That dang billy goat!

Posted: October 11, 2014 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

I wear a lie. Not often, and I am not proud of it, but I definitely wear a lie. Great… now I am even lying about not being proud of it. Of course I am proud of it. Heck, usually when I wear it I also carry a spotlight to shine on it just to make sure people can see it. What’s the lie? It simply says, “Finisher”.
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Sure, if you take it in context, it isn’t a lie. Underneath it spells out the distance of an Ironman race: 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile run. So since I finished two ironman races, I’m technically not a liar as much as a stud. I’ll wait to give you time to properly appreciate just how studly… I even finished in first place (in the “with love handles the size of Manhattan” division)!
Now let’s get back to the lie: I’m not a Finisher when it comes to writing a book. Now that I think about it, I’m not really sure why I would ever fancy myself a writer (besides using terms like, “fancy myself”). The highlight of my writing “career” was when something I wrote for a writing class in my junior college was read to the entire class. The teacher asked if I minded if she read it to the class as an example. I don’t normally like to brag, but “Heck YEAH!” She neglected to mention that she was going to use my writing as an example of poor writing. Apparently, using the term, “pearly whites” to describe a smile of a woman in a concentration camp is to be frowned upon. I guess now that I think about it, “pearly whites” shouldn’t be used unless it is being followed with “which is why 4 out of 5 dentists prefer it.” If this is why I consider myself a writer, I should probably consider myself a professional golfer because one time I did get it through the windmill during a heated game of mini golf.

Like nerds everywhere have their Star Trek conventions, writers (and losers like me) have our secret clubs. Because they mock me at their meetings, I’ll tell you that their secret club is called NaNoMo or NaNoWriMo. It is short for National Novel Writing Month and it comes from the Greek, “Nanny, nanny billy goat.” In theory you can write an entire novel in a month. In reality, it is when writing geeks that have already written a book ask, “So Tom… are you going to be participating in NaNoMo this year?” Giggle giggle. “By the way, did you notice my new tweed smoking jacket? Did I mention that I just (self) published another one of my books?”
If I have a bucket list, writing a book is one of only two things on it (the other is to compete on American Ninja Warrior… and by that I mean a hot dog eating contest with Kobayashi). I’ll start writing something and then think, “Nahhh… nobody will want to read that.” Or I’ll be writing something (incredibly witty) about myself, and then it’ll hit me, “What have I done that has actually been interesting again???” So, I don’t know what or when, but someday I’ll actually fini

There is a popular link going around Facebook that basically says, “don't worry about other people's lives, go out and enjoy your own”. The premise is that the perception we put out on social media may not be reality. But I have always heard that someone's perception is their reality. Which is it? Are we being real or not? Who am I? Who are you? More importantly, why are you stalking me on my blog that I probably had to beg you to read in the first place? You sicko!
My social media consists entirely of letting you know what I am eating (cheese) and sending out invites to play Candy Crush. However, about a month ago, a friend of mine echoed the sentiment of the Facebook article. He is going through a divorce and his comments were directed at couples who look like they have a perfect relationship…on Facebook. I don’t think he meant it as an attack, but he was specifically talking about my relationship. My wife and I had just had a date and we posted a picture from it on Facebook.
Here is a pic of me and my hot wife:
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Okay… not really. Here is a pic of me and my SMOKIN hot wife:
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A couple of days later my friend and I were talking about our relationships and the challenges we were facing. It wasn’t quite as deep as the typical male talk that is repeated numerous times a day. You know the one:

Guy: Hey
Other Guy: Hey
Guy: Did you see the game?
Other guy: Yeah, it was ____ (either “awesome” or “horrible” depending on whether OUR team won or lost. Of course, if it was a loss, we also insert an insult about the refs or umpires).
Guy: Boobs rock.
Other guy: Yeah.

