મેદસ્વીપણું દૂર કરતા યોગાસન – Loose weight by Yoga

મેદસ્વીપણું એ આધુનિક યુગની તંદુરસ્તીને લગતી સૌથી મોટી સમસ્યા છે અને તે ઘણાં ગંભીર અને જીવલેણ રોગોનું મુખ્ય કારણ છે. મેદસ્વીતાને કારણે બ્લડ પ્રેશર, હૃદયની બિમારીઓ, ડાયાબિટીસ જેવી બિમારીઓ ઘર કરે છે. બાળપણમાં પૂરતું ધ્યાન ના અપાયું હોય, તો શરીરનું વજન ક્રમશઃ વધવા માંડે છે. સમય જતાં વજન ઘણું જ વધી જાય છે. પ્રમાણસર આહાર, વ્યવસ્થિત જીવનશૈલી અને નિયમિતપણે યોગાસન કરવાથી મેદસ્વીપણાથી કાયમી છૂટકારો મેળવી શકાય છે. એટલું જ નહીં, ઉપર જણાવેલા દરદો પણ મટી શકે છે. યોગાસનથી તમામ પ્રકારની બિમારીઓમાં ઘણી રાહત મળે છે. મેદ ઉતારવાના કેટલાંક આસન અહીં આપવામાં આવ્યા છેઃ

દ્વિચક્રિકાસન

પદ્ધતિ

૧. જમીન પર ચત્તા સૂઈ જાઓ. એક પગ ઊંચો કરીને સાઇકલ ચલાવતા હોવ તેવી રીતે તેને ફેરવો. આવું ૧૦થી ૩૦ વખત કરો. ત્યાર પછી બીજો પગ ઉઠાવીને તેવી રીતે ફેરવો. પગ ફેરવતી વખતે તે પણ જમીનને ના અડકે તેનું ધ્યાન રાખવું.

૨. થાક લાગે, તો પગ જમીન ઉપર રાખીને થોડો આરામ કરવો અને આ એક્સરસાઇઝ ઊંધી દિશામાં કરવી. જો થાક લાગે, તો ફરીથી થોડો આરામ કરી લેવો.

૩. પહેલાં વારાફરતી પગ ફેરવ્યા પછી બંને પગ સાથે સાઇકલ ચલાવતા હોવ તેવી રીતે ફેરવવા. થોડી વાર પછી અવળી દિશામાં ફેરવવા. આવું તમારી શક્તિ અનુસાર પાંચથી ૧૦ વખત કરવું.

લાભઃ ૧. વજન ઉતારવા માટેની આ શ્રેષ્ઠ કસરત છે. આ આસન નિયમિતપણે પાંચથી દસ મિનિટ સુધી કરવાથી બિનજરુરી ચરબી દૂર થાય છે અને વજન ઝડપથી ઘટે છે.

૨. આ આસન કરવાથી પેટની ચરબી દૂર થાય છે અને પેટ સુડોળ બને છે. મરડો, કબજિયાત અને એસિડિટી જેવા દરદો દૂર થાય છે.

૩. પીઠના દુખાવાની સમસ્યા હોય તેમણે આ એક્સરસાઇઝ બંને પગ એકસાથે રાખીને કરવી નહીં. વારાફરતી એક-એક પગથી કસરત કરવી. આમ કરવાથી પીઠના દુખાવામાં પણ રાહત મળશે.

પાદવૃત્તાસન

પદ્ધતિ

૧. જમીન પર ચત્તા સૂઈ જાવ. જમણો પગ ઊંચો કરો અને પગને ઘડિયાળની માફક ગોળાકાર ફેરવો. પગને જમીન પર અડકાડયા વિના પાંચથી ૨૦ વખત આ કસરત કરો.

૨. એક દિશામાં ફેરવ્યા પછી દિશા બદલો. વચ્ચે થાક લાગે ત્યારે પગ જમીન ઉપર રાખીને આરામ કરી લેવો. ત્યાર પછી બીજો પગ ઉઠાવીને આ કસરત કરવી.

