OK, my biggest concern with working out is that I will injure myself and
Be unable to exercise, or
Get frustrated and give up.
Well, Mrs P and I are both hurt, but it has nothing to do with the gym.
The Bluegrass is experiencing a fearful kind of winter weather today - ice with no snow. it has been raining since yesterday afternoon with the temperature hovering around freezing. The good new is that it may be slowing down. The bad new is that walking around is downright perilous. We have both fallen on the ice while trying to get Molly outside. Mrs P whacked her arm and has a nasty raspberry on her hand. I sprained, but am pretty sure I did not break my big toe. Not that we could get to the gym anyway - but it looks like I'm going to be relegated to the weight room and she may be stuck on the exercise bike (her preferred cardio workout.)
On the other hand, I'm giving credit for our relatively minor injuries to the stretching and strengthening we've been doing. It could have been a lot worse.
God bless the folks who have to be outside today. Roads are pretty clear, but everything between the road and the building is a slippery dance.
We're getting ready to limp out the the car and go to work. Everybody be careful out there!
One of the ways I keep my mind sharp is to read blogs. I found this encouraging word on That's Fit:
In a German study of over 300 people, those who began exercising in their forties were half as likely to develop heart disease as people who never exercised. Interestingly enough, that risk reduction is nearly the same as that realized by people who have been sweating their butts off in the gym since they were in their teens and early twenties. So, you see, it is possible to play catch-up with your health.
One of my irrational fears is a fatalistic sense that I am going to die young like most of the men in my family. When my Dad passed, I started a morbid countdown. By my old reckoning I have 11 years to live.
I find two words of comfort in the Rothenbacher study.
First, I have a chance to change my destiny by living differently than my ancestors. I can move more, eat less, and ingest fewer poisons than they did.
Second, I can stop feeling bad about waiting so long to start. Turns out exercising before you are 40 is a waste of time!
Think I'll go lift weighs and quietly pity the beautiful young people who could be home watching TV and eating ice cream for the next twenty years.
Of course after that, they'll have to really bear down.
Peace, Pennsy
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The photo of Pennsy's next health club is from the UK website Church Urban Fund.
That's UK the country, not the basketball team who are having a decidedly up and down year.
I feel so good about today that I want to knock out a post before resuming the rest of my life.
Five miles today - 4.5 miles at 4 mph and .5 miles running at 5 mph. I ran a tenth of a mile during each mile. I started at .75 miles, ran a tenth, then walked until I felt good and my heart rate recovered back to 146-8. The last run was at 4.5 miles.
I followed with a long stretch and a Healthy Choice lemon chicken dinner.
Mrs P and I are going out to supper later. We are talking about Donatos. I don’t want to jinx my weigh in tomorrow, but I am feeling very confident right now.
Besides, I have not really had the urge to binge for a while. I don’t think I’ll be eating three quarters of a large pizza tonight. We’ll get at least two meals out of the pie.
I really like research. When I was an actor, I would pour over stories, biographies, works of art, histories, anything to learn more about the character and the world where he/she lived.
When Molly came to live with us, while Mrs P was carefully combing out the mats in her coat and bonding with her, I was reading books about Golden Retrievers. So naturally, now that I am interested in losing weight and getting fitter, I am all over the internet learning about nutrition, routines, equipment, machines, books, dvds, balls, mats, weights, pedometers and heart monitors.
The other night at the gym I saw a commercial where Lance Armstrong was running on a treadmill carrying dumbells. "Hmm," I thought, "should I try that?" So I did some googling. Here are the top six hits for a Google search using "Walking with weights".
Do it. Maybe do it Carefully do it Never do it. Do it, it's great! Don't do it, it's bad! Heavy hands, dumbells, wrist weights, weighted vests, slow walking, fast walking, longer walks, morning walks --- it doesn't matter what I look for, I find at least four convincing sounding theories about everything related to fitness. And don't even try to get a definitive answer about diet and nutrition. The experts all sound like they know what they are talking about and they rarely say the same thing about anything.
This morning I was reading about joint damage caused by the same weights that another site says helped a man to lose hundreds of pounds. I started to worry. What if someone should stumble onto my blog and think I actually know what I'm talking about? That would so suck for them!
So I've added a disclaimer to the top of the page. I don't know jack, Jim. I know what hurts, and I don't do that. I know who I trust, and I try their suggestions unless they hurt. That's all I know about fitness.
I have only ever recieved one brilliant piece of advice in my life, and I try to apply it to everything I do, including workouts and internet research:
Say your prayers and do the next right thing.
I try to keep my heart pure and my judgment clear - then I do what seems best. If you're looking for fitness advice, then take that.
I haven’t gone back to check, but apparently, I usually stay home on Fridays.
That must be why I didn’t know that the gym closes at 8:00, an hour earlier than during the week.
I finished my weights, changed into my walking togs, and started the treadmill before I looked up and realized I was the only one in the place. I checked the lettering on the front door and saw the hours. I’ve been walking through that door for a month and never noticed.
So I had a good resistance workout, but no cardio. I was pretty bummed about that. Maybe this weekend I can put in some extra miles.
I stayed with the lighter weight tonight and added two reps. I did three sets of 17 of each exercise. They were all hard to finish, but the killer was the leg curls. I had to rest a couple of times during the last set. But I didn’t give up.
Oh Yeah! Today I jogged! I picked up my great big feet and jogged. 4 tenths of a mile.
Not in a row.
I walked 2.5 miles. Four times I ran the speed up to 5 from 4.2 and actually picked up my feet. I won’t call it running, but it was definitely jogging.
My recovery time was pretty good, but my knees reminded me that I’m still too heavy to run very far. It felt great. I haven’t run for a lot of years.
I’ll continue trying to mix in the intervals when I walk. tomorrow weights. Tonight, a short post, cause I’m going to spend some time gazing at my Valentine.
Today was the first time I used the workout Jordan suggested - lower weights, higher reps, shorter breaks -- for the next two weeks, I’m all about the cardio.
I went through my sets as fast as I could do them without short changing my form. Getting hurt is the last thing I want right now.
The weights went fine. I was concerned that the lighter weight wouldn’t give me the same workoiut, but by the 40th rep, I was feeling it, especially on the chest press and the triceps pull-downs.
Two miles on the treadmill felt like, well, like two miles. The resistance workout had my heart rate up in the 140's when I hit the treadmill. My walking seems to be pretty consistently taking it to 156. I was not exhausted when my miles were finished, but I was ready to stop. I was a little shaky after I finished the programmed cool down, so I put in another couple of minutes till my head and heart stabilized.
After a nice long stretch, I soaked in the shower, then dressed. All in all, it was a pretty routine workout. Which is cool. Because three weeks ago, I could not have done any of it.
Swapping fat for muscle? Am I destined to become 400 pounds of rippling man meat? (see nearby illustration. Pennsy will have more hair.)
I am still pissed about my weight, so I walked three miles after my resistance training today. I could have done four, but my shoelace came untied - which I didn’t realize - and I developed a hot spot on the ball of my right foot. I decided to stop before it turned to a blister.
I spoke with Trainer Jordan about the weight. I was a little surprised that he did not offer the same easy answers that others had. He asked about my diet, which was my first question as well. I’ve been eating pretty well. Yesterday I had Fruit, Yoghurt, and Granola for Breakfast. Lunch and twp snacks were SlimFast. I also ate some Peanuts at lunch.
He assured me that I’m doing the right work and looking slimmer. Most people do plateau on their initial rate of weight loss, but not this early. His suggestion is to increase reps and lower the weight a little. That way I can turn my weight training into a cardio workout as well. That sounds like good advice.
