These are trying economic times. Stock portfolios are losing value at an exponential rate. Retirement accounts are shrinking. Home values are deteriorating. What are you doing to maximize your earnings?
Understandably American's harbor negative feelings towards the financial industry; and rightly so. From bank failures, to mortgage disasters, to financial fraud...Americans are jaded by the rich getting richer, while the rest of us work harder and harder for less and less. It's time for you to take back control.
Financial planners are generally not members of the subset of the financial industry that engaged in fraud, and dishonesty. Good financial planners are the ones who help you put your money where it needs to be, where it should be, and where it can work the hardest for you.
Financial planning isn't only for the wealthy, it's for everyone. Those of you out there who are having a hard time making ends meet are likely going to benefit even more from sound financial advice.
The key to planning effectively is an old and accepted concept: diversification. Diversifying your portfolio among mutual funds, a wide variety of stocks and index funds, bonds, and liquid cash. The percentage of each depends on a variety of factors, including age, marital status, income, location, and personal preferences. A seasoned financial planner can examine all of your financial information and variables. This examination will help your financial planner determine the most effective plan, tailored to your needs.
Contact the Fit2You Financial Wellness team today, and get started on your path to financial freedom.
Happy Holidays!
--The Fit2You Fitness Financial Wellness Team
www.fit2youfitness.com
Philadephia and Main Line Corporate and Personal Health and Wellness.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
My day of jubilee...pictures coming soon.
So my day of jubilee has come and gone; and now the countdown begins…363 days to go.
Just to bring you up to speed, my “day of jubilee” is what others, likely lay people, refer to as “thanksgiving day”.
As you all likely imagined, my day of jubilee was all I had hoped. I began planning during the week leading up to that whimsical day. I would wake up around 6a…wash my face, brush my teeth and we’re off to the races.
It all begins:
By 7a I was seated at the local diner…anxiously awaiting the chance to regurgitate what I had practiced over and over in my mind for so many moments leading up to this one. The waitress approached. I could feel my mouth watering; my stomach began to gurgle in anticipation. I stumbled over my words as they raced out of my mouth, all trying their best to be the win, place, or show. “Pancakes, egg sandwich with bacon on a bagel, home fries, fried eggs, coffee, grapefruit juice, extra syrups, and wheat toast.” As you likely already guessed, the words that spilled forth on the first try were not quite so poetic, oratorical, or concise. Rather I fumbled my words, mixing up the order in such a way as to necessitate the waitress’s full and complete review of them before walking away.
I tapped my feet in anxious anticipation of the gloriousness to accompany this meal. That anticipation, building all year long, makes this entire event all the more enjoyable. Sip of coffee, sip of juice…tap tap tap.
The kitchen door swung open with a bang, and there she was…In all her majestic glory; my meal. The waitress set each plate down slowly and cautiously. I couldn’t wait…as I grabbed my fork and dug into the pancakes. I chewed fast, but not too fast, savoring every delightful morsel.
Onto the bagel sandwich; the bacon, cheese, and egg dancing in a seemingly forbidden cadence, yet thoroughly perfect in every step. Life was good.
With my belly swollen and satisfied I struggled through a workout (Even on my day of jubilee my compulsions come into play).
A brief foray into reality:
After the gym, Stef and I jumped in the car to begin our voyage to my parent’s house. Exactly 90 miles West. Of course, using the highway lends itself to rest stops; each of which has pretzels, available for purchase and deliciousness. I can barely contain myself. My subconscious is gently applying an every increasing amount of pressure to the gas pedal in a subtle, and all to underappreciated, effort to get me to my next feast as quickly as possible.
Rest Stop:
People everywhere…I see none of them, as evidenced by my bumping into more than a few on my way to the “SUPERPRETZEL” stand. No one is there…I glance around nervously, a bead of sweat forms on my brow. I wonder if a piece of this day just might not fall into place. Alas, my worry was unfounded. There she appeared, a messenger of refined carbs, a deliverywoman of all that is baked golden brown and lightly salted. I bought one. Let’s be serious here, the chance of this delectable treat making it to the parking lot is about as likely as me finding an autographed picture of Confucius.
As predicted, the pretzel is gone before I get back in the car. Granted, I moseyed slowly, allowing myself time to enjoy each freshly oven-baked bite.
Grocery Store:
We get off the highway. We drive into the grocery store parking lot. Beeline for the Cheetos (crunchy, real mean eat crunchy, not that puffy garbage), Easy-Cheez (that’s right…with a “z”), crackers, and O-R-E-O’s…In passing, as I race furiously through the aisles searching for my bullion, Stef says “I LOVE you on your day of jubilee…so fun!”
Check Out:
I love to use that self-checkout thing. The only problem, is it makes you feel as if you want to steal. The reasoning going through my head is “Hey, I’m saving you money by doing this myself, what’s a few free yogurts?” I fight the urge, ring up all my purchases (including flowers for my mom…I know, I’m a sweetie) and off we go.
Arrival:
We leave the bags in the car. Head inside. Everyone is already there. We’re the last ones to arrive. Although we’re last, we certainly carry with us prizes and goodies surely worth the wait. I can’t wait to sit down, start eating all of this goodness.
Pre-Dinner:
At this point I’ve gone through a half a bag of Cheetos, a third of a bag of Oreo’s, and copious amounts of Easy-Cheez (that’s right, with a “z”). The wine is now flowing like the falls of Niagra, and me…I’m in a semi-conscious, blissfully unaware, sugar induced, alcohol supported fugue. Life is so good.
Dinner:
I’m not sure where to begin here. Dinner was not a buffet, at least not originally conceived as a buffet. It turned into a sort of round-robin, hot potato, gluttonous feast. Pass, dump, ask, pass, dump, ask. Sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, turkey, sprouts, cornbread…on and on it goes. A bit of this, a dab of that…more wine, a spoonful of this, a forkful of that…more wine. (Note: I love turkey legs, so I had two).