This particular conversation wasn’t like that. This was two old friends just sharing sincerely about our relationships. Then he made a comment about the picture posted on our date night. Interesting. Does a facebook post of a husband and wife just enjoying each other’s company create a false impression that they have a perfect relationship? I would hope not, but who knows? My wife and I love each other dearly (when we aren’t trying to kill each other) but we are far from a perfect couple. We argue (too much) over the most trivial, worthless stuff. We’re both stubborn. I get angry too quickly and in my opinion she doesn’t say “sorry” quick enough. As similar as we are, we have very different super powers. I have my super love handles and she has… well I’ll let her fortune-telling tea tell you.
My wife drinks a brand of tea that has a fortune, similar to one that you would find in a fortune cookie, tied to each tea bag.
Here is an example of one of the “fortunes”:
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She had one over the weekend that said, "Your super power is forgiveness." I read that and thought, "funny." Cute, right? The more I thought about it though, the more I realized that it was True. If possible, it was even more accurate than the one I pretend to get each time I read a fortune: "Help! I am being held prisoner in a fortune cookie factory." On a serious note, without my wife's super power of forgiveness, we wouldn't be married today. The fortune describes her to a tea (Tea… get it???). Maybe my super power should be the gift of being very unfunny? Not funny? Funnily challenged? Sexy? Whatever, I guess they are all the same thing!
Anyhoo, if a pic together on social media is supposed to tell who we are (or aren't?) as a couple, what does a pic of just ourself say? I've got friends that literally probably post a "selfie" everyday. Does that mean they are narcissistic? Sure they spice it up by including exciting things like them eating toast, breathing, or rejecting my Candy Crush advances, but almost every day there is a new selfie. If you think your friends are narcissistic, does that make them so? Personally, I don't do the daily selfie (I am still trying to master the nose-hair filter) but I make sure that I flex in every photo that I do take. My secret goal is to have someone ask me, "Have you been doing buns of steel?" Sigh…Someday.
Do the photo's we allow of ourself on social media say anything about us? We don't want the bad ones on their right? 107% of mine are bad ones. If that is the case, maybe that is who I am. What about the people that gain or lose a ton of weight.
This is me:
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This is another version of me (please note the gratuitous use of a recent “after” pic from a weight loss contest):

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Is one version of the same person better or worse than other?

Is beauty really just skin deep? Don’t worry, I am not kidding myself that I am beautiful, but what if we go deeper? I had someone ask me on Facebook last week, “Were you this funny in high school?” I replied with some quip that I am sure was just hilarious, but when I think about her question, my serious answer probably would have to be, “No.” I was usually too busy trying to impress others to just be myself. Now, in my ripe old age of 73, I really just care what people think. Or maybe that is what I want you to think, I don’t know. I know that I’m being judged almost all the time. I think we all are… which is sad. But are WE being judged or are people judging their perception of us?
Take me for example: To the non-religious, I am too religious. To the religious, I am too much of a heathen (the fact that I said “boobs” in this post is proof enough). To the bald or follicle challenged, I have cornrows that they would kill for (unfortunately they just happen to be on my back). The intelligent make up imaginary words about me (like I am going to buy that “halitosis” is a real word). Fish love me and women fear me. To women that I know I’ll never actually meet in person, I give them a description of myself that matches Brad Pitt… unfortunately as he was as in freakish baby form in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.
>benjaminButtonBaby      

What about even deeper than that? What could be deeper than our relationships, our appearance, our personalities… I’ll give you a clue: James Brown. I know that to some people the extent of, or belief in, our soul stops right there. But are we just this flesh and bones that we are walking around in? Hmmm… let’s pretend that you are in a terrible accident tomorrow and the lower half of your body is crushed. The doctors have no choice but to amputate. You now have half of your physical body, but are you half the person? No. We are not our bodies. Your very essence, or your soul, would not be halved or even damaged.

What do people smarter than me say about the soul?
Inside us there is something that has no name, that something is what we are. Jose Saramago

Laughter is the sound of the soul dancing. My soul probably looks like Fred Astaire. Jarod Kintz

Whatever satisfies the soul is truth. Walt Whitman

And finally, getting back to the original Facebook article about how people put out false perceptions of themselves to look more beautiful, happier, more exciting: Beauty is the illumination of your soul. John O’Donohue

So don’t worry about how others appear on social media (unless you ever see a pic of me in which case please feel free to inquire about my Buns of Steel). What about you though? Is your soul illuminated? Not on Facebook or some other social media, but in real life. Who are you? No… really?

I woke up yesterday only to discover a friend of mine was dead. He wasn’t necessarily a good friend, more of a Facebook friend really, but he was a very sweet guy and somehow his life ended on Saturday. I wasn’t really sure at first because all I saw was a semi-ambiguous post from another of his Facebook friends about being in disbelief. That could be anything right? I did what we do when someone passes these days and searched his Facebook page. My fear was confirmed and my friend was dead.

As I perused his page, I saw two things: 1. A ton of remorse and 2. a lot of words about how he was always there for everyone. The remorse was expressed in different forms from different people, but they had a similar theme: “I am sorry I didn’t get together with you for that drink,” “I should have made time for that lunch” “Sorry that I didn’t make time to come see you.” I know one of the last things he said to me when I saw him a little over a month ago was, “We should get together for lunch next week.” We, of course, got “busy” and never had that lunch.