Speaking of cardio, my resting heart rate has come down 9 BPM from 87 to 79. I’ll take the progress where I can find it. I also noticed that I’m two notches tighter on my belt than I was at Christmas. Are Mom and Mrs P right? Am I just swapping fat for muscle? Will I eventually turn into a pink version of the Incredible Hulk?
For the answers to these and other questions, tune in tomorrow for our next thrilling episode.
Part of the epistle reading for today from the Daily Office:
I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God that has been given you in Christ Jesus, for in every way you have been enriched in him, in speech and knowledge of every kind— just as the testimony of Christ has been strengthened among you— so that you are not lacking in any spiritual gift as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ. He will also strengthen you to the end, so that you may be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is faithful; by him you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.
Divisions in the Church
Now I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you should be in agreement and that there should be no divisions among you, but that you should be united in the same mind and the same purpose. (I Corinthians 1:4-10)
Paul was writing about factions in the church at Corinth, but he could just as easily been writing about himself, or about me, for that matter.
Paul knew what it was like to be enriched by God - blessed with spiritual gifts. Only a man of faithful righteousness, blessed with gifts of leadership and administration would have been entrusted with the mission that sent Paul to Damascus. When Jesus confronted him on the road, Paul must have felt like he had been split in two. His encounter with the risen Christ challenged everything he believed to be true about God. It took years for him to restore the unity of his own spiritual mind and purpose.
Paul's experience is not unlike my own. I often find myself divided - of two minds. On the one hand / on the other hand. It is important to consider carefully, I believe that is the reason God gives us choices and the free intellect and will to make them. And having considered, it is also important to choose. God does not desire that we should live life divided, but rather that we seek unity within ourselves, among our neighbors, and with our Creator.
Paul's preamble to the great letter to the Church at Corinth has at last brought me to the focus of my Lenten devotion: Stewardship.
I have been blessed with many gifts from God. I have a mind. I have a home. I have a body, a family, clothes to wear, animals to care for. My employer has entrusted me with responsibilities that affect many of the people with whom I work. I have a community and relationships that offer me opportunities to grow and to love.
I am a steward of all of these things, and I confess that my stewardship has been lacking. I have chosen to neglect those things of which I ought to be mindful. I have been faithful to my favorite television programs, and left the the gifts God has given me uncared for.
My Lenten discipline will be to seek out and nourish the gifts I have been entrusted with. I will continue the work of restoring my body. I will reach out to the people I love whose lives I have ignored. I will restore order to my property and my house to make them a testimony to my gratitude and a sanctuary of peace for the people God sends to visit here.
And I will seek guidance and insight as I pursue this discipline in the Holy Scriptures, the word of God.
I'm not sure if that constitutes giving anything up for Lent. Maybe I'm s giving up my unconsidered life. My lent will be a time of stewardship - of caring for and intentionally restoring unity.
Here on Pennsyltuckian I will hold myself accountable to you and to God. And we will walk the road toward Easter together.
I have always been a big man. When I meet a man bigger than me, it freaks me out a little. I learned a lesson about that today.
I was still bummed about the weight. Four miles on the treadmill did not change it. Once again, a stranger came to my rescue. This time it was one of the giants from the land of free-weights. If someone told me he was an NFL lineman, I would not be surprised. I’m not sure, but I saw him on the bench press lifting something close to my weight last week. I give these guys a respectfully wide berth. They are serious about their work at the gym.
In the locker room I was changing pretty quickly, partly because Mrs P was waiting, and partly because I was soaked and it was really cold in the locker room. (It’s a pretty cold day in the Bluegrass but no snow in sight - rain in the forecast for Tuesday.)
So my giant neighbor came in and said “Tough to get warm today.” I agreed. Four miles on the treadmill, and my arms were still chilly.
“How long have you been coming?” he asked.
“I’m one of the New Year’s resolution crowd. I started on the 19th.”
“How much weight have you lost?”
I told him my ridiculous story. 13 lbs, then 3, then none. I said I was a little discouraged.
He told me not to be. The big early loss is mostly water, he said. After that, you start building muscle, which burns fat. As you become stronger, you will replace one with the other, and the weight will start to come down.
“You aren’t losing weight, but you are losing inches. Your clothes fit differently, right? A lot of people get discouraged and quit right now. You’re doing great.”
“OK, I’ll stick with it, I joked, but If I haven’t seen any change in two years, I’m out of here.”
“Two years?” he laughed. “You should take a picture of yourself now. If you work the way you are for two years, you won’t even look like the same person.”
We finished dressing and I shouldered up my bag to go.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate the encouragement.”
“Enjoy your time off. You’ll be back at it tomorow.”
It takes so little to build a person up. I’m really grateful for this man and his kindness to me. I may never have his biceps, but I hope someday I can have something like his sincere, generous heart.
Four miles today. Average speed, 4 mph, average incline, .5.
Peace, Pennsy
The Steel Curtain photo is from the web site of a child of the Three Rivers who sells real estate in Las Vegas. I don't know anything else about her, but were I shopping for property in CSI territory, that picture would make me call her.
This was a long strength day. I wanted to see if I could match the weight I had lifted on Thursday when I wasn’t mad at anything. Turns out that I could. I switched to shorter sets, 12 reps instead of 15, and diid three reps on each machine.
I almost made it.
The weights were going well, gradually kicking my butt, the way they ought to. I started to feel unusually fatigued which I chalked up to the extra sets and the high weight. Before the last machine, cable curls and triceps pulldowns, I hsd to stop and take a break. I got through them, but it was a struggle. Then I got to the last exercise, shoulder presses and ball squats. I alternate sets on these two exercises since they are completely different muscle systems and I can keep my cardio up by shortening breaks between sets. My arms were wasted, and the rest of me was not far behind. I completed two sets of each, then I just had to put my toys away.
I could barely walk through my cool-down. Mrs P helped me to stretch out after and that felt good. My legs are really tight from years of sitting.
I’m not sure why this day took such a toll on me. Mrs P suggested that it may have been the fact that I skipped my my daily medications in the morning. She may be right. Every little thing seems to affect my performance, and skipping my meds is no little thing.
The weigh in was both discouraging and mystifying. My weight has not changed a notch since last week! WTF? I was/am pretty disappointed. I don’t understand. I expected to hit a plateau, but not this soon.
I’ll ask Jordan about it next time I see him.
It’s a drag to be working so hard and left waiting for the pounds to fall. Maybe I should do more cardio and less resistance training? Research will just confuse me. I’ll ask the trainer.
I went to the gym MAD today. I used to drive home after “one of those days” and think, “this would be a great day to just go to a gym and blow off steam.”
Turns out I was right.
Mrs P had had a helluva day and called to say she was going out with a friend after work. I was kind of relieved because when she has a hard day and I have a hard day we tend to collide like planets.
Going to the gym is better. Iron doesn’t mind if you take out your rage on it. So I did.
I hit the inclined press first. First I did a set at the weight I’d failed to complete on Tuesday on the chest press, then added another ten and knocked out two more sets.
I went through my whole circuit that way. One set at my previous personal best, then two sets ten pounds heavier. I was huffing and puffing and banging plates and grunting and by the time I made it to the shower, my emotions had cooled down and I was ready to talk with my wife about our days.
Which we did.
Without hurt feelings.
Which was nice.
I’m still not lifting the kind of pounds you can brag about, but I keep adding to them. As I get lighter, my workouts can get heavier.
I just have a little of my Maker’s Mark and spring water to finish and then off to bed.
