Gym time.

The gym has always been one of my biggest enemies. Nothing makes me feel more out of place than being the fat guy at the gym. While I logically know no one is staring at me, I feel like a wild animal suddenly in a suburb. Everyone is wondering how I got there, if I was lost and they are all just waiting to see what I will do and how I will mess it up. This is compounded by the feeling of not knowing what I am doing at a gym. I need guidance. When I do not have said guidance I just feel like a car stuck in the mud, turning my wheels and not gaining any traction. In an attempt to ease myself into the idea of a gym membership and actually going to the gym, I am trying to get myself down to gym at the apartment complex. It is an unassuming, unintimidating lace and I think it is exactly what I need.

When you walk in, you are confronted with the tiniest room for a gym I could imagine. Directly in front of you is a stationary bike (my favorite). Placed on either side of the bike are treadmills. They are not uniform. it is a patchwork gym if ever there was one. Right next to the outside door is an elliptical machine. The Elliptical is the pineapple of the gym. It intimidates me beyond belief. There is too much going on and I am sure it will rip my limbs apart like an archaic torture device. I do not need the headline of my death to read Fat guy dies trying to operate gym machinery. (Wow, I would not be good at writing headlines, that is awful.) Attached to the wall to the left is a smallish television that has cable, but no remote control, so changing channels is kind of a process, but it is set to ESPN or CSN 95% of the time so it is good. On the other wall is a fan that is not pointing at any of the machinery. It exists and I assume it does blow air if you turn it on, but it does not do anyone any good who is trying to work out. Someone lazily screwed it to the ceiling without any sort of logic.

I have been back to the gym 4 out of the last 6 days. For a while I had a good rhythm going and then I got stalled and I stopped going. I am doing my best to get myself back in the habit. I need this. On Friday I updated my Facebook about my experience, but I want to expand upon it a bit. I walked into the gym, playlist already blaring (Jay-Z's "99 Problems") and sat down at the bike. Right before I got it started a guy walked in from the outside door. I had seen him once in passing. He was entering the gym as I was leaving it a few weeks ago. He set up at the treadmill to my right and we both were off. "99 Problems" led into Rage Against the machine's "Guerrilla Radio" and I had a good pace going on the bike. I had planned to do 15 minutes because it was my first day back, but this guy to my right was killing it on the treadmill, so I pushed myself. We looked at each other momentarily and he picked up his pace. We were pushing each other without really saying anything. We even hit our cool down at the same time. I got off the bike, stretched out for a minute, he did the same and before we parted ways he put his hand in the accepted position of a fist bump and I did the same. We fist bumped, nodded and went about our lives.

This is a great story for me for a few reasons. 1.) It made me feel cool. I rarely feel cool, so it is a great feeling. 2.) There was someone else at the gym and he was clearly not judging me. In fact, he appeared impressed, at least admired my attempt. This is the biggest reason this story makes me happy. This guy is in much better shape than I. He clearly goes to an actual gym, or plays a sport or something. He is the kind of guy I would be sure would judge me for walking into a gym. And here he was pushing me and acknowledging my work. It really pumped me up. My body hated me a few hours later, but it was well worth it. This is the kind of motivation I need to keep me going. If I ever get a full time job, I know I need to conquer my fear of the gym and get myself a membership and actually use it. However, I also know I need help. I have no idea what I am doing and how much of what I should be doing. I am good at following a plan. I just have no idea how to set up a plan that is good for me.

Saturday and Monday I was at the gym alone, and early this morning I was only able to get in because someone was already in it. Our key is with Martina, something we clearly need to work on. Starting my day at like 7:45 with a work out felt strange. I was only up because the neighbors were yelling at each other. I decided I needed to remove myself from being within earshot, but the complex is not open yet, therefore the inside doors are not open. A kind neighbor let me into the gym and I went about my business. I am up to 30 minutes on the bike without any significant slowing down. I am going to push myself to get to 40 minutes by the end of this week. It might require some rises and falls in terms of my speed, but I can feel my legs getting a bit stronger. I also want to run on the treadmill, but I am not sure my knee is up for that yet. The knee brace I bought in march is now too big, and not even by a little bit. It will not even stay on any longer.

