February 13th, 2012: Hell yes. Down another pound today to 313. Doing nothing other than following the program to the letter, which includes at least 30 minutes daily pretending I’m in concert with the Eagles or Alabama while I grind along on the treadmill. Maybe I’d play drums or keyboards or guitars, just wherever they need me! I have increased the intensity on that running machine accordingly. I would either do 2.3 mph at 15 incline or 4.0 at 2 incline when I started. Now I’m doing either 2.7 at 15 incline or 4.0 at 6 incline. My goal is 4.0 and 15 incline.
People talk about non-scale victories. These are the things that really matter, they’re just not so shiny and easy to see, like the number on a scale. They’re the things you depend on to improve when that goddamn scale won’t budge, yet you’re doing everything you’re supposed to do. To help explain, here are a couple of analogies and comparisons: If scale victories are the quarterback, non-scale victories are the linemen protecting him. If scale victories are the body of a Corvette, then non-scale victories are the Corvette’s 6.2L Supercharged V8 engine. If scale victories are the Corvette that I wish was parked in my garage, then non-scale victories are the 4×4 pickup that is parked there that never lets me down. If scale victories are thunder, then non-scale victories are lightning. If scale victories are the dog’s bark, non-scale victories are the dog’s bite. Scale victories mean nothing without the non-scale victories.
Here’s a list of my non-scale victories:
1) I feel pride in myself for sticking with something even when it’s hard.
2) My pants are way baggy. Teenage kid baggy.
3) I have to get a new belt.
4) I don’t have heartburn every damn night.
5) I can bound up stairs two at a time without lung or joint collapse.
6) When I get to the top of the stairs I don’t have to stop and catch my breath.
7) I can see my feet without holding my breath.
8) I can put my boots on without holding my breath.
9) I can get on my hands and knees and play with my two-year old boy for more than 5 minutes without major knee pain.
10) My mornings don’t totally suck anymore (early mornings when I’m not going hunting will always suck).
February 13th, 2020 (retrospective): Routine and structure are what brought me up on the scale and down in life, and conversely, routine and structure are what have so far saved me, but they are fraught with peril if not applied in moderation. Moderation, a third term here, is a holy grail to me. I haven’t found moderation in anything I’ve ever tried. I’ve decided that I want to be an expert at moderation; I seek perfection at moderation. With that last sentence, you can see that even in a quest for moderation I will likely overdo it.
What do I mean by all that in the last paragraph? Well, it’s like this – I’ve read a few biographies of people, who, by my measuring stick anyway, appear to have been highly successful in life. I want to be successful by my measuring stick when it’s all said and done. Anyhow, one of the recurring themes I gather from these people is that they are willing to go mile after mile after mile in the pursuit of their goals. It seems like they show up every day, rain or shine. They understand repetition, and they have a high tolerance for it. They seem to have been able at some point in their lives to identify what was required of them to reach this certain level of success, and nothing stops them from working at it every single day.
This “every single day” mentality is the sacred part, and the end-point success they reap from it is sometimes profane. But embedded in each day of a completed routine is reward. It isn’t necessarily a product-reward, i.e. they haven’t necessarily produced anything, won any awards, or reached any milestones, but they completed a process goal. This process goal is rewarded by an intangible and metaphorical self-pat on the back. You showed up and did the damn thing and now you are proud of yourself, as you should be. This must equate to the level of intrinsic motivation that’s required of someone who has to do the same thing over and over and over and over again for it to finally payoff.
Everything worthwhile is a marathon, an ultra-marathon. It’s an ultra-marathon combined with a boxing match that does not end at twelve rounds. It’s running and fighting. It’s a chess match too, against the best in the world, which means you’re always outmatched, but you have to try anyway. I hate chess, even though I’ve never even played an entire game, but now I have to run and fight and constantly think two chess-moves ahead. It’s the only way I think I can be successful. And I’ve got to do that every single day, no matter what. And I have to somehow find moderation? Is that possible? All I want to do is lower my head and hit something as hard as I can every time, and make it move a long ways. I don’t want to have to reason and think through things at the same time. But success seems to assume brute force is in ample supply already, and taking it to the next level requires the ability to know when, where, and how hard to apply that force.