I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word. (Book of Common Prayer, Liturgy for Ash Wednesday)
My dear friend Deb, who is a Jew once observed, "I never know what to say to someone on Ash Wednesday. 'Happy Lent' just seems wrong." Many Christians find the season just as baffling.
The forty day fast first appears very early in the Biblical narrative, in the story of Noah.
Seven days from now I will send rain on the earth for forty days and forty nights, and I will wipe from the face of the earth every living creature I have made. (Genesis 7:4)
Moses was on Sinai for forty days. Goliath's torment of Israel. Goliath tormented Israel forty days. Elijah's journey to Horeb, and Jonah's prophecy to Nineveh both took forty days. So Jesus had plenty of precedent when he went into the wilderness to do battle with the devil.
Our Lenten journey commemorates Jesus time in the wilderness, but liturgically, it also calls us to remember the long road to Jerusalem, Golgatha, and the empty tomb of Easter morning. The Lenten prayer commands us to turn our hearts toward three things, Repentance, Fasting, and God's holy word.
To repent means to change direction. We confess that the direction we are headed is not where we want to go, and we turn and to walk another way.
To fast is to say "no" to our own desires - to deny ourselves that which stands between us and God.
To read and meditate on God's holy word is a double discipline. First we take the time to open the Bible and stick our noses inside. Then we take the time to digest the words God gives us.
So giving up beer and chocolate for a few weeks really doesn't cut it.
A friend of mine has pointed out that the Lenten discipline is nothing more than the rule of life for a Christian. Ideally, we would spend every day of our lives in repentance, self-denial, and meditation of the word, but there are no ideal Christians. So we have this special season designed to remind us who we ought to be and how we ought to live. Each of us is on the road to Calvary and the empty tomb. In making a Holy Lent, we remember that every step of the journey is important. We are not only walking toward celophane grass and colored eggs - we are walking beside Jesus who choses to accompany us on our trip from life to death and resurrection.
Pennsy therefore invites you, beloved reader, to a Holy Lent. May you consider your life's direction, turn from the false idol of self-gratification, and seek your God and yourself in the Holy scriptures.
Lent has been on my mind a lot this week. I can not believe it is here already. I’ll write about it over on Pennsyltuckian. Don’t get creeped out, but Lent is my favorite season of the church year. I’ll talk about that more tomorrow.
Tonight felt really good, in spite of a couple setbacks.
Mostly it was trouble with the Chest Press. The machine looks a little like this photo, only Pennsy is taller. I find this really difficult, even with light weight. This machine kicked my butt tonight. I couldn’t finish my first set of 15 - only got to 10. I lowered the weight and tried another set, but by then, my muscles were so fried I could only do two sets of 5.
Maybe on Thursday I’ll start out at the lower weight, huh?
On the other hand, I added a set of the very funny ball squats. I figure since my weight is going down, I’ll have to do more reps to keep up the intensity.
I kept moving through the weights, and my cardio was in the mid 130’s by the time I hit the treadmill.
Only walked one mile, but at 4.2 MPH and a 2º incline.
One way or another, I have to keep increasing the intensity on the cardio. I can’t walk much faster than 4.5 without breaking into a trot, and I’m going to be more Draft Horse than Trotter for some time to come. Tomorrow is a long cardio day. I think I’ll set an easy pace and try to put in four miles at that same incline. It felt pretty comfortable tonight.
I felt some twinges tonight. A little lower back, a little knee, all the old favorites. I went into the group room and had a nice long stretch which helped. Hot showers and baby aspirins --I won’t be giving up either of those for Lent.
This was a long walk day. Four miles on the treadmill. My heart rate reached 155 and stayed there. The feet felt great. New socks may have been the best investment I’ve made since I started. No more tube socks for me.
I was a little disappointed by my weigh-in. 390 lbs. Only lost three pounds since last week.
Funny, but my first thought is always to doubt the scale. That’s one I definitely need to get over. Missing a workout with a cold this week didn’t help. I also could have eater better. I may have to start logging meals too, but I really don’t care to bore myself or anyone else with diet minutiae.
The small change in my weight was discouraging (especially after a four mile walk). Then I thought, "This is just an obstacle." It’s resistance. I want to run five miles, but for now, I walk four. I want to lose 200 lbs., but for now, I’m down 15. I'll work through out the same way I worked up to 4.5 mph on the treadmill -- one step at a time.
I am working hard to get where I’m going. I won’t get there in a hurry, but I’ll by-God get there.
It's official, Punxsutawny Phil and I both saw our shadows - keep those spring clothes in the closet for another six weeks. Looks like it's a beautiful Saturday all over Pennsyltucky.
I came home from work yesterday and made the mistake of sitting down. I fell fast asleep in my chair till it was too late to go to the gym. I might try to go back to walk a little more today.
I really need to work on getting proper sleep. I have always been a night owl. I spent most of my life working in the theatre, and that’s just the schedule you get used to. It’s easy for me to get involved in something and stay up until 2 or 3 o’clock. What I’m discovering in the gym is that while I can function on a few hours sleep, it does affect my performance there. I have to believe it also slows me down at work and in the rest of my life.
I’ll try to make a point of getting to bed by 10:00 this week.
I’m gradually adding weight to my resistance workouts. I am having some soreness in my triceps, usually two days after. My research says that’s pretty normal when you’re starting out. Until it goes away, I’ll just lower the weight on sore days, or else I could just work legs, then do arms the next night. I'm also thinking about using some gloves. I am a big sweater and my grip isn't always as sure as I'd like, especially on pulling exercises.
The treadmill felt good. I could have gone a lot farther, but Mrs P had a lunch scheduled with some colleagues and we had to get home. I didn’t get a chance to weigh in this morning, the office was occupied. If I do my late walk, I'll get in then.
Twelve years ago this weekend, we buried my father.
He was unlike any man I have ever known. My father poured himself out like a sacrifice for his family, his church, his community. He worked two jobs, three jobs for years. All the while he was a scoutmaster, a church elder, a devoted father, a faithful son, a committed husband. I can say now, though I could not have said it then, that my father was not perfect. He had secrets and flaws - private blemishes. I have learned a lot about blemishes in my own life. I don't hold them against him.
Dad loved Pennsylvania. He would pack us into our Dodge van and pack off to pitch a tent in the woods to hear the sound of the forest at night -not a sound we heard alot in Pittsburgh. He taught us to fish, we would motor out on the foggy face of a lake as the sun rose and the herons preened in the shallows. We caught some fish, but the time we spent on the water with my father was worth more than any treasure we could have pulled out of that lake.
We were Steeler fans. He was not insane over the Steelers, but he was a patriotic Pittsburgher and loved the team out of a sense of honor. He was alive when our city really was, as a nineteenth century wag once quipped, "Hell with the lid off." We grew up watching comedians on our little black and white television using our home as a punchline. There was plenty to be proud of in our smoky town, but the world didn't know it - not until Franco Harris plucked that deflected pass out of the air on that chilly winter afternoon. Suddenly there was something about Pittsburgh that wasn't funny at all. We had always been proud, now the world could see some of the reasons. A team of black men and white men, Italians, Poles, Irish, Rednecks, Scholars - as diverse and tough as the city whose name they claimed spent a decade claiming a piece of history, even as the steel industry collapsed around us. Those of us who lived through that time know what a football team can mean to a community.
Once the 'Seventies were over, we waited a long time for the Steelers to make it back to the big game. The 1996 team was a powerhouse, but in order to claim that "one for the thumb" they would have to beat the great dynasty of that decade. We wanted to believe that the Cowboys could be had, but in our hearts, we had our doubts.