Desert:
More Oreo’s. That’s right. In the face of pumpkin pie, ice cream, pecan pie, cookies, and other sweets…I choose the Oreo’s. You know why? Because I love them. Because I yearn for them. I ache for them. And for your own edification, I ate about 1,700 calories worth. (Yes, that’s seventeen-hundred).
I spent the rest of the evening in a catatonic sugar crash. Others asked me if it was worth it. A resounding yes is the answer. It’s the best day. Yet others ask why I do this to myself, why I don’t just spread this out over the year. The answer, because I like it this way. Plain and simple. I enjoy working hard for a huge reward, and based on my other posts, most of you know that I cheat here and there. My day of jubilee is my ultimate reward for what is otherwise a rather strictly regimented diet. I like it.
So, like I said, my day of jubilee has come and gone; and now the countdown begins…363 days to go.
Just to bring you up to speed, my “day of jubilee” is what others, likely lay people, refer to as “thanksgiving day”.
As you all likely imagined, my day of jubilee was all I had hoped. I began planning during the week leading up to that whimsical day. I would wake up around 6a…wash my face, brush my teeth and we’re off to the races.
It all begins:
By 7a I was seated at the local diner…anxiously awaiting the chance to regurgitate what I had practiced over and over in my mind for so many moments leading up to this one. The waitress approached. I could feel my mouth watering; my stomach began to gurgle in anticipation. I stumbled over my words as they raced out of my mouth, all trying their best to be the win, place, or show. “Pancakes, egg sandwich with bacon on a bagel, home fries, fried eggs, coffee, grapefruit juice, extra syrups, and wheat toast.” As you likely already guessed, the words that spilled forth on the first try were not quite so poetic, oratorical, or concise. Rather I fumbled my words, mixing up the order in such a way as to necessitate the waitress’s full and complete review of them before walking away.
I tapped my feet in anxious anticipation of the gloriousness to accompany this meal. That anticipation, building all year long, makes this entire event all the more enjoyable. Sip of coffee, sip of juice…tap tap tap.
The kitchen door swung open with a bang, and there she was…In all her majestic glory; my meal. The waitress set each plate down slowly and cautiously. I couldn’t wait…as I grabbed my fork and dug into the pancakes. I chewed fast, but not too fast, savoring every delightful morsel.
Onto the bagel sandwich; the bacon, cheese, and egg dancing in a seemingly forbidden cadence, yet thoroughly perfect in every step. Life was good.
With my belly swollen and satisfied I struggled through a workout (Even on my day of jubilee my compulsions come into play).
A brief foray into reality:
After the gym, Stef and I jumped in the car to begin our voyage to my parent’s house. Exactly 90 miles West. Of course, using the highway lends itself to rest stops; each of which has pretzels, available for purchase and deliciousness. I can barely contain myself. My subconscious is gently applying an every increasing amount of pressure to the gas pedal in a subtle, and all to underappreciated, effort to get me to my next feast as quickly as possible.
Rest Stop:
People everywhere…I see none of them, as evidenced by my bumping into more than a few on my way to the “SUPERPRETZEL” stand. No one is there…I glance around nervously, a bead of sweat forms on my brow. I wonder if a piece of this day just might not fall into place. Alas, my worry was unfounded. There she appeared, a messenger of refined carbs, a deliverywoman of all that is baked golden brown and lightly salted. I bought one. Let’s be serious here, the chance of this delectable treat making it to the parking lot is about as likely as me finding an autographed picture of Confucius.
As predicted, the pretzel is gone before I get back in the car. Granted, I moseyed slowly, allowing myself time to enjoy each freshly oven-baked bite.
Grocery Store:
We get off the highway. We drive into the grocery store parking lot. Beeline for the Cheetos (crunchy, real mean eat crunchy, not that puffy garbage), Easy-Cheez (that’s right…with a “z”), crackers, and O-R-E-O’s…In passing, as I race furiously through the aisles searching for my bullion, Stef says “I LOVE you on your day of jubilee…so fun!”
Check Out:
I love to use that self-checkout thing. The only problem, is it makes you feel as if you want to steal. The reasoning going through my head is “Hey, I’m saving you money by doing this myself, what’s a few free yogurts?” I fight the urge, ring up all my purchases (including flowers for my mom…I know, I’m a sweetie) and off we go.
Arrival:
We leave the bags in the car. Head inside. Everyone is already there. We’re the last ones to arrive. Although we’re last, we certainly carry with us prizes and goodies surely worth the wait. I can’t wait to sit down, start eating all of this goodness.
Pre-Dinner:
At this point I’ve gone through a half a bag of Cheetos, a third of a bag of Oreo’s, and copious amounts of Easy-Cheez (that’s right, with a “z”). The wine is now flowing like the falls of Niagra, and me…I’m in a semi-conscious, blissfully unaware, sugar induced, alcohol supported fugue. Life is so good.
Dinner:
I’m not sure where to begin here. Dinner was not a buffet, at least not originally conceived as a buffet. It turned into a sort of round-robin, hot potato, gluttonous feast. Pass, dump, ask, pass, dump, ask. Sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, turkey, sprouts, cornbread…on and on it goes. A bit of this, a dab of that…more wine, a spoonful of this, a forkful of that…more wine. (Note: I love turkey legs, so I had two).
Desert:
More Oreo’s. That’s right. In the face of pumpkin pie, ice cream, pecan pie, cookies, and other sweets…I choose the Oreo’s. You know why? Because I love them. Because I yearn for them. I ache for them. And for your own edification, I ate about 1,700 calories worth. (Yes, that’s seventeen-hundred).
I spent the rest of the evening in a catatonic sugar crash. Others asked me if it was worth it. A resounding yes is the answer. It’s the best day. Yet others ask why I do this to myself, why I don’t just spread this out over the year. The answer, because I like it this way. Plain and simple. I enjoy working hard for a huge reward, and based on my other posts, most of you know that I cheat here and there. My day of jubilee is my ultimate reward for what is otherwise a rather strictly regimented diet. I like it.