It was almost split evenly because for every post of remorse, there was someone (oftentimes the same person) who wrote that he was always there for them in their time of need. To make matters worse, I get the feeling that his death was self-inflicted. Here was a guy that was always there for everyone in their time of need, and I can’t help but wonder if anyone was there in his. I know I wasn’t. He was a man that prayed for me and especially for one of my daughters. Did I ever pray for him? I THINK so, but can’t say for sure. He was a business contact that had me listed as one of his preferred vendors but I don’t know that I ever did anything to help his business. One of the Facebook posts on his wall could have easily been written by me, “I am so sorry that we missed the signs that you needed a friend. I am so sad…”

His own Facebook style was a lot different than my own. He would Tag some friends and then offer words of encouragement. Instead of being encouraged by his encouragement, I always thought it was a little quarky (I’m ashamed to admit now but I am just being honest). His very last post was, “Have you ever been ‘that’ tired?” Preceded by, “ever do something entirely stupid?” Just four days before his death he took one of those Facebook quizzes. This one happened to be titled, “What will you be remembered for?” The answer he got was his “amazing empathy.” I’m not one to argue with the experts of the Facebook quizzes, but I think I’ll remember him for his smile, his weight loss, his goofy professional photo that always reminded me of a cross between the George Costanza bearskin rug and Uncle Rico’s mall shot where he did his “billowy” pose, and above all his constant encouragement of others.

All of this comes on the heals of my blog post on the importance of encouragement. Encouragement is something that I am definitely trying to work on. It doesn’t cost anything to give but can make such a big difference to the receiver. Not to make light of my friend’s death by any means, but I’ll caution you that there are rules that must be followed when encouraging. I, of course, learned this the hard way as my wife read an admonishing email from our daughter’s softball coach.

Per this authoritative email on encouragment, it isn’t allowed at the softball games. So when little Susie is standing next to the coach who is pitching and the other team’s batter accidentally connects with the ball and sends a slow little dribbler to her, there are things that you aren’t allowed to “encourage” her with. You would think think a little encouragement to not kick the ball and instead pick it up would be allowed, but it isn’t. I thought that I would almost be commended for yelling, “take your finger out of your nose and use your other hand to throw the ball to first” but, nooooooo! Apparently softball games have gone the way of the movies, and silence is golden.

With a little encouragement from my wife last week in the form of, “This email from the coach is directed at you, you idiot!” I did much better this week. When one of our players hit the ball and stood there, I didn’t let out a “RUN!” When our right fielder decided to practice her cartwheels as a ball was hit in her direction, mum was the word from me. I was feeling quite proud of myself until little HeMan showed up with his battle axe. I was doing fine even when he ran on the field. I bit my tongue when he began swinging it at the girls but when he turned to chop off Susie’s hand I unfortunately couldn’t stop myself and yelled, “Not that one!!! At least go after her nose-picking hand!!!”

I woke up yesterday only to discover a friend of mine was dead. He wasn’t necessarily a good friend, more of a Facebook friend really, but he was a very sweet guy and somehow his life ended on Saturday. I wasn’t really sure at first because all I saw was a semi-ambiguous post from another of his Facebook friends about being in disbelief. That could be anything right? I did what we do when someone passes these days and searched his Facebook page. My fear was confirmed and my friend was dead.

As I perused his page, I saw two things: 1. A ton of remorse and 2. a lot of words about how he was always there for everyone. The remorse was expressed in different forms from different people, but they had a similar theme: “I am sorry I didn’t get together with you for that drink,” “I should have made time for that lunch” “Sorry that I didn’t make time to come see you.” I know one of the last things he said to me when I saw him a little over a month ago was, “We should get together for lunch next week.” We, of course, got “busy” and never had that lunch.

It was almost split evenly because for every post of remorse, there was someone (oftentimes the same person) who wrote that he was always there for them in their time of need. To make matters worse, I get the feeling that his death was self-inflicted. Here was a guy that was always there for everyone in their time of need, and I can’t help but wonder if anyone was there in his. I know I wasn’t. He was a man that prayed for me and especially for one of my daughters. Did I ever pray for him? I THINK so, but can’t say for sure. He was a business contact that had me listed as one of his preferred vendors but I don’t know that I ever did anything to help his business. One of the Facebook posts on his wall could have easily been written by me, “I am so sorry that we missed the signs that you needed a friend. I am so sad…”

His own Facebook style was a lot different than my own. He would Tag some friends and then offer words of encouragement. Instead of being encouraged by his encouragement, I always thought it was a little quarky (I’m ashamed to admit now but I am just being honest). His very last post was, “Have you ever been ‘that’ tired?” Preceded by, “ever do something entirely stupid?” Just four days before his death he took one of those Facebook quizzes. This one happened to be titled, “What will you be remembered for?” The answer he got was his “amazing empathy.” I’m not one to argue with the experts of the Facebook quizzes, but I think I’ll remember him for his smile, his weight loss, his goofy professional photo that always reminded me of a cross between the George Costanza bearskin rug and Uncle Rico’s mall shot where he did his “billowy” pose, and above all his constant encouragement of others.

All of this comes on the heals of my blog post on the importance of encouragement. Encouragement is something that I am definitely trying to work on. It doesn’t cost anything to give but can make such a big difference to the receiver. Not to make light of my friend’s death by any means, but I’ll caution you that there are rules that must be followed when encouraging. I, of course, learned this the hard way as my wife read an admonishing email from our daughter’s softball coach.