The afternoon of the game, I talked with my Dad on the phone. He had survived a heart attack the year before. Years of too many jobs, too many midnight bowls of ice cream and too many cigarettes had taken their toll. He was scheduled to go into the hospital the next morning for a procedure whose name I don't remember. We talked about how things were going. I asked how he was feeling. "Frankly, I feel like Hell." It wasn't the kind of thing he would say. The year of living with his own mortality had worn him down in a lot of ways. Projects went unfinished. He grew increasingly quiet and sad. The burdens of a lifetime - burdens he had heroically carried for years - were breaking his weak heart.
We talked about the game. Both of us had concerns, but we were confident that Our Team could beat the odds. As game time approached, we wrapped things up. Saying goodbye was always a little clumsy for us. Dad was not an "I love you" kind of guy. For years I had tried to wheedle one out of him. We would hug goodbye and I would whisper "I love you, Dad." Sometimes he would say "I love you, too." but it always felt as if I had cornered him. After a while, I stopped playing the game. I knew he loved me. I could hear it in his voice when we spent time together on my rare trips back home. I said goodbye and was about to hang up, when he said it...
"God bless you."
My father had never, ever said that to me. He was not being casual. He was giving me his blessing.
The Steelers lost Super Bowl XXX, obscenely. I don't remember much about the game. I remember my Dad's blessing. And I remember the nest night when I cam home from work. My sister had called. Dad's procedure had not gone well. By nine o'clock my father was dead.
We buried him under the snowy Pennsylvania mountains that he loved. It is a beautiful spot with a view of the valley and the smell of pine trees and hardwood all around. The last time I was up there, I saw deer tracks in the snow around his grave. He would love it. I go there every once in a while to catch him up with my life. I have carried his blessing through some rough times, but it stays with me intact. And when we say goodbye, I always tell him I love him. It's ok. He doesn't feel any pressure to respond. And somehow I think saying it doesn't bother him so much any more.
Smoke over Three Rivers is from the web site of GASP, the Group Against Smog & Pollution. They've been fighting to clean up the 'Burgh since Joe Greene was a rookie.
This was a long awaited workout. Tuesday night I was sore and had blisters on my feet. Wednesday morning, I woke up with a little GI discomfort and feeling like I had a cold coming on.
I could have blown the gym off tonight, but I was afraid I might set my progress back. I really don’t want to hit the scale on Saturday and find that I haven’t lost weight.
So I went, and I’m glad it did. The weights went OK. I was a little weaker in my shoulders - the flies and the incline press hurt a lot, but I got through them.
It was great to walk. I got my heart rate up during the strength training, It was around 142 when I hit the treadmill, which is the lower part of my target range. I did the whole two miles and didn’t go much higher than 155. I could have pressed, but I didn’t feel really strong enough. Tomorrow I’ll feel better. I just wish I hadn’t missed a workout. maybe I can do two one day this weekend. I really like going at it for a while on Saturday.
The drive home was creepy. Freezing rain. We had a brutal ice storm in the Bluegrass in 2003. It shut most of the city down for more than a week. I haven’t looked at the cold Kentucky rain the same way since. We still just refer to it as "The Ice Storm". Nobody ever asks which one. The forecast is for snow tomorrow. I hope it gets cold in a hurry. Freezing rain is beautiful when you’re inside with nowhere to go. But when you’re outside watching tree limbs explode and crash to the ground, the poetry goes to a whole ‘nother place.
But that’s tomorrow’s trouble. Tonight I am safe at home with a lap full of cats and belly full of rice and beans. God bless the people who need to be on the roads tonight. Police, emergency responders, street crews. Keep them safe and bring them home unharmed. Amen.
Peace, Pennsy
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There are more ice storm images at the Louisville NOAA website. I'm sure there are others, but don't feel real enthusiastic about finding them tonight.
This is a post I've had rattling around my imagination for a while. If you're following Fat Man Running , then you know that I have made some changes in my life -- changes that I hope will become permanent. The idea in my title is one of the things that I hope will keep my commitment alive. Mrs P and I were sniping back and forth a few days ago - (yes, sniping can strike even the best of families) - and I was griping about the way she will complain about a thing like a pain or an old glasses prescription for months without doing anything about it. This makes me nuts.
Before I go on, I should tell you that there are two important parts of this argument. First, I was absolutely right. She does do that and it does make me crazy. Second, I do the same d@mn thing which makes me pretty vulnerable when I try to call her on it.
I resolved this conflict in classic American Male style by making it as forcefully and as loudly as I could. The advantage here is that my Bride can't get a word in edgewise - the disadvantage is that I will invariably say something so incredibly stupid that it dwarfs the original offense. Here's how I think it went...
"Why didn't you take care of X last summer when it started bothering you?"
"There were other things to worry about."
"Like what? What could be more important that X?"
"The cats needed meds, Molly needed tests, I was looking for a job, we were trying to sell that old car, your depression was getting worse..."
"But don't you see how dealing with this back then would have made all those things easier? You act like everyone else is more important that you are."
"Well, they are."
"Well, we need you. We need you with X. You're no good to us without X. We need you at your best, not the best you have at the time."
OK, if you have lived with someone for any length of time, you know that the only part of that last line that anyone hears is the part about "you're no good to us without X". That was a really stupid thing for me to say because a) it is not true, and b) it obscured the actual insight that I managed to squeeze out at the end.
Doing your best is just not good enough. Not when the best you have is a sliver of what it could be if you were a better steward of your own life.
I know that your house was decimated by last night's storm and you need help cleaning up, but years of cynicism and personal neglect have made me a lazy, unpleasant person who would do more complaining than working, so I'll stay home and pray for you. I wish I could do more, but that's the best I can do.
That might be honest, but it is worthless to your neighbor and to God.
I would love to tithe to support the church or the poor or the Children's Museum or whatever, but I have piled up so much credit card debt that nearly every penny is accounted for. I wish I could give more, but this is the best I can do.
Yeah, right. Look - if Mrs P needs me and I'm confined to my room because I stopped taking my meds or I've drunk myself into such a state that I can't stand up - rolling over and moaning, "I'm sorry Baby, I love you." isn't giving her my best. She isn't getting anything. I will have wasted the strength and health and intelligence that God gave me so I could be her partner. Those parts of me that should have belonged to her, I have chosen to spend elsewhere.
When she needs my best, I won't have it. All I'll have is what's left -- the remnant I call "the best I can do".
Well I don't want her to have to settle for the best of what's left of me. When my wife needs a husband, I want her to have my best. When the people I manage need a leader, I want them to have the best leader I can be. I want my employer to have my best, not just the best parts that I didn't trade for a few bottles of Rolling Rock the night before. I want the animals who rely on me to have my best. My neighbors, my community, my family - if I really value these people, I will make sure that when they need me, they will get the best God gave me -- not just the best of the parts that I haven't used myself.
So that's why I'm going to the gym. Not so I can "treat myself better", but so that when someone needs the best from me, I will be able to give it.
The life God gave me was a gift. The way I've treated that life has been a sin in many ways. I live today under judgment as a consequence of that sin -- but sin always hurts more than just the sinner. People need me to be better than I am today. My loss is their loss too.
When I eat something stupid or don't drink my water or skip stretches or stay up too late, then I can't walk as far or as fast on the treadmill as I need to. When I hit the red "stop" button while gasping for air, my lungs burning and my chest pounding after half a workout - I haven't "given it my best." I gave my best to David Letterman or Krispy Kreme. The gym just got what was left over.
Jesus' life requires more of me than the best that's left. If I want to be a Christ-like husband, neighbor, citizen, and friend, then I need to be ready to give the best just as Jesus always was.