So, like I said, my day of jubilee has come and gone; and now the countdown begins…363 days to go.
Monday, November 10, 2008
I ate alligator...
I'm in New Orleans for the week. I arrived yesterday. I ate alligator; alligator sausage. No it doesn't taste like chicken, or beef, or pork, it has a distinct taste all its own.
Recently, I met with a nutritional consultant, Mike, regarding my diet. I had made some adjustments that were, let's just say...no agreeing with me. Around 300p every afternoon, my stomach rebelled. This rebellion came in the form of churning, gurgling, pain, and the (not so occasional) explosive burst.
Mike instantly zeroed in on one glaring detail, the lack of variety. I eat pretty much the same thing everyday. The variety just wasn't there. I ate some fruit, I ate some vegetables - but the problem was that I ate the same thing, day in, day out.
Let's take a step back, in time. I was the chubby kid in high school. I was the kid who couldn't do a pull-up, couldn't run a mile, couldn't wear "cool-kids" clothes. I lost the weight through a combination of heart-breack and hard work. I kept it off through hard work and dedication. Mike noticed, without a missed beat, that this diet is a result of desperation to maintain control over myself. I measured food out meticulously...which leads to consistency, but not variety. The consistency gave me control. I bought the same things, I ate the same things, I always knew exactly what was going in to my body.
Consider that the key to success is consistency, intensity, and VARIETY. I vary my workouts, I vary my training, but I never varied my eatin? I never realized I was missing one of the key components of success.
Mike gave helped me see the problem, and helped me work through a solution. Eggs with veggies in the morning, rather than cereal everyday. I was over supplementing, too many shakes, and pills, and not nearly enough real food.
I'll to spare you the complexities of the rest of our conversation.
Here's what I want all of you to take away from this little story: My mind got in the way. I fear falling back into the "high-school me", so much so that I've given up enjoying one of the most enjoyable parts of every day...food. I ate the same thing day in day out, so I could be in control.
What Mike realized was that I really wasn't in control. I was a slave to those same meals, those same nutrients. Mike is helping me put together less restrictive diet. I've never had problem making good food choices, but when faced with the option of eating "the usual" over something different, I'd always choose the usual. Mike's helping me change
Granted, I'm not going to change over night. I still eat relatively the same things, but I look for ways to change it up. Salad with lunch, V8 at breakfast, fish instead of chicken. I'm working on it...i'll probably always be working on it, but at least I'm getting somewhere now.
That was probable more than you all needed to know; but I thought it was a valuable story. No one knows everything, as much as we like to think we do. I've always believed in being an expert in your field, and surrounding yourself with experts in the others. I've got a great accountant, a great financial planner, a great lawyer, a great massage therapist, and a great doctor. I do what I do, and look to others for everything else. Mike was one of these people. He's not a nutritionist, but he knows me, and he knows what I need. Let Fit2You Fitness find that person for you. Whether you need help exercising, eating, working through emotional troubles...we can help you, we can find you that person that does what they do best, so you can focus on doing what you do best.
--BA
Fit2You Fitness, LLC
Philadelphia and Main Line in-home personal training, wellness, massage, nutrition, and corporate wellness.
Recently, I met with a nutritional consultant, Mike, regarding my diet. I had made some adjustments that were, let's just say...no agreeing with me. Around 300p every afternoon, my stomach rebelled. This rebellion came in the form of churning, gurgling, pain, and the (not so occasional) explosive burst.
Mike instantly zeroed in on one glaring detail, the lack of variety. I eat pretty much the same thing everyday. The variety just wasn't there. I ate some fruit, I ate some vegetables - but the problem was that I ate the same thing, day in, day out.
Let's take a step back, in time. I was the chubby kid in high school. I was the kid who couldn't do a pull-up, couldn't run a mile, couldn't wear "cool-kids" clothes. I lost the weight through a combination of heart-breack and hard work. I kept it off through hard work and dedication. Mike noticed, without a missed beat, that this diet is a result of desperation to maintain control over myself. I measured food out meticulously...which leads to consistency, but not variety. The consistency gave me control. I bought the same things, I ate the same things, I always knew exactly what was going in to my body.
Consider that the key to success is consistency, intensity, and VARIETY. I vary my workouts, I vary my training, but I never varied my eatin? I never realized I was missing one of the key components of success.
Mike gave helped me see the problem, and helped me work through a solution. Eggs with veggies in the morning, rather than cereal everyday. I was over supplementing, too many shakes, and pills, and not nearly enough real food.
I'll to spare you the complexities of the rest of our conversation.
Here's what I want all of you to take away from this little story: My mind got in the way. I fear falling back into the "high-school me", so much so that I've given up enjoying one of the most enjoyable parts of every day...food. I ate the same thing day in day out, so I could be in control.
What Mike realized was that I really wasn't in control. I was a slave to those same meals, those same nutrients. Mike is helping me put together less restrictive diet. I've never had problem making good food choices, but when faced with the option of eating "the usual" over something different, I'd always choose the usual. Mike's helping me change
Granted, I'm not going to change over night. I still eat relatively the same things, but I look for ways to change it up. Salad with lunch, V8 at breakfast, fish instead of chicken. I'm working on it...i'll probably always be working on it, but at least I'm getting somewhere now.
That was probable more than you all needed to know; but I thought it was a valuable story. No one knows everything, as much as we like to think we do. I've always believed in being an expert in your field, and surrounding yourself with experts in the others. I've got a great accountant, a great financial planner, a great lawyer, a great massage therapist, and a great doctor. I do what I do, and look to others for everything else. Mike was one of these people. He's not a nutritionist, but he knows me, and he knows what I need. Let Fit2You Fitness find that person for you. Whether you need help exercising, eating, working through emotional troubles...we can help you, we can find you that person that does what they do best, so you can focus on doing what you do best.
--BA
Fit2You Fitness, LLC
Philadelphia and Main Line in-home personal training, wellness, massage, nutrition, and corporate wellness.
