Raw Turkey: My Public Humiliation Begins

So.

It's official, folks: the insurgency is well underway. The rebellion began exactly one week ago today.

I weighed 265 pounds.

This morning, I weigh 255 pounds.

Hell Yes.

My clothes are already fitting me better. My t-shirts are loose (which unfortunately makes me look fairly slovenly). My pants, which last week could be worn without a belt, are now loose enough that I could drop my drawers without unbuttoning my pants (not that I make a habit out of dropping trou, but it's nice to have the option, like when I'm at the supermarket or on a train).

One week ago I took some pictures of myself, as well as measurements of my torso, waist, limbs, neck, etc. This morning, I took another round of pictures to see if I could notice a difference.

Two things happened.

First

My God, I hate these pictures. My skin is bumped and flawed. In its pallor, it truly resembles the skin of a dead and uncooked turkey. The scars on my back (and a newly developing keloid) make my back look like an untended and overused sandbox littered with clumps, dried insect carcasses, and cat shit. My cylindrical man-breast slope off my chest like a molded JELLO salad slipping from its tray at a summer picnic.

And my belly: the crème de la crème of my packed and bundled fat cells. It pours over my waistband as if trying to swallow my legs, slowly and carefully.


I look at this bulbous collection of fat engulfing my body and think: Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You stole my life. Prepare to die. 


I am motivated to win this. When I look back at these images, I will not feel the shame that I do today, but rather a sense of overwhelming joy at my accomplishments. 


Second


I have made a difference.


My body has changed in the course of a week. My struggle to keep up with the workouts -- doused in sweat and trembling with muscle fatigue -- has changed me, physically, mentally, and emotionally. 


You may not see it, but it's there. My belly has deflated, my love handles are, ever so slightly, smaller, and my man-breasts, though still at gravity's beck and call, have begun to recede into my chest where they belong.


And this is only after one week.


I noticed the biggest difference in my belly. After reviewing the pictures, I took new measurements of my gut to see if a difference had actually been made.


I lost two (2) inches in my belly. 


Shit. That rocks.


I have 3 more weeks of this routine before moving into an even more intense regiment. I know my weight loss may plateau, but I am confident that if I maintain my motivation and commitment (something I have struggled with throughout my entire adult life), I will be a new man by September...a better man...a healthier man...


A spider man.


The Pics 


Yeah, so by posting these pictures, I am 100% committing to finishing this program as a fit bastid (Boston Brahman for bastard). And if you decide to judge me or scoff at these pictures, that's fine. It's your prerogative. But as you do so, be aware that I'm busting my ass to make a change. 


Some of you more slender readers may not have ever struggled to maintain your body type. And you may think that fatness is something that happens as a direct consequence of laziness. And yes, that is true to a certain extent.  But it is also true that some people have a higher hereditary or genetic likelihood of becoming overweight. For me, once I am trim, I will always have to work out and watch what I eat, because I will rapidly gain weight otherwise (it's happened before). So, if you are slim and never have to do anything to stay the beautiful person you are, good on ya. But go to hell if you want to scoff at my pictures; there is nothing ignoble or lazy about my struggle to become a new man. 


Nothing worth scoffing at.


Without further adieu: 

Before
\/
After

I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did. 

Bleh.

mdm

Coup D'état - Days 6 & 7

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I've ended the first week's circuit. And dammit, I feel phenomenal. So good, in fact, that I've just poured myself a glass of pure effervescent joy: Victory Hops Devil...

Let me reiterate:

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I love beer, although it is surely an agent of General Fatness. But I'm a forgiving person (that is, as long as you go down smooth and leave a crisp, hoppy aftertaste (like you, John (this has got to be the weakest sexual innuendo of all time))). Again with the parentheses. Sheesh.

I don't want to talk about working out. This is my rest day. I have done everything I was supposed to do. I have not missed a beat, nor have I misstepped with my diet (until the beer, but fuck it, it's tasty).

If I could drink onion rings I would at this point.

But I won't.

I've learned that it actually does feel better to be fit...well, active. I feel fit. I look at myself differently. Overall, I feel much more jubilant than I have in the last quarter of the year. And as much as I love that unwholesome junk I so vehemently funneled into my gullet, I like this feeling more.