Jesus went off by himself to pray. I go to the gym. I learn new computer programs. I listen to tapes and pick the brains of successful managers who have more experience and wisdom than I do. I put down the laptop and actually pay attention to my wife once in a while. The road to my redemption is paved by doing the work of restoring the best I can be.
Peace, Pennsy Here's an intriguing post from Paul M. Jones on why "Do Your Best" is such a lousy way to manage people.
And Joe McCarthy out pennsy's Pennsy with this existential musing about doing your best vs. trying to do your best (among other things.)
So, it turns out that it is “Forest Walk”, not “Alpine Walk” which would presumably involve steeper climbs, more cheese, and a family of cloying children, their grumpy Pappa, and their beautiful stepmother singing “Doe, A Deer” to her ostrich head umbrella.
I also learned how to adjust the maximum height to make the trip more of a gentle slope, so that went well. I still got my heart rate up to 163 which is a little high, but not that far afield of my usual walks.
On the weights, I increased the loads by 10 lbs and also added some new machines. So my weight training now consists of
Cable curls Cable pull downs Leg extentions Leg curls Close grip Lat pull downs Chest presses Flies Shoulder press with barbell Ball Squats.
And no, thanks for asking, I can’t think of a funnier name for an exercise than “Ball Squats.” This photo from myfit.ca is not of Pennsy. Pennsy is much taller. My trainer (his name is Jordan, I don’t think there’s any reason to keep calling him “My trainer”) taught me to put one of those big exercise balls behind the small of my back, lean against the wall, and do squats with a wide, forward stance. This apparently protects my knees from the damage associated with traditional squats. It also burns my thighs like crazy. It is by far the silliest and most difficult part of my workout.
On the bright side, since I only have to lift my own body weight, it should get easier the more weight I loose, right?
Today was a great workout. I ate right, sipped lots of water throughout, and felt a good kind of exhausted when I was finished. More “used up” and less “worn out” if the distinction makes sense.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about why I’m going to the gym. I may carry that conversation over to Pennsyltuckian. That’s where I do my meditating. Over here, the Fat Man keeps moving.
OK, so the incline thing on the treadmill was a good idea - jumping into one of the preprogrammed courses was maybe not.
I chose “Alpine Walk” which turns out to be a program that gradually increases the incline until the midpoint or your walk at which point you are at level 7 which must mean something to someone, but to me it just meant “ouch”.
I set the program for a 2 mile walk and actually made it half way before I had to stop to ease the pressure in both my lungs and my bladder. By the time I returned, the program had timed out. I finished the workout on a flat course which was fine with me.
The best news came after the exercise when I went back to the scale. I finally admitted it to Mrs P today, so I guess there’s no use hiding the truth - I weighed in last week at 405 lbs. Someday maybe I’ll blog about how that made me feel. Today it felt great when the beam stopped bobbling and my weight was 393. Losing 12 lbs in the first week is a great start. I know there are a lot more pounds to go, and they won’t all fall so quickly, but I really was encouraged----and a little stupid. i think I was dehydrated.
Drinking water is going to be important. I don’t remember it mattering so much when I was a kid, but I am decidedly not a kid. They gave us salt tablets and let us drink water as a reward. The trainer says that your body needs water to help it burn fat. I didn't know that. But mine sure needs water to keep my brain from turning to mush. Mrs P had to drive us home.
I don’t know if it’s imagination, but it seems to me that I can feel the consequences of how I have taken care of myself during the day when I hit the gym. Did I drink enough water? Skip a meal? Eat too much junk? go to bed late? When the answer is yes, then my performance at the gym is not so hot.
I guess the trick is remembering that at the beginning of the day. I really like doing well at the gym, and that is going to mean living better all day long.
Of course eventually, going to the gym will be so I can live better outside, but for the time being, heavier weights and longer distances will be my path to a better life.
Cool.
Peace, Pennsy
The video is from 78MAN who is my new hero on YouTube. If you love old disks, check out his channel.
Felt good to be back after taking last night off. Maybe it was a cold, maybe skipping a meal (and sneaking a couple cookies in the afternoon). Whatever it was, I made last night my one day off this week. I’m trying to get six sessions in per week.
The weights still seem light at the beginning, but then I’m remembering the testosterone filled days of my youth when we puffed and yelled and encouraged one another to bench press the cement filled Sears bar-bells in the basement. This is a different kind of lifting for a different reason. Back then we were trying to get laid. Now I’m just trying to stay alive and out of the nursing home.
And by the end of the last set, they don't feel so light anymore.
The treadmill was a little bit of a struggle again. I trotted at 5 mph for about a minute, but running is still too much for my hips and heart. I love being beside someone who is running, and really want to join them, but not just yet.
i was thinking that maybe next week I’ll stop pushing the speed and try adding incline. That may be a challenge I can shoot for. I have a little twinge in my lower back today, and I’m concerned that it may be from trying to walk so fast.
I’ll try to get to the scale in the office today for a weigh-in. Every scale seems to be different. The one in the locker room says I’ve lost about eighty pounds since my weigh-in last week.
Last night, 4 miles in an hour. Tonight, weights and -- uh, well -- half a mile at 4.5 mph.
I may have burned myself out last night, or I may have just run out of gas because I worked through lunch. I should have stopped to eat. Now I know.
The weights still feel a lot like work. I won't embarrass myself by admitting how light they are. I just wish I could do my pull-downs without imagining the skinny little aerobics girls laughing behind me as they pile on more plates after I leave the machine.
I'm a little bummed about gassing on the treadmill tonight, but it still feels great to be moving.
Today I did cardio and strength training together on my own for the first time. This felt like a work-out!
The gym has a very popular class on Monday nights, so the treadmills were all occupied when I arrived. I intended to warm-up with a walk first, then lift, but switched it around.
The exercises my trainer gave me are simple and the weights are very light, but then I haven’t lifted weights for about 25 years, so starting slow seems like a good plan.
When I finally got to the treadmill, my heart rate was already up to 143, I walked a mile at 4.5mph. It felt like two miles, but then I’m not used to going that hard. If I go any faster, I'll have to run. I don't think my joints are ready for pounding just yet.
I’m doing better at talking to people - chatting up naked strangers has never been my forte -- everyone is friendly, but I think the regulars are waiting for the New Year’s resolution crowd to shake out and see who stays.
I’m determined to be one of them.
The shower felt great and when I arrived home, I was greeted by the kind of full moon that can only happen on crystal clear Kentucky winter nights. It wasn't the Blue Moon Bill Monroe sang about, but it kep' on shinin'just the same.
Came home from work on Friday feeling a little sore and tired, so I gave myself permission to take the night off.
Next morning, Saturday, the heel blister had toughened up and I felt much better. Frigid temps came to the Bluegrass at last. I spent almost half the morning in the gym.
I had my first consultation with a trainer yesterday. Sobering, to say the least. Turns out I underestimated my weight. Oh, well -- it will just make the “after” picture that much more impressive.
My trainer talked to me about nutrition, then taught me a strength/resistance routine. It isn’t much, but I could definitely feel it by the time we were through.
Mrs P (check out her new blog) had the car, so I walked some more on the treadmill till she picked me up. Got home, took a brief nap, then worked on the house for a few hours. Good to be productive. Good Good Good.
Today, I worked on a log for most of the day. (Charlie says a log is a big help) I’m doing it in Filemaker Pro for fun and to keep my chops up on the program.
Made it to the gym 25 minutes before closing and knocked out a mile at 4.4 mph. My fastest sustained walk of the week.