૩. એક-એક પગે આ કસરત કરી લીધા પછી બંને પગ સાથે રાખીને આ કસરત કરવી. બંને પગ સાથે બને તેટલું મોટું ગોળ બનાવવું. એક દિશામાં ફેરવી લીધા બાદ બંને પગને સાથે રાખીને બીજી દિશામાં ફેરવવા.

લાભઃ ૧. આ આસન પણ વજન ઘટાડવામાં મદદરુપ બને છે.

૨. આ આસન કરવાથી ખાસ કરીને નિતંબ, સાથળ અને કમર ઉપર જમા થયેલી વધારાની ચરબી દૂર થાય છે અને પેટ સુડોળ બને છે.

અર્ધ હલાસન

પદ્ધતિ

આ આસન ઉત્તાનપાદાસન જેવું જ છે, ફરક માત્ર એટલો છે કે ઉત્તાનપાદાસનમાં પગ ૩૦ ડિગ્રીએ ઊંચા કરવામાં આવે છે, જ્યારે અર્ધ હલાસનમાં બંને પગ ૯૦ ડિગ્રીએ ઊંચા કરવામાં આવે છે.

૧. જમીન ઉપર ચત્તા સૂઈ જાવ. બંને હાથને શરીર સાથે સીધા જમીન પર અડાડી રાખો અને હથેળી જમીન પર રાખવી. બંને પગને સીધા અને એકબીજાની નજીક રાખો.

૨. શ્વાસ લઈને હળવેકથી બંને પગને જમીન પરથી ઉઠાવીને ૯૦ ડિગ્રી સુધી લઈ જાવ અને આ પોઝિશન થોડા સમય સુધી જાળવી રાખો. પગ ઊંચા કરતી વખતે તે ઢીંચણથી વળી ના જાય તેનું ધ્યાન રાખવું.

૩. પછી હળવેકથી પગ નીચા લાવવા. આમ કરતી વખતે આંચકો ના લાગે તેનું ધ્યાન રાખવું. પગ જમીન પર લાવ્યા પછી થોડો આરામ કરવો. આવું છ વખત કરવું.

૪. પીઠનો દુખાવો હોય તેવી વ્યક્તિઓએ એક જ પગ ઉઠાવીને આ કસરત કરવી. એક પગની કસરત કરી લીધા બાદ તેને જમીન પર મૂકી દીધા બાદ બીજા પગે આ કસરત કરવી.

લાભઃ
૧. વજન ઘટાડવામાં આ આસન મદદરુપ છે.

૨. કબજિયાત, ગેસની ફરિયાદ દૂર થાય છે.

૩. નાભિ ખસતી હોય તેવી સમસ્યા માટે આ આસન લાભદાયી છે. ઉપરાંત, હૃદયની બિમારીઓ, પેટનો દુખાવો તેમજ શ્વાસોચ્છવાસની બિમારીમાં પણ રાહત મળે છે.

૪. પીઠના દુખાવામાં એક જ પગે કસરત કરવી લાભદાયી છે.

Source : sandesh.com

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by Kristin Blank

At my first Weight Watchers meeting in January 2001, my sister Jennifer and I waited to step on the electronic scale.  I observed the other women waiting:  some looked too skinny to be there; others looked just like me, massive, with flabby skin sweaty with the exhaustion of hauling ourselves around.

I’d been overweight my whole life, and at 21 years old, I was done being the “Fat Girl.”  That day, I was racked with anxiety.  It embarrassed me when even my doctor read the scale, but I closed my eyes and stepped up.  The woman behind the counter filled in my “Starting Weight” box.  238 lbs.  My throat closed.  Oh God, I thought.  Don’t cry, don’t cry.