My god how I ramble. Enjoy it. Minutes ago I had nothing to say and couldn't write. Now I've got nothing to say, but cannot stop typing.

Tomorrow I am faced with the most challenging workout of this circuit, and I am not really looking forward to it. I love the results, but the fatigue becomes so daunting that it is difficult to maintain a rational thought (huh, you would think Glenn Beck would be ripped by now...). But I'll plow through it. Hell, I might be able to squeeze out a few more push-ups this time around.

I'll keep you posted.

mdm

Coup D'état - Days 3, 4 & 5

Thankfully I'm better at keeping a workout routine than a blog...which is odd, as the computer desk is my natural habitat.

I had a tremendous weekend. On Saturday I worked my arms, shoulders and chest. I really enjoyed the workout, but I am in dire need of new dedicated weight dumbbells, as my heart rate drops significantly as I try to change the weights on my current bars.

Let's talk about yoga.

The p90x version of yoga is far more taxing than I ever expected of yoga. Bear in mind, I never held the belief that yoga was easy, rather, I thought it was more of a static, balance / core strength routine.

The first forty-five minutes of this routine were the hardest forty-five minutes I have ever lived...physically, that is. I cannot remember one moment of rest (other than the moments (and there were many) in which I collapsed and rolled on my well-padded back like an overturned turtle, struggling against gravity and bad design).

My wife joined me in this workout, and even she (who is very fit (and gorgeous (and awesome (and hot (and smart (and all around incredible (ad inf.))))))(count the end parentheses, I think this was successful!)) had a significant amount of difficulty completing the routine (did you forget what the sentence was about?).

I have the attention span of a goat. Sorry.

By the by, Matt (that's me!) in a Crane Pose looks like a spilled bucket of Crisco trembling on a vibrating bed at a cheap motel somewhere in Arkansas. Give me a quarter, I'll give you a show.

I dare you.

The line of the day (and I think my new mantra) came after the first forty-five minutes of the video passed (yes, it was an hour and a half of yoga). Standing erect and calmly in a Namaste pose, the workout leader says "Now take a deep breath and think: You just did that!".

And honestly, it felt great.

There were so many moments where I really wanted to quit. I couldn't hold this pose or that pose. I could no longer maintain this extended push-up. I could no longer touch my heel to my lower intestine. But I just did. You would be proud of the amount of sweat that my body spat into the living room (no one will ever want to visit my house again!). I must've dropped 3 pounds in that workout alone. Wow.

Anything we do is done. Anything we're doing will be done. It's not about saying "I can do this", but about believing that there will be a moment where you, wearing your blood, sweat and tears like a Christmas sweater, will say "I just did that".

In the last four (yes four) days, I have lost 10 pounds. That's insane.

And you know what?

There will be a day when my scale will publish my weight at 185 and I will look into the mirror and see my body (that is, the thing currently buried beneath the ruins of fat tissue) and say: "I just did that".

And then I will go get a beer.

mdm

Matt's Healthy Recipes: Turkey Kotlety & Red Salad

This is an interesting (and healthy) take on a classic Russian dish, Kotlety, which are patties made from ground beef, pork, veal, or chicken with herbs and spices.

They're delicious.

Ingredients


Kotlety


1 lb. ground turkey
1 fistful parsley, minced
1 fistful cilantro, minced
Low-fat provolone cheese
kosher salt
black pepper
dash yellow curry powder
dash chili powder


Red Salad


1 large red bell pepper, sliced
1 large tomato, cut into thin wedges
4 tbsp balsamic vinegar (1 per serving)
kosher salt
black pepper
1/8 cup fresh straight parsley leaves.


Preparation


Kotlety 


Season ground turkey with a dash of kosher salt, black pepper, yellow curry powder, and chili powder.

Add Minced herbs and mix thoroughly by hand.

Make four patties from the mixture, keeping size and width even.

Add 1 tbsp oil to a heated skillet. Once oil is hot, reduce heat to medium low and place the patties on the skillet. Shake pan to avoid sticking.

Cook on each side until well browned and mostly cooked through, approximately 5 minutes per side, depending on the heat of the pan.

