Abnegation of Glen

Weigh-in Wednesday and Day 9 of 40 of my own personal Paleo Challenege: I’m down 11.6 pounds!  It was fun to watch every day this week, I’d weigh in and for some magical reason, a few more pounds would be gone.  Which means a total of 37.4 pounds lost total.

Additionally, I asked one of the coaches if she would measure me so I could see what I looked like after the Paleo Challenege, and this is what we found:

I am overall down a total of 8” on the 4 different measurements we do, all in just a month and 5 days!

I’m excited to see where I’ll be at the end of my 40 days.

Dear Internet,

There was a New England theologian who from a young age started writing what became a long list of commitments — resolutions — of how he should live his life in light of the fact that he’d believed God existed and loved him. They’re beautiful and they remind me what is most fundamental in life. I often forget them. Worse, I often forget how beautiful God is, and how fundamental his grace and forgiveness is.

The resolution that sticks with me the most is, “Resolved, if ever I shall fall and grow dull, so as to neglect to keep any part of these Resolutions, to repent of all I can remember, when I come to myself again.”

This isn’t the same thing. But it’s not entirely dissimilar.

“C’mon, man,” I said. “You should just do it.”

I’m terrible at selling people things. I really am. I try and do this thing where I make things super objective, give them all their options, and hope they weigh them carefully. In other words, I make things confusing. I worked in sales for a little while and was awful. I’m as winsome as a man selling pagers to high school students. But it seemed spirits of the great of all snake-oil slicksters, televangelistic hucksters and used car hustlers had come upon me.

He looked back at me with a smile. Well, many would think it was just a smile, but I knew better. I’d seen it before. It was as if we’d suddenly been transported from where we stood to a cliffside, and I was telling him to trust me, that’d I’d jumped in before and it was safe. And he smiled. Because he wanted to. But, you know — it’s scary.

“You should call the coaches. You’re in way better shape than I was when I started. You’ll do fine. And you’ll love it.”

He made jokes. Evaded the topic directly.

Then what was said next surprised the both of us. Especially me, because I said it:

“When I started, I just knew I needed to; I tolerated it. Now, honestly, I’ve never liked physical activity before, but I kind of really have started to love it.”

Ever see a kid cry after falling on their head? Sometimes they cry because it really hurts. But sometimes they cry because the adults react and they get freaked out. My friend looks at me surprised, and about ten seconds later, so was I. What did I say?

It occured to me that this was the greatest sales pitch I’d ever pitched, the greatest hustle I’d ever hustled. And it was on myself. I was the con man and the mark. And I’d been had. Swindled. Hoodwinked. I’d finally bought in. This was more than just something I was doing to get healthy, it was something I enjoyed, something I knew I needed.

CrossFit freaks me out. I’m nervous and antsy every time. Doubly so when any running is written on that whiteboard. But I love it. And I sort of feel like I need it.

Astonished,

Me.

PS. Dear Future Glen: Please remember this. Yours, You.

Dear Internet,

Sweat dripping onto the spiral-bound notebook as I write down details of my WOD, I overhear one of the coaches explaining the terms of the contract to a newcomer.

“So, you should read through all of the terms yourself, but one big one I just want to point out really quick is cancellations,” he said.  ”You can only cancel your contract in the event of death, dismemberment or something close to it. So just be aware of that when making the commitment.”

I smiled to myself. That kind of smile when you’re nervous and don’t really want everyone else to know.

Yep.  That’s what I signed up for.  One whole year.  There’s no going back.

In Donald Miller’s latest book where he writes about adapting his memoir for film, he says that every protagonist has an “Inciting Incident”.  An Inciting Incident is the door by which everything in their life changes and they cannot go back.  Frodo picks up the Ring.  Ed Norton meets Tyler Durden.  The Dude gets his rug peed on.  From which the person cannot go back to the way things were.  They have to press on through the conflict toward their goal.

Some of you know this isn’t my first attempt to get into shape.  I’ve hired trainers, started running every day, done fad diets; once I even lost a bunch of weight once having my appendix taken out (albeit that one wasn’t voluntary).  In the end, I managed to wriggle out of my commitments, into a comfortable pint with Ben and Jerry for several weeks in front of the TV.  If avoiding pain was an Olympic event, I could be the Michael Phelps of poor health habits.

I am the anti-Michael Phelps.

If you put us in the same room, it creates a paradox which threatens to tear the fabric of space and time.

I needed something more.  Life and limb clauses aside, I could just as easily wriggle out of committing to going to CrossFit frequently.  I could do what I was doing for a while, going once a week-ish (maybe) (if that).

My schedule is crazy, but I took a few minutes to finally sketch out Origin Story.  I posted it late at night, several Tumblr users happened upon it and sent me really kind words in response.  One told me she had an Internet crush on me (I Internet-blushed).  I knew what I had to do.  It was why I made this blog in the first place.

What started as a few notifications to my phone and laptop sitting in my low-rent office in downtown Long Beach (read: Starbucks), suddenly became a wave of FB and Tumblr messages, texts and even phone calls.  Everyone responding to the news of the blog with such kind words of support.  Honestly, people were so nice, I could barely stand it.  My dear friend Sally called and said, “Glen, people will always love you no matter what, thank you for letting us know that you want us to call you out on this.” Or something like that.  It was sweet.  She’s a great friend.

You’re all great friends.

I can feel it in my bones: the fear.  Panic.  Flight risk.  That feeling of wanting to wriggle out of this one.  That wants to run away, maybe fake my death and start over in South America.  Or at least pretend I never started this blog or told anyone I cared about wellness.  

I wish the Ring had never come to me.

But that rug really tied the room together.

So I’m glad to have you all as my Samwise or my Walter Sobchak along the way.

Here we go then, I guess.

Thankfully,

Me

Dear Internet,

My name is Glen.  I’m really fat.  I don’t want to be anymore.

This is the first time I’ve had a chance to write why you should care about this blog.  I weighed 369 pounds at the start of this thing.  This blog is basically Fight Club.  I have to beat me up.  Or better understand me.  Something.  Honestly, I can’t remember how it ended.  Needless to say, health-wise, I’ve been asleep at the wheel for a long time.  I’m not hoping to be as hot as Brad Pitt, but maybe I can look a little more post-Moneyball Jonah Hill than pre.

Cheer, jeer, gawk, or rubberneck, I’m hoping you follow this blog.  Make sure I keep posting, that I keep working out, that I stop going on junk food benders.  This is an underdog story.  And believe me, if the forces of hedonistic food decisions and lethargy win, it’s going to be a story worthy of going straight to DVD.  But if I win, if we slay the dragon of old habits and get the girl of getting the girl, it’ll be that kind of story you bring a date to because she’ll get sentimental and want to kiss you.

See, everyone wins.  So follow.  It’ll be a hoot.

Respectfully,

Me