I knew my body was larger than others.  But seeing that number innocently staring up at me cemented it in my mind—I was fat, huge, massive.  I can’t do this, I thought, this is too much. I pushed down these thoughts that I knew would make me fail before I even began.  I glanced at Jenn’s paper and saw 220 lbs., then showed her mine, clenching my jaw to ward off the still-threatening tears.  Neither of us could believe I weighed that much.

*

Later, I logged on to the Weight Watchers website and tried out the tools.  I checked the charts that told what my healthy weight was:  at 5’5”, I should weigh about 135 pounds—at least a hundred pounds had to go.

I clicked to find out my Body Mass Index.  I needed to face the truth, just like I needed to face that Starting Weight box.  I entered my height and current weight and waited for the computer to process.  Your BMI is 39.7.  According to the explanatory paragraph, a BMI of 20–25 is healthy and a BMI over 30 is considered “very overweight (obese).”

I scored nearly ten points above “obese,” which meant I was unbelievably obese, send-in-the-clowns obese, morbidly obese.  I’d never defined myself by that term—who wanted to call themselves morbidly anything?  Morbid means rotten, near death, overwhelmingly odorous, gruesome, or somehow psychologically depraved.  The woman thought the man morbid because he pinned live insects to cardboard and watched them writhe.  To be morbidly obese meant to be hopeless, disgusting, fit to be examined beneath glass but never touched with bare hands.

*

And then, I was thin.  In hindsight, the transformation feels instantaneous.  In reality, it took about a year until I was satisfied with my body.  In hindsight, it seems effortless.  I followed the program and weight fell off me in little bunches and that was that—the Fat Girl was gone.  At least from the naked eye.

Once, I ran into someone who hadn’t seen me throughout my entire weight loss.  He didn’t even recognize me until I spoke.  Totally new person to him.

And yet, my grandmother said, “You look so much better than you used to.”  Totally repaired person to her.

I never owned my fatness.  I never celebrated it the way some people seem able to do.  I never stood nude before a mirror and said, “Yes, this is me.  I am the bounteous rolls of flesh, I am the thickness of supple thighs, the curves of soft shoulders, the roundness of these hips, the woman of these DD-cup breasts.”

Instead, I didn’t look at my body except in shame and told myself that I was just like all my thin friends.  I was awkward in my fatness, because I didn’t wield it like the weapon it can be in the hands of a girl who doesn’t let the body she has stand in the way of the person she is.  By getting thin, I felt I was excavating from the caverns of fat the girl I really was.  With each pound gone, I felt I was getting closer to her, getting closer to me.

*

At size eight, one could say, I have arrived.  I am at ease in public.  I can concentrate on the book in my hands or the sidewalk beneath my feet because I don’t worry if someone is wondering why that Fat Girl can’t get control of herself.

In many ways, I have become invisible.

Yet, I am seen.  I am seen for my dark brown eyes and shiny auburn hair.  For my slender pianist’s fingers and rosy cheeks.  For my easy smile and sense of humor.

For these things that were there all along.

Kristin Blank earned her Master of Fine Arts degree in creative writing from American University in Washington, DC.  Her work has appeared in the Washington Post, the Vermillion Literary Project, and on BettyConfidential.com.  She currently lives in Maryland.

But Funny.

We need to talk.  I have a confession to make.    I’m no longer in love with you.   You did nothing wrong.  In fact, you were always there for me when I needed you.  Straight out of the box, or my favorite, toasted.  It’s me.  Not you.  No, no it’s all my fault.  See, I’ve found someone else.  I’ve found someone else to replace your ooey, gooey goodness.  And I couldn’t be anymore flipping happy about it! 

I’ve found me.  Maybe not the whole-I’m-the-best-woman/mom/wife/friend-I-can-be-me, but I’m getting close.  I catch little glimpses of her throughout the day.  Today I saw her on the playground with my little girl.  Sliding down the slide and hefting herself up steps and over rope bridges.  I saw her yesterday when I got home from work and instead of wanting to lay down and take a nap, I saw her pull weeds and mow the lawn. 