It will be a long time before anyone else can see improvement, but I can feel it already. I’m glad I lived to see it.
I was the beneficiary of a handsome young man's kindness today.
After a difficult workout (tired, clumsy, distracted, shoe came untied, heart rate too high) I was sitting at my locker staring blankly into my water bottle. A fellow with a pony tail and what appeared to my un-bespectacled eyes to be a pair of Mickey Mouse lounge pants came in to get his towel.
"How ya doing?", he asked.
"I feel old," I grunted with as much of a smile as I could muster.
"Don't let it get to you -- it won't last long."
He could have blown me off, but he recognized a beginner having a rough night, and took the time to offer a kind word. That changed a lousy trip to the gym into a great one.
I have been packing enough crap to spend the weekend. I can hardly get it into my locker. Small backpack with shoes, shorts, shirt, towel, water bottle, iPod, ahampoo, body wash, puffy scrubby thing, deodorant -- and of course, a nylon bag to throw all the wet stuff in when I'm done.
This is stupid.
I went looking for gym bags on line because my first impulse when faced with a problem is to either read about it or buy something. Screw it. Tonight I just rolled some stuff up in a towel and left the luggage in the car. Wait, forgot my shoes. Back. Wait, forgot my little key tag bar coded id thingy. Back. Wait, I forgot my iPod. I left it in the player at the office. No jams!
The jams are important. Without my personal soundtrack, walking was more like work than before, though I managed to keep the treadmill running for the entire two miles (dragging your feet apparently trips a safety feature.) The cardio monitor was not functioning so I didn't have that data to distract me. I concentrated on picking up my feet and driving the belt back with each stride. Mrs P joined me. She made about half a dozen new friends. I grunted at a couple of guys I'd never met before. She's sort of the friendly one in the Pennsy family.
I listened to my breath, tried to ignore ESPN micro-analyzing the NFL playoffs, watched some people work on the weight machines. I saw a woman spinning a jump rope like she was trying to generate electricity. Some of these people intimidate me, but mostly I admire the work they put in and the way their bodies reward them.
It was a good day at the gym. I did miss the jams, though.
In a half hour on the treadmill today, I put in two miles - I worry that I'm not pushing the way I should, but my strategy is to increase my distance at a comfortable pace, then try to work running into the routine. And I really don't want to get hurt or discouraged in the first week - the mirrors do plenty of both.
What I noticed, or rather didn't notice, was that I got to the end of my workout and could not recall having a single thought. I wasn't re-hashing work. I wasn't planning or evaluating or even contemplating. I was just putting one foot in front of the other.
I find this conscious unconsciousness extremely gratifying. It feels great to put my legs to work and my mind to rest. I actually resent the distraction of the TVs hanging from the ceiling. And when I'm moving, I forget how fat and stupid I look. I see people around me working, pumping the eliptical machines, running, pedaling, banging weights.
It feels good to forget for a little while. I'm glad I'm doing this.
I went to the gym at lunch today. It felt like the first "real" trip to the gym since it was during the work week and Mrs P was not with me and there were more people going about their gym-business.
I was really surprised at how good I felt after walking yesterday. I guess I expected exercise to improve my energy and outlook, so that's what happened. I hit the gym feeling really good about myself as I walked through the afternoon dusting of snow towards the glass door.
When I opened it, I noticed that the treadmill I used yesterday was jacked up on a milk crate and had a big "Out of Order" sign on it. For a minute I wondered if I had broken the thing because I'm so fat, but I put that out of my mind. That's the kind of negative thinking that makes a fat man eat. Bad plan.
I made my way to the locker room. Now I have been working in the theatre at one level or another since the third grade. I am accustomed to dressing in front of people. I even undressed on stage many pounds ago. When I entered the locker room, there were two men talking. We nodded and grunted at one another, and I shucked off my drawers. Not so bad. I managed to dig through my back pack to find the shorts and tee-shirt - got my iPod cued up - hung all my work clothes up in the locker, and grabbed my towel.
OK, glasses? No. Water bottle? I don't want to look like a dork, carrying a water bottle around, but then I don't want to look like a newbie passed out at the foot of my treadmill because I didn't have the sense to hydrate like I should. I pondered the bottle in my hand. It felt cool. I imagined myself chugging from it as I ground out the miles on my faithful treadmill. I pictured dropping it onto the belt, stopping to pick it up, and being flung backwards through the plate glass window and into the snow crusted mulch.
I left the bottle in my locker.
I made my way to the long row of treadmills, nodding and grunting my way past the other mid-day gym-rats. They were all dressed better than I and were much fitter than I and I thought to myself, "Well, if I didn't look so bad, I wouldn't be here now would I?" This thought made me feel better.
I walked past yesterdays wounded steed and chose a new machine. This one was in front of a TV broadcasting business "news". I fired up the treadmill like a veteran. Choosing an apropriate arm-up speed, I started my ipod rolling and I was off. Soon I was hiking along at my chosen speed, and I was pleased to see that my heart rate was much more comfortable today. I was swinging my arms, standing tall, and breathing deep as Taj Mahal crooned Honky Tonk Woman in my ears. Five minutes in, and feeling great.
Ten minutes in and I had broken a good sweat, but the heart was still at a nice 146, 147 bpm. I felt like I could go all day.
Fifteen minutes, my first mile, and I feel like a million bucks. It's crazy that I should feel this good after only two sessions, but things are clearly going great. I am feeling really good about myself.
At around 17:40 the belt stopped abruptly. I caught myself just in time to avoid striding into the console and grabbed the side rails to keep from falling. I looked down and the surface below me was rolling gently forward - not smoothly back as I had hoped. I clicked the stop button. It stopped. I clicked the start button. It labored back into action, but without any power. I also noticed that where just moments before the console had proudly proclaimed that I was speeding along at "4" of some unit of measure, there were now flashing lights repeating Err4...Err4...Err4 like a stammering dodgeball bully. I looked around quickly. Oh my God! I just broke another treadmill! Had anyone seen? Should I just walk away? Would the burly men with the shaved heads come burling up to ask me to leave quietly? Was I actually going to have to go tell someone that I had just broken a freaking treadmill?
No one had noticed. I tried the buttons a few more times, glancing around hoping that someone would come to my rescue. No luck. I had to go to the very pleasant woman at the counter and tell her.
"I just broke your treadmill. Am I too heavy for that machine?"
She never even seemed to take the question seriously. "Oh, I don't see how. They just get funny sometimes." I mumbled something about the "Out of Order" machine. She said something about a new belt. My vision was a blur of shame and sweat. We stood on either side of my second victim in two days. She pushed buttons while I wished desparately for a new rope and a stout beam. Finally she said "I'll be right back." and zipped away, leaving me alone at the scene of my crime. I could swear I smelled burned rubber as I stood there watching all the young beautiful people running, lifting, twisting. I could not have felt more clumsy or stupid if I had come out of the locker room without my pants on.
My kind friend returned with - a burly man with a shaved head. I imagined the look he would give me as he sized me up quickly before delivering a humiliating kick to some gelatinous bulge in my nether regions. Instead, he looked at the console and clicked the start button. The three of us watched as the belt purred into action, the ever encouraging lights letting the invisible runner know that they were sprinting along as a speed of "0.5". The burly man gave me a quick smile. "Working fine now."
"Well. I guess that's it then." the kind lady said and they returned to their posts--- and so did I. I finished my walk, two miles today -- though I noticed that my heart rate was a little higher after the break.