Per this authoritative email on encouragment, it isn’t allowed at the softball games. So when little Susie is standing next to the coach who is pitching and the other team’s batter accidentally connects with the ball and sends a slow little dribbler to her, there are things that you aren’t allowed to “encourage” her with. You would think think a little encouragement to not kick the ball and instead pick it up would be allowed, but it isn’t. I thought that I would almost be commended for yelling, “take your finger out of your nose and use your other hand to throw the ball to first” but, nooooooo! Apparently softball games have gone the way of the movies, and silence is golden.

With a little encouragement from my wife last week in the form of, “This email from the coach is directed at you, you idiot!” I did much better this week. When one of our players hit the ball and stood there, I didn’t let out a “RUN!” When our right fielder decided to practice her cartwheels as a ball was hit in her direction, mum was the word from me. I was feeling quite proud of myself until little HeMan showed up with his battle axe. I was doing fine even when he ran on the field. I bit my tongue when he began swinging it at the girls but when he turned to chop off Susie’s hand I unfortunately couldn’t stop myself and yelled, “Not that one!!! At least go after her nose-picking hand!!!”

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Encouragement… I'm working on it and I encourage you to join me.

The bad news is that I am writing again. The good news is… well… there is nothing good about it. I don’t write good. I don’t even write well. So why in the heck am I going to torture both people that might read this? For two reasons: 1. I’ve been doing some thinking 2. I’m an old goat 3. I’ve been encouraged. 4. I’m apparently terrible at math.
So what the heck have I been thinking? I’ve come to the realization that I’ll never write for a living. I’ll never even make dos pesos from my writing. Through my pondering, I’ve realized that I am not now, nor will I ever be, a real writer… and I’m okay with that. I’m okay with it because I’m rapidly approaching the day that I return these blessed love handles to the Creator. I know I can’t be the only one who as a kid would have just the week before Christmas feel like ten years. I could swear that just yesterday I took a picture for my kids first day of school. I blinked, and today not only is their school year over, but they are already 1/3 of the way through their Summer break.
As time seems to be passing faster and faster, I realize that I am not pursuing any of my passions. I go to work, I come home. The next day I do the same. In between I might lower my IQ (not possible!) while watching some mindless TV show. Or, on a good day, I’ll love my wife or spend some quality time with my kids. Even the best of days turn into weeks, months, years, and decades too quickly. I’m not going to kid myself that writing will change any of that for me, but it comes down to a simple question: Tomorrow you win 100 million in the lottery, what would you do? Of course you would take a trip to Tijuana just for a bacon dog and a shot at a cage match with a midget luchadore, buy a ginormous belt buckle that said “Bubba”, and create a life size pez dispenser of The Fonz that dispenses Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, but then what would you do? Would you stay at your job? I’m going to venture a wild guess that most of us would say no. So if you weren’t working for a living, what would you be doing to be living? My buddy Benny Franklin possibly said it best, “Most people die at 25 and aren’t buried until they’re 75.” Tomorrow if Ed McMahon calls me from the other side to tell me that I just hit his sweepstakes, I would do all the above and then I would write (while wearing only my “Bubba” belt buckle).
So I know what you are asking yourselves, “Who should we make pay for this?” Tread lightly young grasshoppers for they are like spry ninjas powerfully wielding a secret power that all of us have, but rarely use. They are the encouragers. With simple kind words we could motivate people to follow their dreams and change lives. For me it was just a (real) writer commenting, “I hope you are still writing.” Or a friend across the ocean sharing my lame blog with her friends. Or friends or family commenting that they really liked something I wrote. Even my nemesis wife, after about 17 cocktails, will encourage me to write (probably just so I’ll let her go to bed and quit with my Austin Powers, “Do I make you randy?).
So blame those that have cared enough to encourage, but BlogbyFatTom is being resurrected (and hopefully bringing Ed McMahon’s loot with it). I don’t even know what I’ll write about yet. I won’t write about my exciting diets anymore (but I’ll share these words of wisdom I saw on Facebook, “Nobody cares about your stupid diet. Just eat your lettuce and be sad.”) I also won’t write about religion, race, sex, drugs, rock and roll, or anything that might be remotely entertaining or funny. In fact, I can almost guarantee that once again, it’ll be an epic failure. To which I’ll leave you with this quote from George Burns, “I’d rather be a failure at something I love than a success at something I hate.”
So… what about YOU? If money was no object, what would you do???

