All I Really Want Is Goals
Airplane flights are really the best time to re-evaluate your goals. You’re sitting there, often by yourself, usually having done something extravagant or out-of-character that has forced you to question the trajectory of your life on a whole. I’m thinking about the Vegas loser who has gambled away his life savings, or the spring break trip / bachelor party gone terribly awry… none of this really happened to me. I just spent the past week in New York and New Jersey with the family, eating sugar like it had gone out of style, and daydreaming way too much about The Terrorist, my current “love interest”.
So I wrote the following two sentences down on the back of a Sudoku puzzle in the US Airways magazine, as a reminder that I would tackle them as soon as I got home:
“Goal #1: I want to lose about 5 pounds of body fat in the next two weeks.”
“Goal #2: I want to escalate my physical relationship with The Terrorist.”
Goal #1: The way I see it, there are three results of exercise, which are all somewhat mutually inclusive:
1 – burn body fat / lose weight
2 – gain muscle / strength
3 – become “fit” (let’s use the CrossFit definition of fitness here, being able to do more work, in less time, across a wide range of disciplines)
For two years of CrossFit workouts, I was all about result 3, with the added benefits of result 1, which plateaued after a while, and result 2, which consistently inched forward.
For the past two months, with Tim Ferriss’ book and variations on themes therein, I was all about result 1… except that I wasn’t. Honing in on fat loss is going to sacrifice a bit of strength and a bit of fitness, and I was uncomfortable with that, trying to juggle all three, sneaking in a set of heavy power cleans or weighted pull-ups when I was eating with the goal of fat-burning. Even during my first experiment with the Dave Palumbo “lose those last 10 pounds” plan. Mixed signals, indeed.
So I’m giving myself two weeks to be committed, fully, to burning fat, damn the consequences to my strength (which should be minimal, really…) Again, the rules are:
– Eat every 3 hours while awake
– Total about 1.2g protein and 0.5g fat per pound per day (for me, 200g protein and 84g fat per day, which equals about 1600 calories).
– No carbs except for leafy greens and cruciferous veggies (like cauliflower).
– One cheat meal a week.
– No heavy lifting! Exercise is light cardio (walking, leisurely swimming, etc.)
– Coffee, 2 cups a day max? Erg.
– Alcohol… wine’s out, vodka’s in.
Right now, I’m 166 pounds on the scale, and 15% body fat by crude measurements (141.1 lb lean body mass, 24.9 lb fat). I plan to follow these two weeks up, no matter what my end results are, with some real-deal strength-training to get me through the fall and winter. In a couple weeks, when all this is said and done, I’m excited to figure out what kind of weight-lifting and eating protocol (I’d like to stay Paleo if I could) will get me to about 180 lbs, 10% body fat, being able to squat 300, bench 275, and do a pull-up with you-know-who on my back.
Goal #2: I’m sure it’s a little bit unhealthy to re-hash every single element of every date I’ve had so far with The Terrorist (somewhere between 4 and 6, depending on what you count…), but if I can convince myself that she actually likes me, and more than just as a friend to hang around and watch movies with, that would be… pretty fantastic.
I’m sure there’s something about the South and having a long, languorous courtship as opposed to the rapid-fire New York City “you want to hook up or what?” mindset that I’m a bit more used to, so maybe I’m doing everything right, or maybe there isn’t a right or wrong, and why the hell would she continue to spend evenings out with me and let me kiss her if she weren’t happy with the current trajectory of things?
I wish I knew what she was thinking, and I never will, and even if I tried to guess, I’d be wrong. That’s the truth. Actions have to speak. She dropped me off at the airport last week, a gesture of trust if there ever was one. I’m taking her out to dinner Saturday, and I guess I’m hoping that I’ve set a scene for something to move forward, even if it’s not sex outright. These things have to move *forward*, don’t they? Somehow? A little bit? Man, I am daydreaming a lot of about The Terrorist.
Bad Date of the Week: This was Wednesday at a bar that I nicknamed the Hot Mess from her profile, brilliant and intelligent via e-mail, but the last time we tried to go out, her car broke down, and then her phone died. Which led to this date, three weeks in the making from when I first e-mailed her. As soon as she walked in, I knew it was over. She smelled like feet. Her hair, especially, looked like it hadn’t been washed in a week (conservative estimate.) And while she was funny and could keep a conversation going with ease, she had a habit of running her fingers wildly through her blonde “unplanned dreadlocks” (that’s how gunky her hair was), and I cringed with each mini-cloud of odor and dust and hopefully-not-a-moth that wafted into the bartenders’ faces, whispering apologies to them when she wasn’t looking. We won’t be seeing her again.
There *is* another prospect out there (let’s call her… The Flake) that I have my double-agents working on securing, but I’m hesitant to say any more, because I don’t want to ruin the surprising momentum of actually being pursued by her, and I don’t want to give her any more thought than I need to, because we all know what happens when I do that. I’m going to see her again sometime this week, and I’m going to make a bold move.