Let's Talk About Fat: August Assault #2

I headed into the August Assault, armed with a couple of mantras:
1) Lose the ounces, not the pounds. 
2) Cravings create cravings, so cultivate great cravings.
3) Want not, waist not.

Such mantras are essential because there's no time for debate when you're in a moment of crisis: the sudden urge for a giant piece of carrot cake or half of a glorious pizza. Mantras are quick and efficient: you're simply reinforcing a decision you've already made. And together with my workouts and my new largely raw diet, I expected to march like a lion into the August photo shoot.

Mantras, diet, workouts...Yes!

But I met a gremlin on the way, a grim one determined to tank me: what seemed to be clear evidence that I was not losing weight. Though others had started to tell me how fit I was looking...and though I could see the thinning of my face...and though side profiles in the mirror were no longer shameful...Still, I couldn't fit into a few pairs of pants I'd bought a while back.

Light bulb: the sides of my belly showed as trimmed and sculpted in the mirror and my abs were actually starting to show but the front of the gut remained. And it is apparently the very last to go. So the stubborn 'bump' still blocked me, regardless of the pounds I'd lost.

A few days later I slipped effortlessly into the pants that had mocked me.



I ended with three brand-new mantras:
1) It's happening, although I can't see it today.
2) Trust the process not to fail.
3) Give time a little more time.

Too many endeavors are doomed because a wicked gremlin whispers that we're getting nowhere. The fact is, we're advancing every second on the way. And we'll 'get there' safely and surely if we hold to our perception of ourselves as works in progress.

The August Assault: Introduction

We all have 10 weeks until August 1: time enough to mount our siege on the dream that's eluded us now for so long--and whatever has kept us at bay.



It could be anything, really.

Year after year after year, for instance, you may have sworn upon your soul to show the world a beach bod:




Or you may have sworn to quit smoking:





Or have you dreamed less and less of writing a great break-out novel?




I'm sure we're all on the same page now. No matter what we've accomplished, there's something we've lost on the way. Something that's eating away at our souls and making us feel incomplete. And, regardless of gender or color or age, our starting point remains the same. We need a sense of urgency--and not a mild one either. For our failed dreams fester within us. And with each excuse we make we rot a little more.




Do not think for a moment that your lost dream was childish or is unworthy of you now. And do not give a moment's thought to anyone's opinion. If you've sworn for years to do something, failing again and again, be assured of this: in one way or another you have been paying the price.

What I call the August Assault resulted from a nasty fall I took on April 5. Nothing was broken, but I'd suffered deep tissue damage in my right pelvis and hip, along with severe back strain. I ended up taking a long-planned vacation, including a round-trip cross-country train trip. But I was in agony all of the way and those I met in Buffalo--a sister and a friend I hadn't seen in many years--were shocked by my condition. I looked and felt like a tired and beaten old man. Back in Seattle, my misery grew: I couldn't exercise or do anything, it seemed, but eat. And I hated how I'd come to look.

But:




Today I'm here to tell you, though--even with my cane--that all of this was good. One morning I awoke with a white-hot sense of urgency: I could no longer live with the "me" I brought to Buffalo, old and whipped and beaten. I needed to return to the fabulous condition that I used to be in when I lived in San Francisco in the early 80s.

Urgency! No dallying!

Slowly and painfully, I returned to my home workouts.

I began making green smoothies and eating mostly raw.

And, to fuel my commitment, I promised online to produce a limited edition photo postcard revealing the results by August 1.

I have ten weeks and miles to go. But I'll share my results with you because we're all in this together. Each of us has a lost something that cries out to us for completion. Join me, friends, with your own August Assault.

Turning down the noise machines

I'm in danger of going both numb and half-deaf from the daily onslaughts of assorted noise machines.



The election frenzy grows more and more addictive. I find myself checking my smart phone three or four times an hour to see what new screams have been posted: from or about The Donald or Clinton or Sanders...or their increasingly vocal supporters.

Oh, sure, there are other things.  But the election frenzy is the one thing that's getting me into a state. I've come to hate the knowledge that I'm being puppeteer-ed by media desperate for viewers or readers and candidates desperate for attention and votes.

We've got six months to go here. And though I'll certainly vote in November and try to keep up with events, I plan to turn the volume down. Way down.