So the glue is gone. Technically I guess it was fish oil, but same difference. The Paleo Challenge has come and gone, and I am not the wiener. Or at least I am pretty sure that I am not, but I haven’t seen the official results. I guess by the mere fact that I have turned in one journal entry (you know how much a “blogger” hates to write), I have kind of de facto excluded myself from the Best. Prize. Ever. NOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Not the fish oil!!!! Darnit Scotty I am a (love) doctor, not a paleo geek!!!
Anyway, I may be morbidly obese, but some edumecation has gotten through my thick skull. No really, I actually learned something in this whole process. To refresh your memory (yeah… like you’ve actually read one of my blog posts before… funny!), I started a weight loss contest a few weeks after New Years. So you know how you know that you are about to start a weight loss contest for the 179th time, so you don’t exactly skimp on the dessert before you start, right??? So I went from my steady cross-fit weight of 210 lbs. to my starting weight of 216.2. MOOOOOO!!!!!! But that isn’t the lesson.
Anyhoo, through exercise and not over-eating, after a few weeks I was back down to 210 lbs. Mooo (only 3 O’s). I was exercising on a regular basis and eating “healthy” and I stayed at 210 lbs. THEN, the Paleo Challenge started. I already lost over 6 lbs. AND plateaued when I started the Paleo Challenge. I thought it was going to be miserable, but it actually wasn’t that bad. More importantly, I started dropping weight. After already dropping over 6 lbs. from my original weight loss bet, I dropped another 8+ lbs. in just 5 weeks. In fact, I am giving you my final weight but there was a point towards the end that the scale read under 200 lbs. which it hasn’t done in well over a year!
So here is the lesson that I’ve learned: Yes exercise is important for weight loss. However, DIET is way more important. If you look at what I did, I lost the 6 lbs. of water weight, etc. that you can quickly lose on a diet bet and then stayed right there. I was exercising like a Mel Gibson… err… Mad man, and still stayed right at 210 lbs. UNTIL, I started doing paleo. Then I went from 5 chins to four chins… to eventually 3.5 chins. Heck I evengot down to Mo (only 1 “O”… bring on Larry and Curly!).
So without further ado… here is my BEFORE photo:

FatGuy

And my AFTER photo:

After

It’s amazing what a little Paleo (and a lot of tanning) will do!!!

First of all, it wasn’t an alien, it was Miley Cyrus. Actually, I believe he said that he is the father of Miley Cyrus. He was serenading me and telling me to not break his (#AchyBreaky) heart, and had me swooning. BUT, we did NOT have sex. It may have been the fact that there were 10,000 other folks at the concert #TrueStoryIWillAdmitToActuallySeeingMrAchyBreakyInCollege or the fact that his security guards seemed to be discriminating against the #fat college kid pretending to be Garth Brooks #DarnSOBs! Anyway, the night ended up with me and Billy Ray spooning while I did my best #alien impression and probed him #WhoIsTheOneHitWonderNow??? #Booyah!!! Oh… and all of this was your fault.
About a week ago I was whining to my wife about nobody reading this stupid #ImObviouslyPlayingTheOppositeGame blog. She said I could try actually being funny #NotHappening or that maybe hash tags would help. I don’t really know much about hash tags, but I understand that they are now legal in Colorado #MarijuanaJokesGotOldOnDay1. So after doing zero research, I’m pretty sure that I am now almost an expert #HiMom! on hash tags. What I didn’t get though… is what sane person wouldn’t want to waste 5 minutes of their life reading a #not funny blog about Paleo #Yawn and Crossfit #Cult. Right? #StillCoolToSayRightTooMuchRight? Now when people google #FatGuySexWithAlien I think this blog will show up in the top 500,000 hits #WouldMakeAnotherMarijuanaJokeButItIsTooEasy #GetIt?Hits? After whining about #NoReaders publicly on FaceBook #SeriouslyIHearCricketsChirpingAfterEachPost, some kind souls said that they actually do read it #ProbablyPaidEndorsers #ILoveYouMom
Now that I know this blog #Masterpiece? actually does get posted publicly, it is time to give my reader #HiMomAgain! what she has been waiting for: An Update on the Paleo Challenge #riveting. So here is the Dealio #NoRelationToTheRapperCoolio, it is actually going very well. So remember how I said that in Crossfit everything sounds dirty, but really isn’t. Paleo is similar in that everything you eat sounds gross, but it really isn’t. During my first week on Paleo, I have had more spinach then I have ever eaten in my life #HopingToImpressOliveOil…OrAtLeastWimpy, haven’t had any dairy products because #AlmondMilk doesn’t count, and switched my can of soda for a can of coconut water #ThatWONTHappenAgain #GrossDoesn’tDoItJustice! Anyhoo, with the exception of the devil juice #JustMadeThatUp, everything has been fantastico! I’m actually even beginning to lose chins and I’m finally down to Elvis weight or even Oprah weight #YouCanGuessWhichVersionOfElvisOrOprah.
I always thought that Paleo wasn’t substainable in the long run. Well, I proved that wrong in the very first week when I was able substain it for four days #ISaidDaysNotHoursNoNeedToCallADoctor. Then, out of nowhere, came the weekend. I was traveling in Dallas with some co-workers and they wanted to go out for sushi. Technically you could have paleo friendly sushi, but the stuff they ordered would have the cavemen rolling over in their caves. So I ate the anti-Paleo sushi. Then they ordered drinks including sake #NotGoodButMuchBetterThanCoconutWater, so I drank sake… and beer… and a martini #IThinkIAmBond…JamesBond.
Part of the Paleo Challenge is a point system and accountability. You start every week with 100 points and then distract 7 points for each violation. Let’s just say that in one night I lost all 100 points #AndThenSome. So when my weekly weigh-in rolled around on Monday morning, I was more than a little surprised when the scale showed that I… LOST weight!?!?! I can almost Taste the #FishOil now. #InYourFaceBillyRay!!!