I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that I can no longer be your girl.  I can no longer take you home with me because honestly, I don’t want you there.  When I get the craving for something sweet you’re no longer the one I reach for.  I’d rather have a bowl of strawberries or some yogurt.  I’ve moved on and I think you should too.    I know you hate to be alone but you’ll find somebody else soon.  After all,  misery loves company.

Hugs & Health,

Michelle

The rain was forgiving, in the sense that it eventually dried up and faded into a lukewarm sunset. The fat girl’s t-shirt, however, was not. It buckled under her shoulder blades and the lines that filled out her back. Her hair hung limp to the side in a ponytail, little wisps of brown hedging down her neck. The bartender was a playwright in disguise. The fat girl wouldn’t be able to fit into a disguise. I wondered what he wrote about her. We made eye contact just once in the mirror and went on ignoring each other, eying the fat girl for note taking and the like—her back to my back, to his back, to the mirror.

the girl who even remotely resembles “Precious” from the new movie

dead giveaways:

-illiteracy

-two incestual bastard children

-3 sets of breast: front, back, and side

-a “can do attitude” proceeded by an absolute lack of motivation in life

- that’s a girl to avoid

“Who stole a cookie from the cookie jar?”  That’s the question I’d always ask myself after grabbing a handful of cookies from the pantry.  Most times I’d eaten half of the chocolately dough by the time I could comprehend that I was actually…sneaking cookies. 

It wasn’t unusual for Michael to be outside the house when I found the “urge” to help myself to a treat.  And when he returned, I felt a sense of guilt but I pushed it under the rug.

The sluggish feeling didn’t bother me because my method of regaining energy was to steal a sugar rush from another cookie.  Michael was usually home by then.  And my “pick-me-ups” didn’t seem to bother him. On occasion he’d comment, “watch out – those things will make you fat.”  Too focused on the present, I never entertained what could come of it.

About a year ago, Michael and I hit a financial rut, and we had to cut down our expenses significantly.  In order to live comfortably, we agreed to cut back our leisure spending to $100 per month.  This included entertainment, eating out, and making unnecessary purchases. Not once did I count the sweet treats that stacked my pantry a leisure item.  In my mind, I had to have the cookies.  And to back it up, I’d convince Michael that if I didn’t have them, I’d get cranky and moody.  On occasion he witnessed the effects of me going hours without having the cookies, and…well…let’s just say that before the night ended, he ran to the store and purchased a pack.

It wasn’t three months in to our financial management plan that I noticed the amount of money I was spending on the chocolate chunks exceeded more than my cable bill!  A shame that Michael noticed it before I did.  Apparently he was secretly watching the daily ritual of grabbing what he thought was my first handful of cookies in the afternoons.  He compared that to the amount of times per week he noticed a receipt from the grocery store with the only single item – Grandma’s Baked Cookies next to the $4.99 dollar sign. How embarrassing. I don’t want to be seen as the cookie monster – literally.  Starting tomorrow I’ll be careful to monitor my intake.

Lord help me!

Something is up.  I’m not sure what.

ISC:  Hey.  What’s wrong Fat Girl?

FG:  Inner Skinny Chick, we need to talk.

ISC:  Oh?  That doesn’t sound good.

FG:  It’s not.

ISC:  Well, what do you want to talk about?

FG:  It’s about all these 5 a.m. mornings.

ISC:  Oh. My. God.  I know!  Is she insane or something?

FG:  So, like, you agree with me?

ISC:  Of course!  I may be all for the exercise and stuff, but I also LOVE my SLEEP!

FG:  Well, I’m getting the worse of both sides, because I don’t want to get up from a deep sleep AND exercise!

ISC:  What do you think that we need to do?

FG:  I think that we need to stage a coup!

ISC:  She’s not going to go for it.