Monday, October 20, 2008
An oily rubdown...
To answer the question that I'm sure is on the top of ALL of your minds...yes, the title of this post is "an oily rubdown". To answer the obvious next question, no...I don't mean that in an R-Rated, only viewable after 1100p on Cinemax, kind of way. Rather, I'm talking about laying down on a warm, comfortable bed, half (maybe fully) naked, being massaged every so gently with heating body oils and lotions. Wow...there really is no good way to describe this. No matter how you say it, it still needs to arrive discreetly wrapped in brown paper. The point of all this...I'm talking about a mssage.
For years I was intrigued by massage. Not the act itself, rather the fact that people are ok with another rubbing them all over, and I mean all over. Talk about vulnerability. Then there was the ever-looming concern: "What if it moved?" To quote George Constanza. So, the concern of another person with whom I am not intimately involved touching me in places directly adjacent to my giblets, couled with the even deeper concern that "it" might move always kept me away from massage.
All this ended when I left college and entered the working world. If you can believe it, I was working a job that required me to actually work from 9-5, five days a week..back then that was a hard day. Man I miss that.
Anway, I beloged to a small gym near my office. Perhaps it was from squeezing my phone between my shoulder and ear all day, whild cold calling in a desperate attempt to sell a useless product, or perhaps it was the stress of those "long" days. Whatever it was, I noticed they offered massage...sign me up.
The next night, I came in. Nervous, reticent, shy (and any other synonym for those three words). The front desk attendant showed me to the room, where she instructed me to undress. Gladly, because of course, I thought she was the massage therapist...oh how very wrong I was.
I dropped trou, folded them over the chair and climbed up on the table. As soon as I laid down, in came the real massage therapist. X was his name, short for Xantho. He was a 6' 6" and weighed somewhere north of 280lbs. I think it was safe to say, no matter what, "it" wasn't going anywhere.
X asked me what massage I'd like. At that time I knew more about laying asphalt than I did massage. I said, goofily "the kind that makes me relaxed". And off we went.
I'll save you the details of the experience, except to say X didn't come anywhere near my giblets, spending most of the time on my back and shoulders , and "it" didn't so much as shift around.
When it was all over, 60 minutes later, X left the room after I thanked him. It took me 20 minutes or so to really collect myself. I stayed on the table for a bit, drifting in and out of sleep, as I had for the entire hour-long massage itself.
I sleepily stood up from the table, absently dressed, and stumbled to my car. Now, I need to warn you...if it's your first massage, get dropped off and get picked up. Driving equals no fun after a massage. You just want to keep drifting in and out of that place you've just come from. That little island free of worry, stress, or pain.
As X directed, I drank plenty of water aferwards. The massage releases body toxins that are best flushed with copious amount of water. And those copious amounts of water release excessive amounts of urine that are best flushed at the urinal, or closest tree.
I slept better that night. Most likely partially because of the bodily relaxation, and partially the mental relaxation.
The next day I expected to feel completely rejuvenated. I did feel must more rested, and much more relaxed, but I wasn't as energized as I hoped. I thought I would leap out of bed like the the Lucky Charms Leprechaun leaps across his rainbow. But no, I didn't want to get out of bed any more than I would on a normal morning.
However, as the day progressed, I did feel better. I felt less exhausted in the afternoon, and I felt myself sitting up straighter. I felt better. No better way to say it. I just felt better.
Just like we reward our exercise with an occasional sweet treat, or salty snack. Reward your hard work in the office, or at home, with an occasional retreat...like I said, an oily rubdown.
Contact Fit2You Fitness for an in-home or on site massage therapy session, or even if you'd like to travel to your therapist...we can do that to.
As you know, Fit2You Fitness also provides Philadelphia and the Main Line with fitness and wellness services (massage, yoga, pilates, career counseling, and psychological counseling) anywher you like. We can come to you or you can come to us.
--BA
Fit2You Fitness, LLC
www.fit2youfitness.com
For years I was intrigued by massage. Not the act itself, rather the fact that people are ok with another rubbing them all over, and I mean all over. Talk about vulnerability. Then there was the ever-looming concern: "What if it moved?" To quote George Constanza. So, the concern of another person with whom I am not intimately involved touching me in places directly adjacent to my giblets, couled with the even deeper concern that "it" might move always kept me away from massage.
All this ended when I left college and entered the working world. If you can believe it, I was working a job that required me to actually work from 9-5, five days a week..back then that was a hard day. Man I miss that.
Anway, I beloged to a small gym near my office. Perhaps it was from squeezing my phone between my shoulder and ear all day, whild cold calling in a desperate attempt to sell a useless product, or perhaps it was the stress of those "long" days. Whatever it was, I noticed they offered massage...sign me up.
The next night, I came in. Nervous, reticent, shy (and any other synonym for those three words). The front desk attendant showed me to the room, where she instructed me to undress. Gladly, because of course, I thought she was the massage therapist...oh how very wrong I was.
I dropped trou, folded them over the chair and climbed up on the table. As soon as I laid down, in came the real massage therapist. X was his name, short for Xantho. He was a 6' 6" and weighed somewhere north of 280lbs. I think it was safe to say, no matter what, "it" wasn't going anywhere.
X asked me what massage I'd like. At that time I knew more about laying asphalt than I did massage. I said, goofily "the kind that makes me relaxed". And off we went.
I'll save you the details of the experience, except to say X didn't come anywhere near my giblets, spending most of the time on my back and shoulders , and "it" didn't so much as shift around.
When it was all over, 60 minutes later, X left the room after I thanked him. It took me 20 minutes or so to really collect myself. I stayed on the table for a bit, drifting in and out of sleep, as I had for the entire hour-long massage itself.
I sleepily stood up from the table, absently dressed, and stumbled to my car. Now, I need to warn you...if it's your first massage, get dropped off and get picked up. Driving equals no fun after a massage. You just want to keep drifting in and out of that place you've just come from. That little island free of worry, stress, or pain.