I am not where I want to be in terms of my health. I had visions of being much further along, but I know that if I keep making small steps, I will get there. That is my focus for now. I finally acquired a job. It is part time, but it will give me some place to be. It serves a purpose, so I think that will help with my motivation in other aspects of my life. I am still looking for a full time job, but this is something. Every little bit helps. The goal is to not let myself get too down that I am not improving by leaps and bounds. This is a marathon, not a sprint. I am still moving forward and that is where my focus needs to be. baby steps are better than no steps.

Love and happiness

Before I dive head first into what will probably be a complex post, allow me to apologize for my brief departure from updating the blog. I did not feel like I had much to report. My life is full of starts and stops right now and my journey to healthier living has followed suit. I have been unable to establish a good solid rhythm. Today's post is going to attempt to talk about love. I may fail miserably, this may end up too cheesy, or too depressing, or something completely off the wall, but it is a topic I find myself very desperately needing to explore right now.

Last night, I turned to Martina and admitted that I am struggling mightily right now. I cannot find a job, not even a minimum wage job. To be 32 years old and unable to support myself is the absolute worst feeling in the world. When Martina and I moved in together, I had every intention of being able to support us, not just me. Of course, Martina is not a girl who needs to be taken care of. She is no damsel in distress, which is a big part of why I love her, but as a man who grew up with a father who did everything he could to provide for his family, that is what I want. My father is proud of his work ethic. My father is proud that he has worked for the same company for nearly 30 years and he is proud that he never takes sick days. I want to be that guy. I want to be that proud of my work, but I have to have work first. I am getting a bit off topic. After admitting to Martina how much I was struggling, she kissed me and told me "We'll get through this." This was the first time in my life anyone has said "we" to me. I have great friends who have supported me in the worst of times, but it is always "You'll get through this." This idea of Martina and I as a we is still a new concept to me. You would think after a great 19 months, I would start to understand this concept better, but I am still surprised that there is someone who wants to be this much a part of my life.

There is a novel I read a few years ago and there is currently an amazing film adaptation of this novel in theaters. This story called the perks of being a wallflower features a great quote that goes "We accept the love we think we deserve." I am not going to dive into the context of the quote, you can read the book and see the film to figure it out, but coming out of the movie this weekend, the quote struck me even harder than it did when I first read the novel. This goes beyond romantic love though. It is about the friends we have, the love with which we surround ourselves on a daily basis. I have been blessed in my life. I have a tremendous family that rallies around each other in times of need and that loves, laughs and cheers together in those rare times we see each other. I have a batch of friends I do not get to see very often (some I have not seen in years), but I know they are there and I know if I ever see them, things would pick up like no time has passed. I have a few select great friends that I do talk to and see and I feel great about them, but I have never felt deserving of it.

Now I have this great girl by my side who I truly believe would do anything for me and it is amazing, but to feel deserving of it is a fight. My luck in the romance department has not in any way prepared me to be loved so fiercely. It is a foreign feeling and there are days when I have had to talk myself out of sabotaging it because I do not feel deserving of it. Those days are getting more and more rare, but the thoughts in my head exist. How does one get to a point when they feel truly deserving of this great thing called happiness? What have I done to deserve someone who laughs at every one of my jokes? Let us be real, I throw out my fair share of awful jokes, but there Martina is, laughing at all of them. There is no feeling better than this thing I am feeling every day I get to have her in my life. Yet, hovering just behind me is this feeling that it cannot be real.

How does this happen? Does it happen to anyone else? Am I just severely damaged? These are the questions I ask myself when I start to feel it. Over the last 7 months I have made giant leaps in accepting myself and trying to love myself. It is the hardest thing I have ever done and I know that it has been made easier by having Martina with me. She nurses me back to health, feeds me when I am crabby, sticks to her guns when I am being stubborn and stupid, but mostly she loves me in a way that I have never been loved before her. Why is it so hard to just accept that someone loves me? I am a good person, and I deserve to be happy, of that I am sure. I guess I am just not sure I deserve to feel this level of happiness. Normally when things are going so wrong in my life, I do not laugh as much as I do every night while we are cuddled on the couch watching television. It seems unusual to be generally happy even when things are going so wrong. Is this what actual happiness is? Is it genuine happiness when your entire life does not fall apart when things are not going well? If it is, why am I so afraid of it? Why would anyone be afraid to just be happy? What kind of nonsense is swirling around in my brainspace?