The TV show, “The First 48″ details the first two days of incarceration. It is gritty, mean, ugly, and smells of rotten eggs on cooked spinach leaves. That is exactly what the first two days of Paleo have been like. Wait… Maybe it would be more like Paleo if it detailed the last 48 hours when someone takes the (non-carb) lethal injection into their veins and dies a miserable death. OR just maybe I am on a Paleo high that has me as intoxicated as a guy in Colorado that besides any medicinal stuff, also just had two buck chuck come to town. Speaking of the “medicinal” stuff, my new Paleo app says that catnip is Paleo friendly. Seriously. Catnip. Besides the obvious question of what lucky intern got to test that, the only question left is: How bad do I want to win that fish oil.
I woke up 48 hours ago ready to take on the Paleo Challenge. I had no idea what I was allowed to eat but I guessed an egg was okay so I headed to IHOP for all you can eat pancakes. You are allowed black coffee on Paleo so I ordered a tall glass of milk. After I was 47 pancakes and 8 glasses of milk in, I remembered that not only was this not Paleo friendly, I am allergic to milk. As my chest got tight and breathing labored, I realized that maybe my wife was right and I actually do have control issues. Luckily I passed out due to a carb coma/allergic reaction and that was the end of day 1.

Let’s just call Day 1 a miserable Paleo Faileo.

I was determined to make Day 2 a success. For breakfast I had the eggs that eluded me on Day 1 (sans pancakes). So far so good.

For lunch I had a nice healthy salad. After I finished my salad it dawned on me that although my salad was Paleo friendly, the salad dressing may not be. So I did what the cavemen did and checked my app. Nope! Salad dressing in not Paleo friendly. I can put freaking catnip on my lettuce but heaven forbid if I want a little ranch dressing!!!

So again, I did what the caveman always did and drove back to my cave and drank beer (I know I am not allowed alcohol on my Paleo Challenge but I think this is okay because I was drinking Rolling Rock. I mean… How much more Flintstone can I get than a beer that has “rock” in its name?).

Day 2 also equals a Paleo Faileo.

So here I am on Day 3 pacing while asking myself repeatedly, “what would a caveman eat?” The pressure is getting to me and I can’t hear myself think over the squeaking of my kids guinea pigs. Here is A picture of Nibbles and Princess (I think her name is Princess anyway):

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Finally… The lightbulb in my caveman noggin turned on:

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I ate the cute furry one in the front of the picture (Nibbles I think).

PS: Guinea Pigs don’t actually taste like chicken. However, along with catnip… Are Paleo Friendly!

Let’s play the word association game. Just say the first word that comes to your mind. When I say “beer,” there could be several right answers including: belly, yummy, and giver of life. However, if I say “paleo,” there is only one correct answer: faileo. I’m not going to lie, I know nothing that is actually true about paleo. However, I’ll gladly share everything I do know with all (okay… both) of you:

-Paleo makes you talk funny: You wife. Me chubs. We bed now.
-It also turns you into a caveman (which is why you talk funny).
-You can’t eat anything you don’t catch and skin yourself. So add, “Here kitty-kitty” to that caveman lingo.
-You have exactly zero bowel movements while on the Paleo diet (wait… this one might actually be true).

So I bet you are wondering why when my new Crossfit gym announced that they were doing a “Paleo Challenge,” yours truly just happened to be in the 167th person in line. Couldn’t I have more fun by just having another vasectomy or maybe even a root canal? Yes. In fact it was while I was getting snipped for the 6th time, that I happened to stumble across all the cool things that are awarded to the winner of the paleo challenge. It quickly become a no-brainer to enter and my new life mission to win it. Don’t believe me? Go ahead and take a look and see for yourself. Here are the stakes that I’ll be shedding my blood, sweat, tears, and hopefully even a few LB’s for:

1.Undying fame, respect, braggin’ rights and the envy of your peers.
—Sure… This sounds cool. Really I think the winner has earned this. Heck if I win, I might even tattoo my accomplishments on the calf of my leg. Oh crud… I already did that with my darn #Ironman tattoo! What was I thinking!?!?!?