As X directed, I drank plenty of water aferwards. The massage releases body toxins that are best flushed with copious amount of water. And those copious amounts of water release excessive amounts of urine that are best flushed at the urinal, or closest tree.
I slept better that night. Most likely partially because of the bodily relaxation, and partially the mental relaxation.
The next day I expected to feel completely rejuvenated. I did feel must more rested, and much more relaxed, but I wasn't as energized as I hoped. I thought I would leap out of bed like the the Lucky Charms Leprechaun leaps across his rainbow. But no, I didn't want to get out of bed any more than I would on a normal morning.
However, as the day progressed, I did feel better. I felt less exhausted in the afternoon, and I felt myself sitting up straighter. I felt better. No better way to say it. I just felt better.
Just like we reward our exercise with an occasional sweet treat, or salty snack. Reward your hard work in the office, or at home, with an occasional retreat...like I said, an oily rubdown.
Contact Fit2You Fitness for an in-home or on site massage therapy session, or even if you'd like to travel to your therapist...we can do that to.
As you know, Fit2You Fitness also provides Philadelphia and the Main Line with fitness and wellness services (massage, yoga, pilates, career counseling, and psychological counseling) anywher you like. We can come to you or you can come to us.
--BA
Fit2You Fitness, LLC
www.fit2youfitness.com
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
My Ultimate Cheat Day
As you all know by now I forcefully advocate the reward system: Work hard, eat clean, reward well. Read a few posts back and you'll see my discussion of the "mortal sin" in Florida. Today, as promised, I'm going to share with you...in all it's gory, horrific truth...my ultimate cheat day.
I look forward to thanksgiving for one reason; broken into many sub-reasons. Thanksgiving is the day I work all year for. It's my favorite day of the year. In fact, I love thanksgiving so much I'm going to reiterate that thanksgiving is my favorite day of the year. And I don't mean that like "Chocolate ice cream if my favorite ice cream". I mean it like this is the one day of the year before which I have trouble sleeping, after which I'm so sad I have another 365 days to go it virtually sends me into a homicidal tizzy. I look forward to this one day all year, even more so the week of. My teeth tingle with excitement, butterflies nest deep inside my belly, my mind is so worthless, so distracted, I'm of little more use than a dead tree stump.
It all begins at breakfast (which as you also know is my favorite meal). I start with french toast, a short stack, and an egg and cheese bagel. If I still have room (ha, "if"...let's be serious, I'm just warming up) I order a couple sides of bacon because everything tastes better with bacon. Top it off with some juice and coffee and you have the makings of a pig, slowly entering the slop.
Next, I make my way to the supermarket. Here, I stock up on my permanent-thanksgiving accessories: Cheetos (the crunch kind, not that puff garbage), a few cans of E-Z Cheese, a box of club crackers, and a bag or two of oreos. Now we're off to the races.
By now, it's about 10a and we're on the road to my parents house. I liken myself to Homer Simpson when surround by bowls of chips, and dips, and football game goodies. I morph into a sugar driven, fat seeking, cheese grubbing tazmanian devil. I can't get enough.
Around noon, it's time for a quick stop off for a few slices of pizza. Perhaps a sausage, a pepperoni, and one meat-lovers...perhaps. Back on the road again, and I'm tearing through more crunchy, powdered cheese goodness, scarfing through the creamy inside of another O-R-E-O, charging through another sleeve of crackers covered in processed cheese spread. (As an aside: This is maybe the hardest blog I've ever written...I'm serious. Thank goodness thanksgiving really isn't too far away. If I were writing this in December, I would seriously need some sort of tranquilizer to bring me down.)
I'm sure at this point you're all wondering if I feel bloated, and greasy, dirty and disgusting. And yes, I do...very much so. But it's so good, it's just so good...I can't say that enough...it's all just so good.
Upon our arrival in my hometown comes a stop off at Neat-O-Burrito for a burrito, so enormous it's obscene. Pack that puppy with some chicken, guacamole, beans, rice, etc., etc., etc.,. I easily power through this little slice of heaven, and it's back to my accessory foods.
We have arrival at our destination. We climb out of the car, the cool air snaps me out of that food induced fugue state. As we enter the house we're struck by the warm smells of fresh baked breads, pumpkin pie, stuffing, mashed sweets, and turkey.
It's a couple hours until dinner, and I'll usually take a little break. Pack down the mass inside my belly with a few glasses of wine. The next few hours tend to dance by on the wings of an alcohol buzz, furthered aloft by the laughter and jokes.
Dinner time. Pass the turkey (leg for me), pass the stuffing, pass the potatoes, pass the greens, pass the gravy. Pass the turkey , pass the stuffing, pass the potatoes, pass the greens, pass the gravy. Pass the turkey, pass the stuffing, pass the potatoes, pass the greens, pass the gravy...and so it goes until its time for piece de resistance, the culmination of this day of gluttony, the cherry on the scoop...the pumpkin pie. A few slices my way, wash it down with a brownie or two, and a cup of coffee. With that, my ultimate cheat day comes to a close.
The following morning, of course, I'm back at the gym, I'm back on clean eating, and I'm usually back on the toilet paying the price for all that fat, sugar, and starch...but it's all worth it. Maybe not to you, maybe not to anyone else, but to me it's ALL worth it. One day of the year, everything is right with the world. I can lose myself in all the gluttonous indulgences I avoid, sometimes barely, all year long.
This is an extreme example, founded in compulsion. The point I hope to express is that everyone deserves a reward. I've said the same in dozens of other posts. Reward yourself. Just take notice of my reward day. Save for the occasional mortal sin, or slice of pizza, Thanksgiving is an aberration. An uber-reward for a year's worth of hard work. Maybe you'll follow this example and give yourself one day a year, so gluttonous, so full of indulgence, it's nearly criminal. Or maybe you'll choose to give yourself a slice of pizza every couple weeks, or an order of French Fries. Take this however you'd like; just don't slip down the slope and fall into a dangerous lifestyle.