Peace, b
1/14/08, Snowing lightly Walking, Treadmill, Flat 2 miles 00:30:00 Max HR 151 Resting HR 104
I have avoided posts about myself because ... oh, I don't know. Maybe I just want to feel important and smart. It's easier to be cosmic than to be real.
Anyway, I've decided to break that policy in order to journal an adventure that I hope will last for the rest of my life. Mrs Pennsy and I joined a gym yesterday.
Let me put this into perspective - I am 47 years old, 6'-4" tall and weigh 374 lbs. That's a body mass index of 45.5. That number is not an accident. It is a consequence of a lifetime of choices - some good, mostly bad. A lot of destructive habits produced this body, and I sort of hope I can change the results by changing my behavior.
I will still bloviate about God, the Universe and All That from time to time at Pennsyltuckian. My relationship with my Creator is one of the primary reasons I have started off on this adventure. I'd sort of like to be able to tell God that I did something with the healthy, strong body I was blessed with besides filling it with chocolate and potato chips.
Actually, there are several things I'd like to be able to do. I'd like to live long enough to retire, for example.
So off I go. Maybe my story will inspire someone else, as I have been inspired. I certainly hope that by putting myself "out there" I can develop a sense of accountability to someone - even if no one else reads. I really want to succeed this time.
Peace, Pennsy
1/13/08, Rainy & Cold 374 lbs Treadmill walk 1.25 mi 0:25 min 180 Max HR
Today I am beginning a new blog project I'm calling Fat Man Running. I have avoided posts about myself because ... oh, I don't know. Maybe I just want to feel important and smart. It's easier to be cosmic than to be real.
Anyway, I've decided to break that policy in order to journal an adventure that I hope will last for the rest of my life. Mrs Pennsy and I joined a gym yesterday.
Let me put this into perspective - I am 47 years old, 6'-4" tall and weigh 374 lbs. That's a body mass index of 45.5. That number is not an accident. It is a consequence of a lifetime of choices - some good, mostly bad. A lot of destructive habits produced this body, and I sort of hope I can change the results by changing my behavior.
I will still bloviate about God, the Universe and All That in this space. My relationship with my Creator is one of the primary reasons I have started off on this adventure. I'd sort of like to be able to tell God that I did something with the healthy, strong body I was blessed with besides filling it with chocolate and potato chips.
Actually, there are several things I'd like to be able to do. I'd like to live long enough to retire, for example.
So off I go. Maybe my story will inspire someone else, as I have been inspired. I certainly hope that by putting myself "out there" I can develop a sense of accountability to someone - even if no one else reads. I really want to succeed this time.
Peace, Pennsy
1/13/08, Rainy & Cold 374 lbs Treadmill walk 1.25 mi 0:25 min 180 Max HR
On January 1, the eighth day after Christmas, we remember the day Joseph & Mary's child was circumcised and named.
And when eight days were accomplished for the circumcising of the child, his name was called JESUS, which was so named of the angel before he was conceived in the womb. (Luke 2:21)
They obeyed the command that both had received from holy messengers. In Luke's gospel, the angel tells Mary
Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God. And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name JESUS. He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the most high. (Luke:30 (b) - 32 (a))
In Matthew, Joseph is told not to abandon his pregnant finace with the promise
Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins. (Matthew 1:20 (b) - 21)
The name of the child was important enough that both evangelists tell us that it was given to his parents by angels. In English, we identify that name with the man Jesus of Nazareth, but to Jesus' own people, his name was filled with meaning.
The name that we translate into Jesus was Yeshua in Hebrew. It is actually a familiar version of the name Yehoshua. It means "Lord (or Jehovah) who is salvation)."
In English, we might call a child Faith or Godfrey or Regis if we wanted to give them a name that sounded particularly pious or royal. Any author chooses character names carefully because of what they say about the person who bears them. Oliver Twist or Billy Pilgrim are names that tell you something about the character before you even meet them.
So it is with the name of Jesus. It was not a rare name in Hebrew culture, but it was a special one.
If the life of Jesus is a story, then God is that story's author. God chose Jesus name deliberately so that "Jehovah" and "salvation" would be present in the mind of the listener whenever that name was mentioned.
In time, he came to be known as Jesus Christ, but Christ is not a name, rather it is a title, from the Greek christos which is the translation of the Hebrew messias meaning "anointed one." In the gospels, the evangelists refer to Jesus the Christ. After the resurrection, the early Christians transformed Jesus Christ or Christ Jesus into a single proper name, not unlike Julius Caesar.
So what's in Jesus' name? Not a magic spell that grants us wishes when we pray "in Jesus' name." Instead, his name honors both his heavenly father, and the world whose salvation he came to effect. Just as Jesus was both God and human, so also his name spans two dimensions - Jesus the man and Jesus the name are both links between the creator and creation. The name Jesus testifies to the radical love God has for the world.
The Church has wept many a crocodile tear over the War on Christmas - a bogeyman invented by marketeers with a genius for demagogury. Their story goes that the secular humanists hate Christ and Christmas so much that they would like to stuff them both back up the chimbley and dump them off the top of Mount Crumpet. Instead of costuming themselves as St Nick, these Grinches have fashioned a hat and a coat out of the so-called separation of church and state.
Now, I'm sure that the war on Christmas has been a great fund-raiser for somebody, but behind the cynical smokescreen hides a truth that the Church dreads even more than her imaginary conspiracies - I refer to this: Christmas belongs to the world, not to the church. I will weep through Silent Night with the best of them as the candles light the darkened sanctuary on Christmas Eve, but in my heart I have to admit that Christ's incarnation must have been done with more than this comforting ritual in mind.
Our great fear may be not that we will lose Christmas, but rather that we will loose ownership of Christmas. Because the church belongs to Jesus, we feel that the opposite should be true - Jesus should belong to us. But God's heart is too great to be contained in so small a vessel as Christianity. The secular world seems determined to wrest Christmas from our grasp. Perhaps it is doing God's work. God may be moving to restore stewardship of Christ's nativity to the world to whom it was given. Our grief may be for the loss of an ownership to which we were never entitled.
The world belongs to its Creator. We - that is, the Church - are only a small part of God's plan. We presume too much when we insist that Christmas must be as we see fit.
And so I take up my pen (this message was drafted the old-fashioned way, in honor of the day. ed.) on this clear Bluegrass morning to praise a more secular Christmas.
Luke's narrative describes the root of God's Christmas tree, but the fruit is not buried in the dark soil - it is out in the light. Many of the sweetest of those fruits are secular, not religious. The evangelists of this secular Christmas are known to every American and to many parts of the rest of the world: not only Dr. Luke, but also Dr. Seuss and Charles Dickens and Clement Moore. The creche reminds us what Christmas is, but George Bailey's wonderful life teaches us what it means.
Linus knows that Christmas is all about shepherds and a manger - he also knows that it is all about compassion for blockheads. The Grinch, with his hand cupped to his ear, learns that Christmas comes without packages, boxes, or bags. Somehow or other, It comes just the same without these things.
The true meaning of Christmas is not the fact of the incarnation, it is the fruit of that holy event. Because God became humble and was laid in a manger, Christmas is the day when we ought to remember to walk humbly among God's children.
At the end of the year, there are three great holidays in Christian America. At Thanksgiving we celebrate creation - giving thanks for all the things that we have.
On New Years Eve we celebrate life - rejoicing in the great wheel of birth and death that frees us from yesterday and allows us to hope for tomorrow as we remember the Auld and welcome the New with banging pots, popping corks, and laughter at ourselves in our funny hats.
And here at the center of the holidays is Christmas - the high holy day when the delight of receiving a present is exceeded by watching our loved one's eyes light with happiness at they accept our gift to them.