I have no idea where this undeserving feeling started. I cannot pinpoint a moment in my life. There is no breakthrough to be had. It is just a battle I continue to fight. I am winning the battle most days. It is a nice feeling. Conquering the demons of my mind is a great feeling, but I know the battle is not over. I am still equipping myself with the proper weapons, but I am in this thing for the long haul. I will keep battling because I know deep down I am worthy of enjoying this happiness I have in my life. When things are worth fighting for, you get up after every time you get knocked down. Yesterday I was down, today I am brushing myself off, bandaging up my wounds and resting my body for tomorrow, tomorrow I fight.

I need a reset button

The frustration of the last weeks reached a tipping point this weekend. This rut had been festering, living constantly inside me. It had burrowed itself into the deep folds of my brain, pitched a tent, and was hunting, cooking and eating what little confidence I had built up. (Apparently the part of my brain that creates metaphors is perfectly intact.) Something had to give. The push and pull, the back and forth, the give and take has just been weighing me down. One day I would get myself a great work out, the next I could not even get off of the couch. It was causing issues with my body because I have not been able to get myself into a steady routine. And routine is important.

Today on Facebook Erik posted something really great and he commented that it helped him get over that mental block. That is where I am living currently. Mental Block avenue. It is constantly under heavy construction, making it very difficult to leave. The physical pains of working out are tough, but honestly the mental block is far worse than any physical pain. Why can't I just do it?

I realized this weekend what a big part of my problem is. I do not believe it is working. I do not look at myself and see anything but the obese, extremely self-conscious loser I have seen for the last 20 plus years. I know logically that the weight is coming off because I have the numbers on the scale to tell me that. I have the the clothes that fit a bit more loosely. It is a fact that it is working. However, when it comes to the human mind, facts are pure nonsense. What we perceive to be true is truth in our eyes. We all have our versions of "truth." To me truth is that I am obese and not getting any less obese. When I see people and they tell me I am looking better, I do not believe them. Not because they are being insincere, because I believe that they are, but I see do not see it. The mirror, often thought of as an enemy to females, is no kinder to men, at least not this man. Mirrors are still the world's nastiest joke. They are supposed to only show exactly what is there, but our eyes perceive all of it wrong. It is not the mirror's fault, but we I blame it. The mirror shows that I am losing weight because I am losing weight, but when I look into the mirror, it does not show me that. It is backwards and stupid, but I know I am not the only one who does it.

So what can I do? I have to fight. I have to fight the on-going construction of Mental Block avenue. I have to send the state troopers of my mind (the metaphor is falling apart, I know that) to get those illegal campers away. Mostly though, I have to remind myself that like the scale, the mirror only shows what is actually there. It is my own mind that twists and turns the mirror like it is in a fun house. yes, I am still obese, no one is going to deny that, but I am less obese now than I was in March. I cannot defeat myself if I continue to only see what I have seen my whole life. This whole point of this journey is that this is an entire life change. Until I allow myself to see myself as someone who is on the right path, the rest of it will not matter. So, it is time to hit the reset button on this journey. I started it so strong. Over the last few weeks, I have gotten away from that strength. The great thing about this journey is that it is a daily thing. I have the power to control my daily life and now that it has gotten away from me, I need to get control again. I know I am strong enough to do it, I just have to focus my strength into something positive!

"It could be worse, I could be going through this Cancer and be ugly."- David

Doctors had no idea how to react when David, 16 years old, had colon Cancer. Imagine how impossible it was for David himself to know how to react. Imagine being 16 years old and hearing from a doctor that he has never heard of a 16 year old with colon Cancer and feeling stumped as to how to even attack it. No one knew how the 16 year old body would react to treatment, and had no idea how the 16 year old maturity level would handle the tough road of colon Cancer. Of course, David was not a typical 16 year old.