So, like I said I forcefully advocate the reward system: Work hard, eat clean, reward well...VERY well.
I look forward to thanksgiving for one reason; broken into many sub-reasons. Thanksgiving is the day I work all year for. It's my favorite day of the year. In fact, I love thanksgiving so much I'm going to reiterate that thanksgiving is my favorite day of the year. And I don't mean that like "Chocolate ice cream if my favorite ice cream". I mean it like this is the one day of the year before which I have trouble sleeping, after which I'm so sad I have another 365 days to go it virtually sends me into a homicidal tizzy. I look forward to this one day all year, even more so the week of. My teeth tingle with excitement, butterflies nest deep inside my belly, my mind is so worthless, so distracted, I'm of little more use than a dead tree stump.
It all begins at breakfast (which as you also know is my favorite meal). I start with french toast, a short stack, and an egg and cheese bagel. If I still have room (ha, "if"...let's be serious, I'm just warming up) I order a couple sides of bacon because everything tastes better with bacon. Top it off with some juice and coffee and you have the makings of a pig, slowly entering the slop.
Next, I make my way to the supermarket. Here, I stock up on my permanent-thanksgiving accessories: Cheetos (the crunch kind, not that puff garbage), a few cans of E-Z Cheese, a box of club crackers, and a bag or two of oreos. Now we're off to the races.
By now, it's about 10a and we're on the road to my parents house. I liken myself to Homer Simpson when surround by bowls of chips, and dips, and football game goodies. I morph into a sugar driven, fat seeking, cheese grubbing tazmanian devil. I can't get enough.
Around noon, it's time for a quick stop off for a few slices of pizza. Perhaps a sausage, a pepperoni, and one meat-lovers...perhaps. Back on the road again, and I'm tearing through more crunchy, powdered cheese goodness, scarfing through the creamy inside of another O-R-E-O, charging through another sleeve of crackers covered in processed cheese spread. (As an aside: This is maybe the hardest blog I've ever written...I'm serious. Thank goodness thanksgiving really isn't too far away. If I were writing this in December, I would seriously need some sort of tranquilizer to bring me down.)
I'm sure at this point you're all wondering if I feel bloated, and greasy, dirty and disgusting. And yes, I do...very much so. But it's so good, it's just so good...I can't say that enough...it's all just so good.
Upon our arrival in my hometown comes a stop off at Neat-O-Burrito for a burrito, so enormous it's obscene. Pack that puppy with some chicken, guacamole, beans, rice, etc., etc., etc.,. I easily power through this little slice of heaven, and it's back to my accessory foods.
We have arrival at our destination. We climb out of the car, the cool air snaps me out of that food induced fugue state. As we enter the house we're struck by the warm smells of fresh baked breads, pumpkin pie, stuffing, mashed sweets, and turkey.
It's a couple hours until dinner, and I'll usually take a little break. Pack down the mass inside my belly with a few glasses of wine. The next few hours tend to dance by on the wings of an alcohol buzz, furthered aloft by the laughter and jokes.
Dinner time. Pass the turkey (leg for me), pass the stuffing, pass the potatoes, pass the greens, pass the gravy. Pass the turkey , pass the stuffing, pass the potatoes, pass the greens, pass the gravy. Pass the turkey, pass the stuffing, pass the potatoes, pass the greens, pass the gravy...and so it goes until its time for piece de resistance, the culmination of this day of gluttony, the cherry on the scoop...the pumpkin pie. A few slices my way, wash it down with a brownie or two, and a cup of coffee. With that, my ultimate cheat day comes to a close.
The following morning, of course, I'm back at the gym, I'm back on clean eating, and I'm usually back on the toilet paying the price for all that fat, sugar, and starch...but it's all worth it. Maybe not to you, maybe not to anyone else, but to me it's ALL worth it. One day of the year, everything is right with the world. I can lose myself in all the gluttonous indulgences I avoid, sometimes barely, all year long.
This is an extreme example, founded in compulsion. The point I hope to express is that everyone deserves a reward. I've said the same in dozens of other posts. Reward yourself. Just take notice of my reward day. Save for the occasional mortal sin, or slice of pizza, Thanksgiving is an aberration. An uber-reward for a year's worth of hard work. Maybe you'll follow this example and give yourself one day a year, so gluttonous, so full of indulgence, it's nearly criminal. Or maybe you'll choose to give yourself a slice of pizza every couple weeks, or an order of French Fries. Take this however you'd like; just don't slip down the slope and fall into a dangerous lifestyle.
So, like I said I forcefully advocate the reward system: Work hard, eat clean, reward well...VERY well.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Break the fast...and break it right.
Breakfast...the most important meal of the day. Ignoring the hashed cliche, those are a few of the most important words in wellness.
When I first began formulating my thoughts for this particular article I came to a fork in the road. One sign said "Facts, science, boredom - East" the other said "Tell it like it is - West". So, metaphorically speaking, there I stood, hemming, hawing...WESTWARD HO!
I love breakfast. Not only do I love the act of eating breakfast every morning, I love breakfast foods. Perhaps because I'm the generation who can eat cereal three meals a day, or perhaps because virtually every breakfast is instantly improved with a side of bacon...whatever it is, I love breakfast. I'm going to say this again, so all of you ot there understand what I'm trying to say...I love breakfast.
Maybe my obsessive, border-line infatuation, with breakfast makes it easier for me to eat it...but I wasn't always this way. No no no, there was a time that I skipped breakfast -- often because I the time I awoke was far too late in the day to call any meal I was having "breakfast"...more like lunch, more often "LiNner". Those times are back in the proverbial "day"; now, not only do I eat breakfast...I can't wait to eat breakfast.
A few nights out of the week, my hungry stomach will growl my mind out of its slumber for no reason other than to ask "When food come?" (That's right, my stomach doesn't speak in grammatically proper sentences. If my stomach were a character, I imagine it a club toting, caveman; concerned only with its next meal and little else.) My mind responds calmly, in its glib british accent "Now now old chap, rest assured you're next feeding is imminent". (As with my stomach, I imagine my mind a monocle wearing, pipe smoking, Thurston Howel the Third-esque, type of character). And with those calming words, we all drift back to sleep.