De-glaze the pan with 1/2 cup water (do not remove the patties). Cover and simmer until patties are fully cooked, approximately 3-5 minutes.

When patties are fully cooked, top each patty with 1 or 1/2 slice provolone cheese. Cover and remove from heat. Let rest for three minutes.

When plating patties, top with 1 or 2 tbsp of liquid from the pan.


Red Salad


Season tomato wedges with a dash of salt and black pepper. Add tomatoes and red peppers to a bowl, add balsamic vinegar and toss by hand.

Top each serving with fresh parsley leaves for added flavor and color contrast.

Note:


While you may want to plate the patties and salad separately, the eventual mixing of the balsamic vinegar and the sauce from the patties adds an extra (and delicious) layer of flavor. The patties should be extremely moist and tasty.

Enjoy!

Matt's Healthy Recipes: Thai Peanut Shrimp

Last night I wanted to eat healthily, but I (as usual) didn't want to cook from a book... If you're looking for that, go watch Julie and Julia.

Here is what I came up with last night.

Matt's Thai Peanut Shrimp


This is a simple dish with simple ingredients (the way it should be). Although it contains curry, it is not spicy. Rather, this is a fresh, somehow effervescent, dish.


Ingredients


1 lb. fresh shrimp, peeled, veined, washed
1 medium onion (Spanish or sweet) sliced
1 fistful (yeah, I'm that guy) fresh straight-leaf parsley, minced
1 fistful (seriously, go nuts) fresh cilantro, minced
1/2 cup dry roasted peanuts
Yellow Curry Powder
Chili Powder
Cumin
Kosher Salt
1 tbsp (approx) Teriyaki sauce
1 lb. Broccoli, chopped
3 strips turkey bacon, pork bacon, or prosciutto - minced

Preparation.


Add peanuts to a medium or large glass bowl, then crush with the rounded end of a ladle. Or chop in food processor and add to bowl.

To that bowl, add the cilantro, parsley, and teriyaki sauce. Stir.

Add a pinch of kosher salt to the mixture, then add the shrimp.

Mix thoroughly with your hands, rubbing the herbs and peanuts into the shrimp.

Now go wash your hands. Your covered in shrimp and parsley. Gross.

Heavily dust the mixture with the yellow curry powder, then lightly sprinkle with chili powder and cumin (careful with the cumin, you don't want this to taste like a taco). Stir.

Add more curry. You'll love it. Mmmmm.

Cover and let rest while you make and consume a cocktail.

Now stumble to the sink and add 1/2 - 1 inch of water to a medium pan. Bring to boil and steam the broccoli.

While the broccoli softens, add turkey (pork) bacon / prosciutto to a heated skillet. Cook until some fat renders into the pan. Add the onions. Continue to cook until the onions are semi-transparent.

Add shrimp mixture to skillet. Shake to prevent sticking. After searing the shrimp, add 1/4 cup of water to the skillet and cover. Continue to cook on medium heat until the shrimp is fully cooked. Approximately three to five minutes.

Remove the broccoli from heat when it has softened (but is not mushy). Add a dash of salt. Mix. Do a little two-step dance. You rock.

Serve the shrimp over the broccoli. Top with a few tablespoons of sauce from the pan and some of the loose peanuts.

Enjoy!

Coup D'état - Day Two

Plyometrics. Wow.

This may well be the finest tool in my arsenal for the pending overthrow of General Fatness (see what I did there?). Squat-Jacks, Rock-star Jumps, Leap frogs, and a whole plethora of other thigh igniting exercises worked hand-in-hand to make me smell like ass.

And I loved it.

My mind has been burning recently with the stress of self-employment and the quiet shame of self-loathing. I am certainly not as large as I think I am, but that sentiment is meaningless when walking by a shop's window and wanting to spit at the reflection matching my stride, step for step. I am only capable of trying on one or two garments in a department store dressing room before I am deflated (mentally...though physical deflation would be preferred) by the pale and putrid mess of skin standing before me in the mirror.

It is a constant and terrible ache, my friends.

Sadly, most of us suffer from an inflamed and distorted self-image. We are too skinny and too fat, too pale and too tan. Our freckled bodies seem to us more like leprous skin, waiting for the slightest zephyr to pull it from our bones. Our moles are small brown bombs like piles of dog shit scattered across our backs and chests and arms and faces. We are damaged and ugly and unlovable.

