the fifteen years before that? Probably not at all.

Since I re-took up cycling almost a year ago,--Jesus, it's hard to type that, remembering that person who first got back on his bike on July 1st and the limitations he had and/or felt he had...

Let me start again.

When I got back on my bike a year ago I was reacquainting myself with fond memories of my younger years riding a road bike on streets, paved pathways and the occasional highway. I've never owned a mountain bike, didn't like them. I grew up watching my brother fine tune his racing bike for the lightest and fastest it could be...on the road. Mountain bikes were inefficient and pointless to me. I never understood them.

Until now, anyway.

During the last year of cycling with my eight year old, he's often asked me to go off road with him. I never did because I was afraid of breaking my wheels. I even avoid unsmooth streets because the wheels on my road bike are too thin and delicate for a 300 pound man. I bent a wheel once last year and had to get it fixed. Fortunately, perhaps due to a lower weight than last year, I've not had that problem again. But I stay off the gravel paths that my boy wants me to go on.

The only mountain bikes I've tried have been my wife's. They've never felt good. I dismissed mountain bikes altogether after several failed rides.

But recently I started getting curious about mountain bikes. I've often felt that I should ride one until I'm lighter because the wheels are wider and stronger on mountain bikes and they have bigger tires to absorb shock.

Then I started thinking it'd be fun to cycle through provincial parks on a mountain bike. And then I started researching trails. The Trans Canada Trail will one day go from coast to coast to coast in Canada. I started to think it'd be fun to ride on parts of it.

Call it a dream. Call it a notion to try something new. Nevertheless, I'm still a very large man who has a long way to go in reclaiming his body. I'm also getting long in the tooth, so the idea of trying new physical things still makes me hesitant.

About a week ago, my friend Brian offered me his old mountain bike which he stored outside due to lack of room. It was old and well-worn but it was a decent bike when it was new so it had potential. I quickly overhauled it and even painted some of it. For not too much money, a little bit of elbow grease, and a few trips to the bike shop, I got myself a spanky "new" ride.

Tonight, as the sun set, my son and I went for a spin to test her out. After a few gravel trails through neighbourhood parks, and some zipping up and down sidewalks onto the streets, we brazenly headed out onto a trail created by an SUV or two that circled around the edge of our neighbourhood, through a farmer's field and onto railroad property.

It was exhilarating, mostly because it was scary. The terrain got worse and worse but I felt that stopping would be a bad thing, especially because it was getting hard to see in the fading light. We dodged large rocks, minor cliffs and pools of water with mud, not to mention tall grass and weeds with thorns poking into our ankles.

It had me on edge, and my son too. But we made it and it was fun. And different. Different is good.

My son told me he was proud of himself and proud of me too.

The sedentary rarely do anything that raises the hair on their back. Sometimes living--really living-- means taking chances or trying new things that aren't easy or there's no sure outcome to them.

I hit a rut tonight, stopped suddenly and banged my belly into the handlebars (while the bars twisted downward out of place.) Was I phased? No. I'll be back again tomorrow.

Me, of one year ago, the fat guy who was two weeks from his first bike ride in fifteen years, wouldn't have had tonight's events cross his mind in his wildest imagination. What we accomplished tonight was completely unimaginable to me a year ago.

I'm almost afraid to think what else might be out there for me.

Tobogganing Video (my family at "The Bowl")

We joined some friends at a smaller hill in the center of the city. The benefit of a smaller hill is you get lots of shorter runs and, in this case, can park closer to your vehicle.

I Might As Well Blame My Mother -- It's Her Fault

I might as well blame my mother for my poor health. My closer friends often encourage me to blame her for things because they know the stories, they know my history with her. It's not functional and it certainly isn't brief so I won't jump into it here. But in addition to all the unhealthy things that I endured growing up, both emotionally and psychologically, there was also a lot of negative things going on when I was learning how to eat.

My mother was a nurse from the World War II era who was and is always concerned what people think of her. Dr. Phil could write a book on her. I wish he would.

I was born a few weeks premature and underweight. The nurses let my mother take me home just shy of five pounds because she was a nurse who should know how to take care of me. Well, that was an error in their judgement. She fed me Pablum the night she got me home so she could fatten me up.