I like to wake up at 6a. I've reconciled my rational self with my obsessive self. If I plan to eat eight meals today, I need to start at 6. If I don't I end up cramming food in too close together (temporally speaking) or I'm eating until 10p.
Morning arrives. I'd like to set the record straight: All things being equal, I'd prefer an IV meal of some sort to avoid having to leave the comfort of my pillows, blankets, and newly installed feather mattress pad. But, since science has yet to deliver an easy, home-based IV food delivery system for everyday use, I have to get up.
Oooo...do I love this next part. Well, first things first. I mix a quick protein shake - 25g of whey protein. I take my vitamins with this. Whey is a great source of sustained protein-energy (a little science won't kill you, or bore you too much). The foundation of my breakfast though is a cup of Kashi Hi-Protein cereal, half a cup of granola, and half a cup of all-bran. Kashi provides a healthy dose of carbohydrates and protein, the granola provides fat and almost an obscene amount of tasty goodness, and the all-bran...well the all-bran keeps the colon chugging along with the regularity of a swiss watch. Top it all off with a handful of blueberries (whose nutritional benefits are so vast I could write an entire article about them alone) and a cup of soy milk. Why soy milk? Milk irritates my stomach. So if I drink milk...people don't want to be around me for 2 - 4 hours. Take what you want from that breakfast menu, but be sure to take it to mean you should ALWAYS eat breakfast.
I don't confine myself to that breakfast either. I love eggs, scrambled, over-easy, hard-boiled. I love sausage, and bacon, and oatmeal. I love muffins, and pancakes, and french toast. I love bagels, and lox, and fruit. I love it all, but I don't eat it all.
You must eat breakfast, but be mindful of what you eat. Eggs are great, when they're not fried in butter. Oatmeal is great when it's made with water (not whole milk). Muffins are good when they're low sugar, high fiber. Sausage is good when it's low-fat turkey or soy (same for bacon) . Make smart choices when you make your own breakfast: Whole wheat toast, 0-calorie cooking spray not butter, portion control.
I'll never tell anyone to avoid any food forever; even fried foods. Read a few blogs back about rewarding yourself (Specifically Me and the Mortal Sin). Make the breakfast foods that are the worst for you (pancakes, french toast, eggs benedict) a SUPER-occasional reward for hard work and clean eating. I do -- next time, I'll tell you all about my mind-blowing, annual cheat day. It's the greatest day of the year.
So, like I said breakfast...the most important meal of the day. Ignoring the hashed cliche, those are a few of the most important words in wellness.
When I first began formulating my thoughts for this particular article I came to a fork in the road. One sign said "Facts, science, boredom - East" the other said "Tell it like it is - West". So, metaphorically speaking, there I stood, hemming, hawing...WESTWARD HO!
I love breakfast. Not only do I love the act of eating breakfast every morning, I love breakfast foods. Perhaps because I'm the generation who can eat cereal three meals a day, or perhaps because virtually every breakfast is instantly improved with a side of bacon...whatever it is, I love breakfast. I'm going to say this again, so all of you ot there understand what I'm trying to say...I love breakfast.
Maybe my obsessive, border-line infatuation, with breakfast makes it easier for me to eat it...but I wasn't always this way. No no no, there was a time that I skipped breakfast -- often because I the time I awoke was far too late in the day to call any meal I was having "breakfast"...more like lunch, more often "LiNner". Those times are back in the proverbial "day"; now, not only do I eat breakfast...I can't wait to eat breakfast.
A few nights out of the week, my hungry stomach will growl my mind out of its slumber for no reason other than to ask "When food come?" (That's right, my stomach doesn't speak in grammatically proper sentences. If my stomach were a character, I imagine it a club toting, caveman; concerned only with its next meal and little else.) My mind responds calmly, in its glib british accent "Now now old chap, rest assured you're next feeding is imminent". (As with my stomach, I imagine my mind a monocle wearing, pipe smoking, Thurston Howel the Third-esque, type of character). And with those calming words, we all drift back to sleep.
I like to wake up at 6a. I've reconciled my rational self with my obsessive self. If I plan to eat eight meals today, I need to start at 6. If I don't I end up cramming food in too close together (temporally speaking) or I'm eating until 10p.
Morning arrives. I'd like to set the record straight: All things being equal, I'd prefer an IV meal of some sort to avoid having to leave the comfort of my pillows, blankets, and newly installed feather mattress pad. But, since science has yet to deliver an easy, home-based IV food delivery system for everyday use, I have to get up.
Oooo...do I love this next part. Well, first things first. I mix a quick protein shake - 25g of whey protein. I take my vitamins with this. Whey is a great source of sustained protein-energy (a little science won't kill you, or bore you too much). The foundation of my breakfast though is a cup of Kashi Hi-Protein cereal, half a cup of granola, and half a cup of all-bran. Kashi provides a healthy dose of carbohydrates and protein, the granola provides fat and almost an obscene amount of tasty goodness, and the all-bran...well the all-bran keeps the colon chugging along with the regularity of a swiss watch. Top it all off with a handful of blueberries (whose nutritional benefits are so vast I could write an entire article about them alone) and a cup of soy milk. Why soy milk? Milk irritates my stomach. So if I drink milk...people don't want to be around me for 2 - 4 hours. Take what you want from that breakfast menu, but be sure to take it to mean you should ALWAYS eat breakfast.
I don't confine myself to that breakfast either. I love eggs, scrambled, over-easy, hard-boiled. I love sausage, and bacon, and oatmeal. I love muffins, and pancakes, and french toast. I love bagels, and lox, and fruit. I love it all, but I don't eat it all.