Our eyes often find themselves painted in the wrong color. Our lips are anorexic or obese. We spend so much time hiding ourselves from the world - women with their makeup and push-up bras, men with our polo shirts and Axe Body Spray -, as if some divine cloth or substance will make us, if even for one moment, beautiful and desired. Sadly, if we were to ever obtain the emperor's new outfit to wear ourselves, we would be that little boy calling out "But he's naked!" We would still find our reflections repulsive. We would still cringe with disgust every time we slipped into a thong or went shirtless in public.

Such delusions are those of grandeur; we believe - sincerely - that the rest of the world looks at us the way we look at ourselves.

When I was fifteen, I was not only overweight (by a lot), but also had keloids (an overgrowth of scar tissue) protruding from my back like worms burrowing in my skin. I went, once, on a church trip to a pool. Once shirtless, I sighed and exited the locker room. Lucky for me, my hatred for my body was outdone by my love for high-dives.

Within thirty seconds a small group of teens encircled me and looked upon my imperfect body as if I were infected by some communicable disease. Some boys laughed at my budding man-breasts, while the girls scoffed in awe at my scars.

I turned around and got dressed, then spent the rest of the day sitting in a nearby field, weeping.

From then on, I really believed that I had some physical deformity unlike anyone else...which is such a ludicrous and selfish belief. Everyone has a "deformity" or two. Even those pieces of shit that circled me like a ravaged pack of hyenas, looking to feed off my misery, had problems. It dawns on me now that there were two reasons that they treated me like a dog:

1. They were protecting themselves from their own fears and self-doubt by attacking someone whose imperfections were more noticeable.

2. Kids are assholes.

And yes, people grow out of that stage of douche-bagginess...well, that is people who don't grow up wearing Axe Body Spray and asking everyone everywhere to play beer-pong all the freaking time.

So I must undergo another struggle in this battle with my fat and fat-habits. I must learn to understand that I will never be perfectly good-looking, but that's fine, because nobody is. Hatred of ones self leads only to further self-destruction, which in my case means a KFC Double-Down and a side of potato wedges...

And you'd better not forget the biscuit.

mdm

Coup D'état - Day One

Today I started the P90X workout plan. 
Covered by a sheen of sweat like cellophane stretched across my skin, I laid on the floor, unable to push myself back up, my lungs burning, lead weighted, my arms bowed and crooked, trembling in effort, exhausted. 
Suddenly I remembered my camera's two by two inch LCD screen from an hour earlier, the reality of my weight etched into its frame, pixel by pixel. Even miniaturized, my body overflows like a melted marshmallow in its graham cracker coffin, my many moles and scars like its charred and carbonized edges from the heat of the campfire...my tubular man-breasts slinking off my deflated pectorals like the Hindenburg burning into the earth. 
So.
With a tumultuous and guttural roar, I again pushed. 
Muscles flailing and beads of sweat raining upon and darkening my cream carpet, I struggled, half an inch off the ground, then more, slightly, slowly, a bit more, further, further. Unexpectedly, my elbows straightened, my chest elevated from the floor, my body howling and confused.
But I fucking did it. 
Then I did ten more. 
In all, I spent a full hour in nearly-non-stop exertion, bouncing between an insane amount of push-ups, pull-ups (ha, right), and weight lifting. I have to work hard for this, so I will continue to push myself to the point of muscle failure, then push a little more, even if I have to flounder on the ground a bit while my body catches up to my motivation.
Afterwards I did the 17 minute abdominal workout, which was one of the (if not the) most challenging abdominal workouts I have ever tried (and I did Abs of Steel 2000!...once...) I made it halfway through before reaching a point of what I must describe as "digestive failure". 
There is no easy way to come back from the bathroom floor to finish a workout. I was spent. I do not regret stopping at that point...is there a  better way for your body to say stop then literally throwing its "stuff" out the "window"?
Tomorrow is Plyometrics. Pushing 265 pounds into the air is tough, let me tell you. 
So I guess it's a good thing I have a utility sink in the basement.
Vive la révolution!
MDM