In that joyful moment, we encounter the true meaning of Christmas. This is the day when we celebrate one another. At Christmas, our joy comes from what we give, not what we receive. I hand you your beautiful combs and you give me my watch fob and what passes between us is more precious that those expensive, useless trinkets. We have given a part of ourselves to one another . If only for a moment, we have given one another the fleeting, loving gift of happiness.
The secular world owns the manger because Christmas belongs to the world.On that holy,silent night,a man and a woman gave the best of themselves to God, to one another, and to the world. When shepherds came to see what had happened, the spirit of Christmas was there in their joyful faces.For a few hours in a stable in Bethlehem yesterday's troubles and tomorrow's terrors were put aside. For a few hours, grown men and women gazed in wonder at a beautiful gift - and God's heart will filled with the joy of a child who has given his best, and brought it happiness to the receiver.
Keep Christmas in your own way Church, and let the world keep it in hers. Secular Christmas has done us good, and will do us good and I say God bless it. God bless Blockheads and Grinches - lonely misers and disappointed Building and Loan executives - snowmen who can talk and reindeer who don't fit in and jolly old elves. God bless us, all whos far and near. May God bless you and me this Christmas and may each of us know the joy of giving.
A prison cell, in which one waits, hopes… and is completely dependent on the fact that the door of freedom has to be opened from the outside, is not a bad picture of Advent. Dietrich Bonhoeffer
I think of Matthew as the great storyteller among the evangelists. In my imagination, Mark's action packed gospel makes him God's screen writer, while Luke's chronicles of the life of Christ and the early church remind me of Homer's epic poetry. Mystical John stands outside the narrative tradition of the other three - his story is one of cosmic forces colliding. Together, they form the Gospels - and at the beginning of Matthew, just after the story of Jesus' birth, we meet John the Baptizer. Like a Shakespearian prologue, John sets the scene for the drama that is to come. His appearance, illustrated in this 6th century Byzantine icon, is as memorable as any Greek chorus could ever be.
In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near." This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said,
"The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: `Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.'"
Now John wore clothing of camel's hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey. Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan, and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.
But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for baptism, he said to them, "You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Do not presume to say to yourselves, `We have Abraham as our ancestor'; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.
"I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire." Matthew 3:1-12
In the quiet Advent season of waiting, I was startled to hear John's warning about the ax at the root. There are roots in my life's tree that have grown long and deep. I am comfortable with them. They define me. I don't mind lining up to be washed in the Christmas river like the pharisees at John's riverside revival meeting, but I am not so excited about having parts of me chopped away and thrown into unquenchable fire.
Just when I'm starting to get cozy with hot chocolate evenings in my big chair, Mrs P across the room reading quietly, Sniffy the cat snoozing on my chest, visions of sugar plumbs and all that -that's when the crazy man in the camel hair coat and the honey breath reminds me that the Gospel isn't just about salvation, it is also about change. I can wade in the water of John's baptism if I wish, but I have to be prepared for the consequences of that bath. Advent is more than just a way to "holy-up" the weeks before Christmas. Advent is time to let go. A child is coming who will gather up the dry husks and chaff -the dead, useless by-products of my life - and throw them into the fire.
I can choose to let go of the useless things that comfort me.
Or I can choose to be destroyed with them.
That's straight talk from a wild man in the desert. Not exactly the stuff holiday TV specials are made of, but it is an important part of the Christmas story. Whoever encounters the Baptizer in the Jordan or the Babe in the manger is confronted with a choice - live as if these stories were fables, or as if they were true.
Confronting the implications of Christ's incarnation for my life may begin with a sprinkle, a splash, or a dunk in the river - but discipleship does not end there.
God, grant me the vision to recognize the chaff in my own life, and the grace to accept your judgment as you cast it away to make me your more perfect servant.
The end of all things is near; therefore be serious and discipline yourselves for the sake of your prayers. Above all, maintain constant love for one another, for love covers a multitude of sins. Be hospitable to one another without complaining. Like good stewards of the manifold grace of God, serve one another with whatever gift each of you has received. Whoever speaks must do so as one speaking the very words of God; whoever serves must do so with the strength that God supplies, so that God may be glorified in all things through Jesus Christ. To him belong the glory and the power forever and ever. Amen. Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that is taking place among you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice insofar as you are sharing Christ's sufferings, so that you may also be glad and shout for joy when his glory is revealed. 1 Peter 4:7-13 (NRSV)
As usual, the wisdom of the lectionary amazes me. This is part of the epistle from today's Daily Office.
Today is World AIDS Day. I remember the first article I read in Time or USNews about some sort of "gay cancer" that was killing young men in terrible ways. The connection between the community and the suffering gave license to many of our culture's deepest fears and prejudices. The problem was not the disease - the problem was the behavior. Righteousness distracted us from doing right.
And so many, too many died without the church's loving presence.
Now things are different. Celebrities have kept AIDS in the public's consciousness. Experience has taught us that HIV doesn't just kill gay men. Decades of research have made "living with AIDS" more than just a euphemism. Like so many cruel diseases, there still isn't a cure - but there is more hope and less ignorance than there used to be.
Peter was not writing about a disease, he was writing to a persecuted church who suffered at the hands of righteous people. His counsel? Love one another. Cover one another's sins with the love of God. Be stewards of one another, for the steward of another's heart cares for a child of God. Offer holy hospitality, speak godly words, serve as Christ did, with all the strength God gives you because serving one another gives glory to God.
So much of the church's initial response to AIDS was not about the disease either. It was about sins and sinners. Many offered shame in the place of service - condemnation instead of compassion. As a consequence, the people who needed Christ's church the most were pushed away. Such failure of charity grieves God's heart.
Peter's exhortation to rejoice in suffering is a tough pill to swallow. On the one hand, we feel ashamed to compare our suffering to Christ's. At the same time, few of us are faithful enough to keep our eyes on Jesus when our own bodies or minds are in pain.
A friend of mine who lives with deep depression episodes once told me that the one thing that comforted her at her darkest hour was knowing that the darkness would not last forever. Our suffering, and the pain of those who love us is not an eternal curse. In the glory of God our trials will come to an end.
While Peter seems to joyfully anticipate the end of the world, he also gives good counsel for the time between now and then. As long as it is possible to glorify God, it is possible to rejoice, even in our own brokenness.
As they were leaving Jericho, a large crowd followed him. There were two blind men sitting by the roadside. When they heard that Jesus was passing by, they shouted, "Lord, have mercy on us, Son of David!" The crowd sternly ordered them to be quiet; but they shouted even more loudly, "Have mercy on us, Lord, Son of David!" Jesus stood still and called them, saying, "What do you want me to do for you?" They said to him, "Lord, let our eyes be opened." Moved with compassion, Jesus touched their eyes. Immediately they regained their sight and followed him. Matthew 20:29-34 (NRSV)
The blind men in today's gospel remind me of two things - persistence and faith. I have had friends who refused to let the disease define them. They were not victims of HIV, and they did not allow themselves to be labeled as people with AIDS. They found the courage to insist on living - the virus was incidental, not central to their lives. Their strength and will to go on was not a cry for mercy, but a demand to be allowed to exist. Like the blind men from Jericho, they refused to be discouraged or shouted down. They knew that Jesus would feel their suffering. They believed in life, and many of them believed in Jesus. Though their bodies failed them. their faith never did, and I believe Jesus never did either.
Our compassionate savior suffers with us and desires the health of our hearts as well as our minds and bodies. My friends' hearts are no longer under my stewardship, they are in the arms of Jesus. I pray that God will judge my service to them to have been faithful.
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