2.BackCountry CrossFit Sweatshirt
—Hmmm…. It would be nice to use my new svelte body to advertise my box, but I already have a permanent fur sweater so this one is not as appealing.

3. A 1 month Free Unlimited Crossfit Membership
—This one is pretty good but I think if I win the 5 week Paleo challenge, I’d prefer a 1 month unlimited buffet membership.

4.Free Pair of Inov-8 Shoes
—Not exactly sure what kind of shoes these are, but I hope they are tap.

5.Free Fish Oil from SFH
—OMG!!! Why didn’t they just skip that other junk and get straight to this jewel??? So just to get this straight, for the next five weeks I am going to limit carbs, ice cream, dairy, ice cream, candy, candy canes, candy corns, syrup, animals that are injecting each other with steroids, the more savvy animals that are just rubbing “the creme” on each other while eating ice cream, and even my beloved Reese’s Butter Cups. On top of that I am not allowed alcohol (NOOOOO!!!!), will be doing a million burpies (excuse me), and risk losing my part in the never to be made movie that I have trained so hard for, “Wolverine attacks the Hostess plant,” all for #%{*#}! FISH OIL???? Heck yeah!

The Paleo (faileo) Challenge starts this Monday so I need to quickly find a bumper sticker that says “I do IT for fish oil.” They also asked me to send them a “before photo” so I think I’ll send them this one:

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Okay, apparently the one time this stupid blog has more than one reader happened to be the time that I risk my life by calling Crossfit a cult. Now they are trying to murder me in the most painful way possible: through exercise. They are on to me I just know it! How do I know? Well when I went to a “class” yesterday I overheard whispers of, “look at that fat furry guy rocking the midriff shirt!” Which you and I both know is code for, “The geezer is trying to share our secret with the world before the leader says it is time… we must kill him.” Before this dumbbell slips and has a real dumbbell “accidentally” impale my groin, I’ll help you make your own decision by listing the characteristics of a cult. We can then see if crossfit matches those characteristics.

—CHARACTERISTICS OF A CULT—

—The group displays excessively zealous commitment or obedience to its leader— So crossfit is very sneaky about this. They rotate the leader on a daily basis and it is never announced who the designated leader really is at any given time. In fact, the only way to know who it is, is by paying attention to who is wearing the very discrete shirt that says “coach” on it. Of course, he or she is also the one offering instructions. If you don’t follow those instructions, you get “coached” into submission with things like: “You are actually supposed to bend your knees, not your back, when doing squats!” It’s their subtle way of saying, “submit or risk injury.” —Cult and Crossfit characteristic? Check.—-

—The Cult plays cool, loud songs like “Love removal machine” to “motivate” you. —Cult and Crossfit characteristic? Check.—

—Members are encouraged to spend and inordinate amount of time with the group.— Let’s just say that there are SOoooo many classes! —Cult and Crossfit Characteristic? Check—

—The group is elitist, claiming a special, almost exalted status of itself.— Whoa! This one is scary how much it describes crossfit. Crossfit is elitist to the point where our common language just isn’t good enough, so they invented their own. I’ll give you some of our inside lingo, just so you can also be indoctrinated. I should warn you: even though all of it sounds dirty, none of it really is. So here is this new member’s understanding of it (I think enlightenment doesn’t truly happen until I reach higher levels… ie. I can do 100 burpies).

Box – The specific gym where crossfit is performed. They all have names that remind you of death or pain, like “Death Crossfit,” “Pain Crossfit,” or the very worst of them, the one that makes me cry and whimper like a 41 year old fat out of shape blogger, “Backcountry Crossfit.” Each Box is in secret competition with the Box across the street, and ALL of them are superior to your weak, girly non-crossfit “gym”.

Snatch – This is a G-rated blog so I can’t go into great detail about this one but, again, trust me… it isn’t dirty.

Burpies – Not really sure what these are. All I know is that we do a ton of them. You jump up and down and burpy a lot. It seems to be increased on the mornings following eating Mexican food for dinner.

Paleo – Crossfits equivalent of the kool-aid (with, of course, no sugar added). Don’t know much about it yet… but this is why I happen to be risking my life blogging about crossfit in a blog about weight loss. Stay tuned!

