All posts in Getting Out of the House

I need a vacation to recover from my trip down to Mexico. I slept little, partied hard, and steered my Shredded Diet aground.

I’ll back this up a bit to explain the Shredded Diet. A few weeks ago I signed up for a free one-week membership to Pure Fitness to abort the rising bun in the oven. The bun isn’t so much in the oven but escaping over the sides of my jeans. Being 160lbs and 6′, it’s easy to notice the slightest additional 10lbs of fat. While signing up at the gym, the Ferociously Muscular Black Man Who Could Smash Me With his Hand fat tested me. You may recognize him by the biceps slip ‘n’ sliding out of his shirt sleeves like a wet bar of soap. Maybe when you are in the area you can stop by, say ‘hello’, and ask him to make you feel terrible about yourself. He pulled out his fat pinching tongs and squeezed my triceps and then my biceps. I wasn’t even flexing and that tool couldn’t grip anything! Me: 2. Tongs: 0. Then he lifted up the side of my shirt and those tongs gripped a fistful of love handle.

“This is where most of your fat is.”

Thanks! I didn’t know that! Clearly I couldn’t tell when you squeezed my sides into your depressing fat device. Or that my power house feels more like a fun factory these days. He took me back to his half-cubicle and got out a calculator and a pen. The pen served no function aside from drawing arrows that served no purpose.
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This past weekend, I joined a few hundred people to sleep outside in downtown Phoenix in a parking lot. Very few things inspire me to lose a night’s worth of sleep and crash in close proximity to a loud snoring man. One of those causes is Invisible Children.

Why did thousands of people around the US walk downtown to sleep outdoors? In short, the Global Commute was in recognition of the commute that thousands of Ugandan children make each night because the risk of abduction and forced enrollment in the LRA army is too high. It’s a dire situation. I can’t use words to try and convince you of the amazing story of these resilient children who face murder, rape, forced killings and torture in the LRA. I would say, though, that if a self-centered, cheap bloke like me can be inspired to get involved with their plight, it’s not a stretch that you could also get involved.

Check out these amazing organizations – The bracelet campaign is a great way to get involved in a small way. It’s very inexpensive and you get a DVD with the story of one of these children. Unlike the other cheap rubber bracelets, these are handmade in Uganda and provide work opportunities for their country. Plus, ladies love handmade Ugandan bracelets. A spritz of AXE and a bracelet will surely help your lack of personality.

Fine Woman: What’s that on your wrist?
Ugly, Normally Unsuccessful Male: A bracelet that supports the poor and the plight of youth in Uganda. It accents my sensitivity and fashion sensibility. It matches my LL Bean corduroys as well.
Fine Woman: (hands you phone number)

In all seriousness, please consider buying a bracelet:
Bracelet Campaign

Other options to donate/support:
Invisible Children
Far Reaching Ministries

Thanks to all who walked Saturday night.

Our walk-in closet smells like smoke. My clothes are muddy, strewn about the floor in a haphazard path through the kitchen and into the laundry room. I suspect one of these days I will slowly gather up the clothes and realize that I’m supposed to wash them. As for now, I’m nursing the wounds of a four-day fast from showers, clean toilets, and the send/receive button in Outlook Express. Yes, I went camping this weekend with my church. Click on the picture of Steve eating cereal to see the video Steve and I did to announce the camping trip in church (10.4 megs, requires DivX).
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Much to my chagrin, I recently found out that I’m quite the accident-prone young lad. I’ve managed to bumble my way through some 21 odd years without major mishap; I’ve never broken a bone, never needed surgery, never even been earnestly slapped in the face by a vengeful lady-friend. Up until the last couple weeks, I took such a life lacking eventfulness for granted. Lately, my existence has been like a series of poorly choreographed deleted scenes from Final Destination. Death lurks around every corner and I, like a weak-kneed, incontinent schoolgirl cower before its might.

I thought everything could be blamed on the addition of a girlfriend with questionable balance or on the inherent evil of the state of Ohio (which I recently visited because of the aforementioned girlfriend) but I was proved wrong when I returned to what I thought was the comforting bosom of squishy, safety-padded Arizona only to be greeted by what can only be termed as a “big-ass” pipe (see below). More on that later…

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My history of running:

In the dark days of elementary school and junior high (middle school, in the Midwest) there were always the fat kids. While the athletic kids were out wooing the ladies in the arenas of football, basketball, baseball, and other “traditional” sports, the fat kids were left to the one impressive skill no one else would touch…eating contests. Physical activity wasn’t my friend back in those days, for I was the quintessential fat kid. Always last to cross the finish line, always first to apply the anti-chafing powder.

In gym class there were several different units (i.e. baseball, dodge ball, wrestling, etc) and the most dreaded of units was the running unit. Those were the fateful days when we would trudge out to the track and were forced to run around it several times. I never made it very far…never completed the mile without walking a majority of the way. No matter how the gym coach yelled, I would not exert myself in the arena of running. After I finished, I always felt like a wheezing old man. It was on those dusty tracks that I uttered my first profanities.

As time went by, gym became but a memory and I assumed my role as “academic nerd boy.” No matter how much prodding there was to join the football team (and there was a lot of prodding), I would faithfully draw on my most reliable of excuses…”Hey man, I’m a thinking man…no sports centered around savage beatings for me.” I was still a hefty dude and running was still my bane. I ran only to get out of the way of speeding buses and to get to the front of the buffet line.

Fast forward to this past January. I decide (with the help of my faithful friend Greg) that it’s time to lose some weight. I go on this crazy diet and start walking every morning. It’s only a matter of time before I turn to my old nemesis, running, to speed the process of weight loss. It starts slow. I don’t run very far. It doesn’t quite seem to suck as much as I remember. I keep at it, enjoyment growing with each outing. Running’s not so bad.

My enjoyment of running culminates in one exquisite evening…the evening when I drank four cups of coffee at Perkins and then didn’t sleep for 40 hours. Much was accomplished in that caffeinated frenzy…I read a novel, watched a great movie (Il Postino), watched the sun rise from the hot tub, watched both “Martha Stewart Living” and “The Price Is Right”, and ran farther than I had ever run before. That night I ran and ran and ran and ran. It was then that I knew I would be a runner.

I then stopped running for a month and a half. It was too hot, I couldn’t get up early enough, and I certainly wasn’t going to stay up 40 hours very often. When I started running again, I hated it. Now I go with TJ and I hate it a little more every time. It’s crap. I feel all out of breath, my knees start to buckle, I get side aches, and tonight I felt like I was going to blow chunks all over Tempe Beach Park (maybe it was the hearty Sonic meal I had at lunch).

Running sucks and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Well, yesterday we got back from the third annual trip of reflection. I would talk about things that happened, but I think Greg pretty much summed it all up in his fine post on the oneplace site.

One thing Greg did not mention is my penchant for fall foliage. As we were hiking the nine or so miles through Oak Creek, I collected a lot of beautiful leaf specimens. When I got home, I did some research as to how to preserve them. One thing led to another and I found myself ironing sheets of wax paper with leaves in between. I spent about 45 minutes channeling Martha Stewart as my turned my little collection into a wonder of the craft world. I took the liberty of scanning in my results. I hope you enjoy this little excerpt from “Steve’s Autumn Insanity.”