I mean, they've all got their jobs to do...but I've got books to write.

Learning to Carry a Much Lighter Load

I've always carried heavy loads. This probably dates back to college, when I'd head out with several texts, notebooks, poetry and more paraphernalia than I can even recall now. After all, I'd most likely head to a bar after my last class...and who knew where I'd end up after that for the night?

Old habits, etc., etc. Even now, all these years later, my backpack typically contains: a heavy Dell laptop, a heavy adapter cord, 2 notebooks, a pouch with flash drives, cologne, a hair brush, my Kindle Fire, a newspaper, an umbrella, a headset, a book of poems...and more. Add to this, on the way home, a bag of groceries.

On April 5, however, I took a bad fall that has changed things. One of the fall's complications has been a strained back. And, as a result of that, I can no longer carry the usual loads. Oh, I resisted admitting this fiercely--until three people, including my doctor, urged me to come to my senses...unless I wanted a bad back for life.

And this article finished the process of turning me around:

http://mic.com/articles/127005/effects-of-carrying-a-heavy-backpack#.l3Fjh4tUQ

I had to learn quickly, if I were to heal, an art that had always escaped me till now:



To succeed, I'd first need a sound game plan:
1) Reduce typing days on my novel to my off days from work. And even on my off days, type at a nearby cafe or at home. After typing, take or leave the clunker laptop home. 
2) On the road, rely on my smart phone for Facebook activities.
3) For Twitter, make more advanced use of the Schedule function. On Wednesdays and Sundays, my two full days off work, I can schedule Tweets an hour apart for my working days.
4) Pack a notebook instead of the laptop when I head out for work. Get in writing time, free of distractions, before and after work.


My interim backpack replacement is a courier bag something like this:




The whole trick is to pack strategically and to better synchronize my daily time and the week's tasks. Meanwhile, both my back and I enjoy the lighter loads and the sense of freedom.

The Hard Art of the After-Fall

On April 5, at approximately 5 a.m., I took a hard tumble on a dark street while hurrying toward the bus stop.



The fall was bad enough to cause one driver to screech to a stop. He helped me to my feet and stayed till I assured him that nothing was broken and I'd be okay...though I did seem to hurt all over. I turned down his request for a ride to a nearby hospital. He left reluctantly, turning to ask me one last time. I thanked him. But no, really, I was Reb MacRath. I'd studied Aikido for too many years to not know how to tumble.

Wrong. I needed help getting onto the bus and more help getting off it. Though still sure that nothing was broken, I'd strained a groin muscle almost certainly.  Or I had a hernia. I left a message on the sick line at work, explaining that I was temporarily immobilized. Since the next day, Wednesday, was my day off, I had two days to rest and heal. I should be fine by Thursday, I thought. And I had to be fine by Sunday--because that was the Magic Day.

Yes, I'd booked my ticket months ago for a cross-country train tip from Seattle to Buffalo. And, let me tell you, I'd planned the trip down to the tiniest details: a glorious walk through my old college campus...a long walk through the downtown area...visits with my sister and an old friend I hadn't seen since my years in Canada...a visit to my parents' graves.

So I'd heal because I had to heal within the next five days. Right?



Wrong. Long story short: I did board that Amtrak train and take the trip, but not as planned. I accepted gratefully a wheelchair at the station and needed to sleep upright in my cabin every night. The train car attendant brought me my meals. And in Buffalo I ended spending most of my time sitting with my leg raised or lying down. I met with my sister and friend, nothing more--except for a round-trip cab ride to a nearby Starbucks once.

I'm home again and somewhat healed 15 days after the fall...but not nearly healed enough to return to work yet. So today I'll see a doctor or cab to an emergency clinic. What's my situation and what do I need to do?

Equally important: What the devil have I learned?