WOD – This is an acronym for, “Prepare to Die Sucka!” It is also something more advanced members feel compelled to post to their facebook daily. I would pretend to be advanced by also doing this, but how could I do that and let my facebook peeps know that I had toast for breakfast? They are about as equally exciting on facebook so I’ll stick to my toast posts because it at least rhymes.
—Anyhoo, having your very own lingo… Cult and Crossfit characteristic? Check.—

Nice people… I mean REALLY nice people – I haven’t officialy found this as a cult characteristic but I can’t help but think of that cult that castrated all of its members while waiting for the Hale-Bopp’s comet. I don’t know about you, but if a grouchy guy told me to get in line to get my nuts cut off, I would at least have to think twice. However, if a smiling nice guy suggested that he has a way to literally cut a couple ounces right off me, I would reply, “That’s great! Where do I sign… and why are you holding a cleaver?”
So even though it might not be an official cult characteristic, isn’t it a little odd that people that work at a gym…err… box, would be so nice. I picture an Arnold Schwartzenegger looking character with a thick mustache insulting my girly muscles… and the men that worked there would be even nastier! However, at least at my crossfit, everyone seems really nice. From the kind people at the desk, to the helpful people wearing the coach shirts, and even the other “members” who are dying right next to you: EVERYONE is extremely nice. I don’t know, but it just seems odd that with what seems like someone’s last breath they would offer a, “good job buddy!” —-Crossfit characteristic? Check. Cult characteristic? Inconclusive.

Well since crossfit and cults don’t share 100% of the same characteristics (and because I have a wife and 4 kids who kind of need me around… the kids anyway), I’ll have to rule this as inconclusive. Now I’ve gotta run… I’ve got a comet to catch!

Shhh… I need you to keep this on the downlow. The only reason that I am almost comfortable sharing what I am about to reveal is because my blog stopped notifying my (two) readers who used to actually enjoy reading this thing (Hi Mom!). However, I know with Al Gore’s invention, complete strangers could stumble upon this thing so I’m going to need you to pinky swear that you won’t say anything. Seriously. If you do, I’ll have to kill you. Okay, not really… but we’ll probably have to paddle each other’s bare behinds while asking for another.
Okay, here goes nothing, I joined a cult. The last time people thought I joined a cult was in 2001 when I announced that after studying it for myself, I was leaving my agnostic views behind and committing my broken life to Jesus. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have shaved my entire head but my ponytail and started hanging out at the airport while passing out flowers. Anyway, this is a real cult. You’ve seen it, you know members, you’ve heard their secret language. I feel like if I was announcing this on a 60 minutes type show, they would have my face shaded and distort my voice for my own protection. So considering this is a blog, I’ll do the next best thing and disguise my writing. Okay… deep breath… here goes: I joined crossfit.
So right now you are thinking one of a couple of things. If you are local and know me, you are thinking, “I knew it! So THAT is why his buttocks look so taut!” On a tangent that I probably should just leave alone as it has nothing to do with me joining my cult (shhhh… on the downlow, remember??), have you ever noticed that the word “taut” can basically only be used to describe buttocks. It’s like “supple” with bosom. I, unfortunately, screwed up and have taut bosom and supple buttocks. Anyhoo, back to me being newly related to John Travolta, most of you are thinking, “You idiot, how could you just join a cult???” Please… give me some credit, I didn’t just sign up… I took advantage of the free trial week first.
On my very first class the head cultmaster (get this, they call him “coach”) introduced me to my new family, “This is Tom, who has the misfortune of taking his very first class during Hero’s week.” The class giggled and whispered under their breath about eating my love handles with fava beans. Well, I wasn’t intimidated! I huffed, and I puffed, and I passed out… about 7 times. However, once the class actually started, I was fine.
When the class was over the “coach” encouraged me to come back the next day to combat the “soreness” that was surely waiting for me the next day. Ha! Shows what he knew, or didn’t know. I wasn’t sore the next day… I was completely numb. It took at least a week until I could even feel my limbs again. And then the pain was much more extreme than “sore.” In fact, I was seriously considering making an appointment to see a doctor (probably my gynecologist to help with my taut bosom), when I overheard a woman that was probably in her 60′s but looked like she could benchpress a bus, mention that she could finally straighten her arms again. If Arnoldina was also “sore”, then I knew that I would be just fine.
Sometime during that first week (probably in a secret subliminal manner), the brainwashing was complete. At the end of the week, I was ready to sign up. I marched right up to the front desk and turned in my enrollment form. Just like that, I went from being Fat Tom to being Ralphie of The Christmas Story fame when he turned in what he was sure to be his A+++++++++++++ essay. I sat there and gazed at my new leader lovingly while I pondered how glorious it was going to be when he taught me the secret handshake. After about ten minutes of me staring at him with a stupid grin on my face, he finally said, “Okay… again, welcome aboard… if I give you a free sticker will you stop staring at me like that?”
What??? A darn sticker! Doesn’t he know that if I added a “Crossfit” bumper sticker to the “140.6″ sticker that I already had, I wouldn’t even be able to make it to my local Krispy Kreme without the cops looking at me and saying, “that fatty is driving a car that obviously belongs to some sort of a fitness god, let’s pull him over and beat him!” Anyway, in spite of getting swindeled with an Ovaltine decoder ring, I went ahead and joined the cult. Why do I think it is a cult? I’ll explain that in my next post. In the meanwhile, I’ll tell you that I’m back to about 5 lbs. lost. Taut I say… taut!