May 27th, 2009: Muscle-Bound Log #4: Responsibility is Control

     I try not to manufacture excuses about my weight, but diets make me nervous. When discussing them, I’m the first to admit that I lost weight on them before, but then I gained it all back. Never mind that either the diets were too radical or that they weren’t bad approaches (I just approached them badly). Regardless, I avoid excuses when I can. Taking responsibility for something is my way of controlling it as well.

     I’d just received my diet plan from Marshal, one of my trainers at Fitness Factory. This was after my first work-out with him when I was dragging and completely exhausted from the new routine. Maybe I should have been paying better attention, but I was flat-out broke-down from my session so I didn’t question what I was being handed too deeply. I showed my father the eating plan later that morning and we went over it together. He’s a retired doctor and a former dietician; he gives me sound medical advice and I’ve got every reason to trust him. Everything looked okay, but something was bothering him. Then he realized the problem.

     Six meals a day… okay, fine. We understood the principle from Atkins. It’s called grazing and it’s a way to keep your blood sugar low (with the right foods; the wrong foods will spike your blood sugar and lead you to nibble more or to crash) and your metabolism active (again… food choice). The problem came with the quantities.

● Protein count for the day was 120 grams (6/6 meals x 20 grams of protein).

● Carbohydrate count was at 200 grams (4/6 meals x 50 grams of carbs).

● Fat count was at 10 grams of fat (2/6 meals x 5 grams of healthy fats)

● As much green veggies like lettuce and broccoli as I wanted.

    When my father eyeballed the figures, however, he estimated that I was only ingesting about 1400 calories. That’s barely enough for someone half my size and it meant that the diet was going to chew through my muscles. Body builders eat about 1 gram of protein per pound of muscle and about 30 calories per pound of body weight. I was no where near that. And even without the exercise, I was still miles from my minimum requirements on a diet.

     So, I went back to the gym to discuss it with my two trainers, Matt (who I now call Marshal) and Matt (see why the other guy is Marshal?), and we took this up to their boss. Turns out that the figures were off… it was supposed to be 180 grams of protein a day (6/6 meals x 30 grams of protein each, not x 20), a typo that resulted in 60 protein grams lost. That said, Fitness Factory informed me that the diet had nothing to do with calories.

    The regimen I’m on is a weight-lifter’s diet. The goal is to burn fat while building up the lean muscle mass. It’s to salvage my muscles from beneath my weight, and losing weight is a by-product of the process.

     Okay, now it makes more sense, but I realized… I have to be a lot more critical with my approach to food. It’s the only way to learn. It’s the only way not to be victimized by the process of weight loss again. And the first step in that regard was to start reading more. I had to know what I was talking about when it came to my own health because that one little typo could have cost me the whole effort.

    Unfortunately, we are as a society wilfully ignorant of our own diets, me included. We rarely check the ingredients of products because of what we might read, or because we don’t understand everything we see. I think part of that is the fear of what that knowledge brings… knowing right from wrong means being more responsible for ourselves. Or we allow ourselves to become victimized by our foods. Food choice becomes the abusive lover whose ultimatum is: Lose my sweetness forever or endure my abuse.

    Well, I stayed years enduring it because I thought of myself as a victim. I had no choice, I told myself. I was predisposed to being overweight. I loved food too much. I had no willpower. I couldn’t live without certain things. I was addicted. I loved it fried and greasy and fatty and rich with sugars. Why couldn’t I eat what skinnier friends were indulging in and not suffering for it? Heck, I still salivate at the thought of a juicy 747 burger dressed in bacon and dripping cheese, or a Dolce Piu hazelnut cream pastry. But admitting I had control over my circumstances also meant admitting responsibility for my actions when it would have been so much easier to eat myself senseless, and I couldn’t abide that any longer.

     Part of my decision to lose weight and get in shape was me taking control of my life, taking responsibility for something in my power to manage. No more excuses. No more waiting to live life because I didn’t have the stamina to do it while I was overweight. And it remains a struggle, but momentum is on my side and I like being a responsible human being, even if I only have myself to answer to.