1) I'd felt angry and bitter the day of the fall. I'd paid for my vacation a half-year before and had been planning it down to the tiniest details. The timing of the injury couldn't have been worse, I thought. But I see now that the timing could have been much worse. If I'd fallen three days later, I'd have had to cancel the trip because of the pain. If I'd fallen four months before, I wouldn't have had the medical insurance that I now enjoy.
2) The fall itself could have been much worse--and I think those years studying Aikido did help. Tens of thousands of break falls and rolls did teach me to protect my head when landing.
3) Suddenly, it's become completely unimportant to me to run for a bus or to be first in line for anything. As a man with a cane now, I'm focused on each step along the way.
4) Our infirmities bring out the worst in some people and the best in others. We'll meet bullies who'll go out of their way to block our path, demanding we move when we're barely able to stand. But we'll also meet saints who go out of their way to see if we need help.
5) The thigh bone's connected to the hip bone and the hip bone's connected to the back...The groin pain and hip soreness were clear enough to me. But the back pain came later and mystified me. That is, until I played amateur detective. I was having enormous difficulty getting out of bed--and also having a good night's sleep. Could the villain be the old foam futon, set on the floor with no frame?
Had the back strain resulted from tossing and turning on the old foam's hardened ruts?
6) Our life strategies must be connected as well. Today I'll see a doctor...after having a new bed delivered at noon. I'll need to set up a work schedule that meets my doctor's orders. And I may need to take more time off.
7) Finally, for now: be grateful for the humblings. We all need to be reminded that we are not invincible and are not here forever. Because my movements were so restricted, that vacation was all the sweeter. And I wouldn't have exchanged it for a week on the world's finest beach.

An Exaltation of Ex-Lax--a Parody of Some Reviews: Part 1 of 395

It's not enough to say, of course, that Batman v Superman is the most unpleasant movie to disgrace the screen in thirty years. Others have already said that in the most vitriolic terms. I can't hope to match their rancor, though I would go farther and claim that is the most revolting film that I have never seen. To sit through it, I would imagine, is like watching The Exoricist III while drowning in beet juice and listening to the imbecilic atonalities of Tangerine Dream or Tiny Tim. So do forget about competing with the rancor of my rivals. And let me defeat them in learning and length.

We begin, per Aristotle, in media res. Which is to say not with the Greeks or the Romans, but with the Abyssinians, whose beloved epic Ajxreszia--and that's pronounced the way it's spelled--laid down the very foundation for the plot mechanics of B v S. Well-known in the groves of academe, the strategy is referred to as the Abyssinian Bop: begin with the dreary and the abysmal...proceed in slowly measured steps to the depressing and the revolting...and close to a great blast of trumpets with clashing symbols, gouts of blood, and philosophical folderol.

Now, we're not to meant to actually like either one of the titular monsters. But when has that fact ever stopped a public entertainment? Remember Frankenstein and the Wolf Man...King Kong v Godzilla...George W Bush v John Kerry...The Hateful Eight v The N-Word...Hans Landa v Aldo Raine...

Now, here's the key thing to remember when you hope against hope against hope to enjoy this Marvel-ous monstrosity: it reflects the evolution of the Abyssinian spirit today. B v S leaves us not without hope but with the constructive hope of better enduring such BS again. Furthermore, it offers a new kind of integrity. For, as it picks our pockets, it reloads them with nuggets that glitter though they are utterly useless: carefully planted references to arcane cultural and comic book lore. References that come to mind without having seen a frame of the film: Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Apocalypse Now, Moby Dick, The Hollow Men, Cabaret, The Mahabharata, Beowulf, Hiroshima Mon Amour, All in the Family, The Far Side, Doonesbury...





Next up, in part 2, I'll show how smart I really am! I'll give you the critical terms you'll all need for this unending discussion. Alliteration? Anapest?  Anaphora? Asyndeton? Homophones? Have no fear, you'll learn them all--and you'll get the lesson as if in rap from Eminem!

Smiling with the Sharks

You're less likely to be eaten when you're swimming with the sharks if you smile and stay very calm, very still, and don't flop about in a frenzy.

I'm in a work situation right now--but enough about me, friends. Let's talk about you.

You're stuck in a high-stress but low-paying job where the turnover is fantastically high. You don't want to quit but you do want to shift to a less stressful position. And yet you're blocked at every turn. For the odds are against finding anyone who'll stay as long as you have. It's far easier to gamble on the chance that you'll give up.



Stay calm.

Review your options.

Plan your strategy carefully and then work the plan relentlessly.

But, meanwhile, all the while, smile as if you are clueless and keep the waters about you as still as you can.

Not everyone's in a job quandary like the one outlined above. But sooner or later we all swim with sharks. And the same principles apply. Just pray you never meet a shark that smiles as sweetly as you do.