Preparing for San Diego

This week brings another trip out of town.  Thank God. 

Not that being here in the Pacific Northwest has been bad.  The weather has actually brightened up in the past month or so, work is going well, and I’ve been able to spend a fair amount of time in Seattle with friends.  But I always look forward to a bit of travel.

This week’s trip will be my second one to California this summer.  Last time, it was a drive to the Bay Area for a concert.  This time, it’s a flight to San Diego for a family reunion.  I’ll be spending the weekend with a handful of cousins and aunts and uncles I’ve met before, and a few dozen I’ve never known.  Most of the people that make up my dad’s expansive Mexican-American family have seemed almost imaginary until now.  My siblings and I have heard that these alleged relatives exist, several hundred miles to the south, but we’ve seen very little evidence of them.  Even my dad, who is from that area, isn’t well acquainted with most of his extended San Diego family. 

My dad moved from San Diego to Bremerton, Washington, to live with his paternal grandparents almost 44 years ago, when he was 12.  We’ve always kept in touch with my aunts and uncles who moved up here with him, and we’ve gone to visit a few of the cousins and such down in San Diego at least twice.  I remember one backyard barbecue when I was 11, where my siblings and I met several cousins and practiced our slam-dunking skills on a tiny plastic basketball hoop.  But it was a small get-together compared to the one happening this week.  And in the 17 summers since that barbecue, we haven’t been back to San Diego as a family.  I went with my parents a couple of times six or seven years ago, and I went to visit a friend two years ago.  But this will be the first time the five of us have gone together in nearly two decades.  I think we’re all excited to get a little closer to some family we’ve long been distant from. 

So for the relatives in Southern California, who have been going to the same reunion every summer for the past 10 years, this shindig probably feels pretty ordinary.  But I think the Northwest branch of the family sees it a little differently.  

The Latest Challenge, Part 3

This morning, I climbed onto Chris’ bathroom scale for the official weigh-in, nervous with anticipation.  When I looked down, I was shocked at what I saw.  It caused me to let out an exclamation, and Chris to burst into laughter.

Chris and I had originally set the official weigh-in for Friday, August 12, my birthday.  But shortly before that date, we realized we’d have to reschedule.  I would be starting work early that morning, and he didn’t want to pull himself out of bed to watch me step onto the scale.  So we figured we would do it first thing in the morning on Saturday.

Saturday came, and at around 11:30am we both realized I was going to ‘Family Day’ at the local shipyard, where my brother works.  Chris texted me, and we rescheduled again, for Sunday.  This time, we were all set.  No impediments; we were both free Sunday morning.  I was an equal mix of confidence and uncertainty.  On Thursday, I’d weighed myself at the gym after our workout, and I was just half a pound shy of 150.  Even taking into account the fact that I’d eaten lunch a few hours earlier, I felt pretty good.  But I knew I had some work to do in the next couple of days.

I tried to eat well throughout the weekend, but by the time I went to bed Saturday night, my confidence was waning.  I didn’t feel much bigger than before.  I felt pretty much the same.  When I stepped onto that scale this morning, I involuntarily let out a surprised, ‘Dude!  What the ….’  I was (officially) 147.6 pounds.  I was disappointed at first, but Chris reminded me that 11 pounds in 3 months is actually not too shabby for a guy my size.  Which, of course, I had to agree with.

Still, I’d like to reach my goal.  My body seems to need a push to surmount the hump that now lies before me.  Chris’ girlfriend agreed, and made me a plate of chicken adobo and rice, with a cool glass of chocolate milk before sending me on my way.  Now I have to continue doing my part.  And, within a few weeks, I’m sure I’ll have better news to report.

The Latest Challenge, Part 2

At various times in my life, I’ve been semi-serious about working out and living healthy.  The year or so leading up to this weight-gain bet was not one of those periods.  I hadn’t been to the gym in God-knows-how-long.  I had skimped on meals to save money (there were a couple of months of travel during that time period), to focus on work (writing for a newspaper often had me out and about at odd hours or working straight through lunch), and out of sheer laziness (sometimes I’m lazy).  As a result, I wasn’t in the best shape of my life.  I wasn’t in bad shape compared to the general population of obese Americans, mind you.  And I wasn’t emaciated either.  But looking at that scale made me realize I’d drifted down in size and strength from where I once was and wanted to be.

I admit, there was also an element of vanity and shallowness in the bet—I wanted to look better.  And I was also tired of my friends being able to pick me up—a rather demoralizing occurrence for anyone inclined to think of himself as a man.  So I committed to the bet and bought a gym membership, along with a sizable supply of food and nutritional supplements.

I started eating about 3,500 calories per day.  I was taking in a good amount of carbohydrates, fats, and especially protein.  My speedy little metabolism won’t let me gain much weight in the form of fat, so I was mainly focused on building muscle through working out and eating plenty of protein.  About a month into the bet, things were going very well.  I felt more committed to physical fitness than I’d been at almost any other time in my life.  So, naturally, I hurt myself.

As many amateur bodybuilders are bound to do from time to time, I pulled a muscle in my back.  Or maybe I pinched it.  Or tweaked it.  Or something. I don’t know; like I said, I’m an amateur.  As a result, I had to sit on the sidelines and let my back heal for a few weeks, losing much of the progress I’d previously made.  Working out regularly and putting on some healthy pounds had felt good.  I could see my progress, and I felt stronger and healthier than I had in a long time.  Maybe that’s what caused me to get a little too zealous during that shoulder exercise when I hurt myself.  And now I was down.  I felt that progress slipping away.  I didn’t feel as healthy as I had a few weeks earlier.  I didn’t feel as energetic.  My appetite was diminished.

The Fourth of July came and went.  I paid Chris, who easily reached his goal when his gains began to snowball (maybe a little more than necessary, if you ask me).  Taking my injury into account, we agreed to extend my part of the bet an extra five weeks, to my birthday.

Now I’m less than four days from the official weigh-in, and just a tad shy of 150.  I’ve been back in the gym for over a month, I’m eating well, and I’m feeling pretty healthy.  I’m feeling that motivation and commitment to physical fitness that I felt in the first few weeks of the bet.  So I’m knocking on wood that I won’t hurt myself again.  And I’m eating ravenously this week, hoping to report good news in my next update.

The Latest Challenge, Part 1

A little over three months ago, I stood in the upstairs bathroom in my brother’s house and weighed myself.  I was using the scale he had gotten used from our friend Chris, which Chris had informed me was off by a couple of pounds.  Even taking that information into account, I wasn’t pleased with what I saw.  The digital screen read 136.7.  For someone who stands 5 feet, 6 inches, that’s a little skinny.  For someone who’s 5-foot-10 like me, that’s motivation for a bet.

I texted Chris—also a naturally skinny guy who had been working out and packing on the calories for the past few months, and a bit of a habitual gambler—and rashly told him I thought I could reach the 150-pound mark in a little over two months.  He wanted me to reach that goal, but agreed to bet against me for the sport of it.  Fifty dollars for the winner.  It was the beginning of May, and we settled on July 4 as the official weigh-in date.  To sweeten the deal, Chris set his own target weight at 190 (he’s 6-foot-1), nine pounds above his weight at the time.  He’d been stuck, hovering around the 180 mark for several weeks, and wanted some motivation to break out of that rut.  That would be another 50 bucks.  I agreed and we shook on it soon after.  The challenge was on.