Doctors and scientists know that eating solid food early in life can lead to obesity but even back then it was not something you did the first night home from the hospital. Nor was I breast fed, more common back then but now we know bottle feeding is another factor in your chances of becoming obese. I'm no expert but I read the occasional newspaper.

Needless to say, my mother wanted me fat, anything else was a sign of her personal failure. Even now she criticizes me for having skinny children. I'm thankful my children are of a normal weight. I consider it a minor miracle considering the bad habits that endure with me. And my kids are in no way skin and bones, they're perfectly healthy.

My mother, the nurse, even poo-pooed my wife's breast feeding of our kids every now and again. Our kids were breast fed beyond the two years they now recommend (it's not exclusive, obviously, after they start eating solid foods.)  I hope my kids get a good start in life.

My mother is now 86 and she isn't involved much with my kids, partly because I'm the black sheep of the family and partly because she's getting too old. But she revels--I mean really revels--in feeding them. She takes delight with every spoonful she can get into them. She erroneously thinks I never feed them junk food or meat and as a result she's convinced they're starving.

I was reminded of all this yesterday when I brought my three-year old daughter to my mother's home at lunch time. My mother made scrambled eggs and toast for both me and my daughter. I buttered my own toast and I was criticized for the 'small' amount I put on it. I'm a man who likes far more margarine on his toast than any reasonable individual yet it wasn't good enough for her. "That's all you're putting on? This is good margarine, one of the best there is..."

Don't worry, she'll be dead any day now. She eats a lot of bacon.

You learn early how to eat and you acquire your lifelong tastes for food before the age of five, some say before the age of three. My toast habits have lived with me for 45 years and it's a hard habit to change but if I can piss off  my mother, I must have made some progress.

First: "Running" with the Family

If you drove through my neighbourhood tonight you might have seen a once-sedentary family out jogging together. We were on our second lap of walking on this cool evening when I just up and decided I was going to jog--because I could.

My son started too. Within moments he was blocks ahead of me, but no matter, it was an astonishing event. My wife was giddy and proclaimed herself glowing to see her family out jogging together. We never would have imagined ourselves being an "active" family.

What's next? Triathlons? I'd doubt it. But four months ago when I first broke out of a walk into a trot, just to see if was possible, I could only do ten seconds without massive fatigue in my lower body and my heart beating like a rabbit.

Tonight it was almost magical, almost "out-of-body" to find myself jogging with the people I love. My wife and I both realized right away that doing such a thing would redefine our lives in dramatic fashion if we kept it up.

I pictured us driving off in the cold winter a couple nights a week to walk and jog at the field house. Not sure we can afford that right now, but the future is open to possibilities.

Goal Completed and I Feel Like a Million Bucks!

My son and I cycled the length of the longest bike path in my city at dusk tonight (about 18 KM total). This has been a goal of mine for many weeks. Before that, it was a dream.

We had to push hard to beat the fading twilight. I got a great workout because my heart rate stayed up in the 80% range for most of the trip, which took about an hour and ten minutes.

I try to cycle on cool evenings because I get exhausted easily by the heat, due to my excessive weight, I assume. I learned that I need to take more than one bottle of water with me on these trips because my large body needs more hydration than a regular sized person.

I can't tell you how amazing I feel right now. And it's not just because I completed an important goal, erasing the ghost of a past humiliation (not being able to go with my seven-year-old son last Fall when he first completed this marathon bike ride alone), but because of how perfectly healthy and invigorated I feel.

The storm that chased us the other night must have got me in good shape for tonight because tonight I did NOT feel like a morbidly-obese man (which I still am).

I didn't feel like an obese man.

I didn't feel like a fat man.

I didn't even feel like a middle-aged man (which I am.)

I felt like I did fifteen years ago when I was 29, lost all my excess weight and was in the best shape of my life. I felt like I could go on forever on this beautiful August night (provided I had more water!)

The fact that I did this, the fact that I feel so remarkably good physically at this moment seems like a dream.

If I keep going, if I never stop, I'll never wake up from this dream. And that's what I have to do.