This Saturday will mark the 11 year anniversary of David Baxter eventually losing his battle with Cancer. I hope that you will all forgive me going off the usual blog topic for a day for this. David was one of my best friends, he was one of my family's best friends. His parents often acted like second parents for me. I went to school with David's sister and David sort of came of age with my brother and my brother's group of friends. I always felt lucky to be included in that group. My brother, Ben, Sam, David and I would often spend our Friday nights watching movies, playing board games, playing basketball and just enjoying each other's company.

When a loved one passes there is an unfillable void that lingers. 11 years later, it still lingers. David was the best kid I ever met. Before the Cancer hit he was funny, charming, kind, optimistic and always willing to lend a hand. After the Cancer hit he was funny, charming, kind, optimistic and always willing to lend a hand. There is not a day that goes by where I do not find my mind drifting to thoughts of him. I wonder what he would be doing now, or how our relationship would be now. I wish he was here so I could share my current happiness with him. I wonder if my brother and I would be as close if his death had not brought us together to bond in that way. I have lost all four grandparents and 2 uncles, but they lived a full life before they passed. When the person who passes away had been 17 years old for a week before he passed away, it leaves a mark.

For years I looked at October 6th as a day of mourning. Every year I would go to Jamba Juice, go see a movie, listen to Weezer and Pink Floyd, and kind of be sad. The last few years, I changed my perspective. Instead of being sad that my best friend was gone, I started to appreciate the time we did have together. Considered David's 1000 watt smile never wavered, even when he was in the worst pain, I felt I owed it to him to celebrate his life, not mourn his death. I had done enough mourning of the shortness of his spectacular life. Now I still get Jamba Juice, go see a movie, listen to Weezer and Pink Floyd, and to be honest, I get a little sad, but mostly I just think about how much fun we always had together. I think about the final summer of his life and how much time we spent together playing video games, watching movies and watching Bonds jack out home runs.

Last Spring while I was doing my student teaching, we were doing Romeo and Juliet and I was having my students write eulogies. They were to choose someone from their life and they were to eulogize that person. After going over what a eulogy was, my Freshmen were still kind of confused, so I realized I was going to have to model a eulogy for them. I hope that you will all indulge me and allow me to reprint the eulogy I wrote and delivered to my Freshmen about David.

David Baxter could diffuse any tense situation with just a flash of his smile. I know this from experience because there were times when I felt the entirety of our friendship was him cracking a smile and instantly calming me down. One of the best examples of this strikes me, even to this day. David and I went to a Kings game and were surrounded by these 4 loud, drunk awful guys. Throughout the whole game they were giving David and I crap because they overheard me telling David I could not stand Vlade Divac, and Divac was having a good game. Towards the end of the game, one of the guys accidentally spilled his beer on my head, dousing my hat in his beer. It was not done out of malice, but with the whole night building to this moment, I totally lost it. I got up and turned around to yell at them, and one of the guys was completely passed out. I looked over at David and he just had his giant grin plastered on his face and he started to laugh at how ridiculous this whole thing was. Instantly, I started laughing, and the drunk guys even started laughing. When it was all said and done, the guy who ruined my hat gave me $25.00 to go buy a new hat and they apologized profusely. I have no idea how bad it could have gotten if David was not there to calm me down.

That is just who David was. He could calm situations. He was the ultimate good guy. When the Cancer hit him, he did not complain, he did not spend time being down. No, he smiled through it. He was cast in a musical before he was diagnosed and even though he was told not to perform in it, he went on for one scene every night with an IV tucked inside his costume. He was determined to not let Cancer determine his life. That was the ultimate lesson he taught me in life and in his death. We cannot change the things that are thrown at us, but we can decide how we deal with them. Cancer was just a fact of his life, but he would not let it be who he was.

It is never easy to swallow the death of a loved, but when that loved one is 17 years old, it is even tougher. I will never be able to understand why my best friend was taken from this world at such a young age. I understand how lucky I was to have him in my life, even if our time was short. I understand that my life is better for having known him. I understand it is up to me to decide how I am going to live my life. I owe David for teaching me that. I love David for teaching me that.

I used to dread October 6th every year, and it is still tough, and I usually need a few more hugs than normal, but now, I cherish this day as it is a yearly reminder of this awesome friend I had and the incredible lessons he taught me as he battled this awful disease.

I love you David, and I miss you, always.