FG:  If you talk to her, she will.

ISC:  Me!?!  What am I going to say to her?

FG:  I don’t know!  I’m sure you’ll think of something.

ISC:  Why don’t YOU talk to her?

FG:  I’m the last person she wants to hear from right now.

ISC:  Yeah, I guess maybe you are right.

[later in the day]

ISC:  Martha, we need to talk.

Me:  Oh, hey, ISC!  What do we need to talk about?  It’s about the workouts in the morning, right?

ISC:  YES!  Yes it is!

Me:  Great idea, huh?  I can’t believe that I thought of it all on my own.  I’m so proud of myself!

ISC:  Uh… yeah… listen, about those morning workouts… do you really think it necessary to get up so early?

Me:  Well, I mean… I’m tired, but then again that is the only time I have anymore.  But I’ve been told that once I get into a habit, it’ll become easier.

ISC:  Someone told you about this?

Me:  Well, I had the idea, then a friend of mine kind of told me about her experience, so I’m extremely hopeful.

ISC:  Okay… listen, I’ve got to go…

Me: [shrugging]  Oh well…

[much later in the day…]

ISC:  Fat Girl, we have a problem!

FG:  Did she listen to you?

ISC:  That’s just it!  She’s no longer listening to either one of us.  She’s now listening to *gasp*  a friend!

FG:  This can’t be good.

Dear J,

When I say, “let’s run a marathon” I’m not under the delusion that we will actually run 26 miles.  In fact, I didn’t even realize that marathons were 26 miles long!  I know, I probably should have checked that out before posting it.  Oh well!  I say we go as far as we can.  I did the walk for mankind one year and almost made it (I had to stop at the BTK Dillons and call my parents to get me).  But I went a long way for a little fat girl!

Okay chica, we will keep this in mind with an “opt out” clause!

Love,
A

Antichrist:  I don’t know how to feel about this movie.  If you are weak hearted you should not see this, but if you can appreciate a well conceived movie of a kind never really done before then check it out.  Beware of the gore though.  One thing for it, I have never had a longer conversation after watching a movie with the lady than this.  Gender roles play a large role in the film.

This is it: There is nobody above Michael Jackson on the list of deaths of people I didn’t know affecting me.  He was the most recognized person in the world having had a major impact that can’t be understated.  I hope this film takes away from what became overly negative press.  I know he made some mistakes but he didn’t deserve the ridicule he got.  The movie is 80% or so concert footage and is great.  I realize it is solely meant as a legacy changer but I don’t care, he was amazing.

Murder on the Orient Express: Starring an amazing cast, Agatha Christie’s story about the self explanatory title entertained me.  i laughed out loud a few times and thought it was superbly acted.  I think the under toned humor will go over some people’s heads, but the story is great.

Moon:  I love Sci Fi movies.  Even though they have all but died in quality.  My favorite of the last while were Sunshine, Solaris (remake) and Moon.  The main role played by Sam Rockwell is Oscar worthy.  I don’t want to give away too many details because there are some interesting plot twists, but this movie is totally worth it for anybody who truly likes movies at all.  It had a few problems, the ending could have been done better, but I finished the movie supremely satisfied.

Inglorious Basterds:  This movie got here way late so I am going to write a blurb for it now.  I liked it, I thought the story as a whole was original, but each individual plot line was very derivative (as is his style).  I get that Tarantino wanted to make a war film, but I thought he went down a road that wasn’t serious enough.  He treats the war as a joke or some wild ride, which I realize is what he does, but still, this isn’t the Dirty Dozen, that movie had a lot of serious undertone while this one does not.  It was cool, but not a great movie.

Fat Girl:  French movie, starts out trying to shock me unsuccessfully with underage sex, then grips on to my attention for the last third where anything could happen.  When it does at the end, I was left not really caring.  But that last third up until the end was gut wrenching.