You must eat breakfast, but be mindful of what you eat. Eggs are great, when they're not fried in butter. Oatmeal is great when it's made with water (not whole milk). Muffins are good when they're low sugar, high fiber. Sausage is good when it's low-fat turkey or soy (same for bacon) . Make smart choices when you make your own breakfast: Whole wheat toast, 0-calorie cooking spray not butter, portion control.
I'll never tell anyone to avoid any food forever; even fried foods. Read a few blogs back about rewarding yourself (Specifically Me and the Mortal Sin). Make the breakfast foods that are the worst for you (pancakes, french toast, eggs benedict) a SUPER-occasional reward for hard work and clean eating. I do -- next time, I'll tell you all about my mind-blowing, annual cheat day. It's the greatest day of the year.
So, like I said breakfast...the most important meal of the day. Ignoring the hashed cliche, those are a few of the most important words in wellness.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Hard work deserves rest...
One week off every few months, your body is like your mind; give it a vacation. There's more to "rest" than simple sleep. There's more to rest than taking a day off every week. When you're pushing yourself hard, for long periods of time, you need real rest.
Imagine going 6 months without a mental break; working hard every day at a mentally demanding job. Your performance will certainly suffer, your motivation will certainly lower, your enjoyment will certainly diminish. Your body is no different.
That leads me to my most recent problem. I found myself sitting lazily on a weight bench during one particularly disjointed lower body workout. In retrospect I suppose I was meandering through that particular workout, maybe bored, maybe distracted, definitely irritated. I was uncomfortable.
For the few nights leading up to this day I found myself awakened by this dull discomfort in my legs. The pain wasn't terrible, but it was bad enough to work its way into my stomach. I had restless legs syndrome. My response? I called me doctor, and explained that the symptoms I was experiencing were exactly the same as those symptoms that GlaxoSmithKline discussed on their commercial for the restless leg syndrome drug. Based on the expert analysis of my self diagnosis coupled with the information Glaxo was telling me, I must need a prescription to take the edge off...right? So what if the drug may cause me to experience incontinence, loose bowels, erectile dysfunction, spotting periods, sudden blindness, loss of hearing, limb numbness, stroke, heart attack, diabetes, financial trouble, car trouble, loss of appetite, loss of friendships, loss of interest, loss of my 401K, frustration, exhaustion, fatigue, sleepiness, drowsiness, periods of intense energy, euphoria, depression, suicidal thoughts, toe-nail fungus, or sinus infection? I needed to take a drug for this didn't I?
Well, the answer is a resounding no (For our French friends: la réponse est non, For our German friends: Die Antwort ist nein, For our Spanish Friends: la respuesta es no, and lastly for our Russian friends: ответа нет -- I really want to get the point across, and I really like using "google translator"). I didn't need drugs, or treatment of any sort. I needed a day off, maybe even a week.
So what did I do? I took a week off. I finished the workout that day; albeit not well. I then started my week off.
I didn't run, I didn't lift, I didn't box, I didn't row, I didn't swim. The time I took off I spent going on walks, laying on the couch, catching up on recreational reading. In other words, I took a physical break...which in turn gave me the opportunity to take a mental break. A nice physical break, coupled with a nice mental break. It felt good.
A word of caution...you might find it difficult to get back to it. Doing nothing is SO much easier than doing something; only with much worse results. Make a deal between yourself and you. Every three or four months you'll take one week off. This doesn't meant eat garabage and forget about your health lifestyle. Still take the stairs, still walk instead of drive. Just skip the intensity of your training sessions for one week. I promise you'll return completely re-energized.
Like I said, one week off every few months, your body is like your mind; give it a vacation.
Imagine going 6 months without a mental break; working hard every day at a mentally demanding job. Your performance will certainly suffer, your motivation will certainly lower, your enjoyment will certainly diminish. Your body is no different.
That leads me to my most recent problem. I found myself sitting lazily on a weight bench during one particularly disjointed lower body workout. In retrospect I suppose I was meandering through that particular workout, maybe bored, maybe distracted, definitely irritated. I was uncomfortable.
For the few nights leading up to this day I found myself awakened by this dull discomfort in my legs. The pain wasn't terrible, but it was bad enough to work its way into my stomach. I had restless legs syndrome. My response? I called me doctor, and explained that the symptoms I was experiencing were exactly the same as those symptoms that GlaxoSmithKline discussed on their commercial for the restless leg syndrome drug. Based on the expert analysis of my self diagnosis coupled with the information Glaxo was telling me, I must need a prescription to take the edge off...right? So what if the drug may cause me to experience incontinence, loose bowels, erectile dysfunction, spotting periods, sudden blindness, loss of hearing, limb numbness, stroke, heart attack, diabetes, financial trouble, car trouble, loss of appetite, loss of friendships, loss of interest, loss of my 401K, frustration, exhaustion, fatigue, sleepiness, drowsiness, periods of intense energy, euphoria, depression, suicidal thoughts, toe-nail fungus, or sinus infection? I needed to take a drug for this didn't I?
Well, the answer is a resounding no (For our French friends: la réponse est non, For our German friends: Die Antwort ist nein, For our Spanish Friends: la respuesta es no, and lastly for our Russian friends: ответа нет -- I really want to get the point across, and I really like using "google translator"). I didn't need drugs, or treatment of any sort. I needed a day off, maybe even a week.
So what did I do? I took a week off. I finished the workout that day; albeit not well. I then started my week off.
I didn't run, I didn't lift, I didn't box, I didn't row, I didn't swim. The time I took off I spent going on walks, laying on the couch, catching up on recreational reading. In other words, I took a physical break...which in turn gave me the opportunity to take a mental break. A nice physical break, coupled with a nice mental break. It felt good.
A word of caution...you might find it difficult to get back to it. Doing nothing is SO much easier than doing something; only with much worse results. Make a deal between yourself and you. Every three or four months you'll take one week off. This doesn't meant eat garabage and forget about your health lifestyle. Still take the stairs, still walk instead of drive. Just skip the intensity of your training sessions for one week. I promise you'll return completely re-energized.
Like I said, one week off every few months, your body is like your mind; give it a vacation.
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