TV: Eastbound and Down:  This show kicks ass, it is crude as fuck and rocks it like the best tv comedy based on a person who thinks he is a badass can possibly be.  Rule is what this show does.  Only 6 episodes 30 minutes long so easy to bang out quick.  Check it.

TV: Mad Men and Dexter:  Mad Men is better but Dexter is really compelling.  Love both of them and will be sad when the seasons end.

Undressing her in his mind is perfectly okay. It’s the actual part of undressing that makes her uncomfortable.  She runs from his embrace. Scared that the double rolls of fat will disrupt the flow he’s trying to create with his fingers.  Somehow feeling that the way he envisions her in his mind will be distorted.

“Come closer,” he says wrapping his arms around her.  They kiss and she wishes really hard that he doesn’t try to make his way to third base. 

She imagined this day would come just as much as he did. But I’m sure that her perspective wasn’t as blissful.  Her body trembles as his hands make their way down.  One lump, two lump, three lump, four.  Her ass catches his palm and she takes a deep breath.

“Please just stop there.” she says to herself over and over in her mind. The last thing she wants is for him to run his fingers over hilltops created by secret indulgence.  Grabbing his arms gently and kissing him seductively, she tries to distract him from going any further.

“Don’t stop me now.” He warns.  Nervously she smiles, knowing that no matter how much she wanted to deny it, he was going for the gold. Tonight was his night to explore every fantasy he had about the two of them. And up until this point, she managed to keep him at a comfortable distance. 

Suddenly last night’s promises of a “better tomorrow” didn’t seem so smart.

“Strip.” He demands.

Her knees buckle.  Why did he want her to reveal secrets to him like that? She sighs…

“Turn the lights off,” she replies.

“No,” he continues.  “I want to see every inch of you.”

Her eyes roll in the back of her head.  Did he mean every mile of her?

“I’m very uncomfortable.” She admits.

“Don’t be,” he assures.  “There’s nothing that will surprise me.”

Just as he asked, she took off her clothes, starting with the bottom part first. Careful to suck in her stomach as best she could, her level of comfort increased with each passing second.

One eye closed and the other eye on him…waiting for a reaction, he smiles a big beautiful smile.  And his eyes are filled with such purity as he watches. “Girl, you are so beautiful and don’t even know it.”

She sighs. But this time, she’s overwhelmed with relief.

“Great…I made it!” She tells herself.

He walks her over to the mirror, stands behind her and wraps his arms around her.

“You see that woman?” He points to the nervously insecure woman standing in front of him.  As he points, she’s hesitant to face her.

“Do you see her?” He repeats.

She looks up at him and kisses his chin. “Yes, I see her.”   Turning back to the mirror and facing the both of them standing there.

“She has to learn her worth, inside and out.” He whispers.

His words pierced through the layers of fat that incubate her soul.  She’ll never forget that day.

I’ve missed Fat Girl and Inner Skinny Chick, haven’t you?  I say, let’s bring them back into the mix today.

A lot has happened over the last few months.  For one, Fat Girl has begun to reclaim her territory while Inner Skinny Chick has been more than content to let her do so.  It seems that it is difficult for ISC to help me maintain my weight loss goals and stay sane at school while battling our nemesis FG.  I think, just perhaps, ISC needs a little help!  She needs a drill sergeant to keep her focused!

Maybe I can find one…

This morning I decided that I had to get up at 5 a.m. so that I could put together some last minute notes, and look up some things that woke me up in the middle of the night about that book I was reviewing during my presentation.  I just hate when I can’t remember the name of a character and I didn’t want to stand up in front of a class and look ridiculous as I tried to recall it.  It was better to take care of that before I went to school.

What I came to realize this morning is that if I can get out of bed at 5 a.m. to work on a presentation, then I can get out of bed at 5 a.m. to exercise.  So that is my goal for the coming week.  From now on, when my feet hit the floor, I’m to be heading to the treadmill for some serious exercise! 

It’s really bad when you have to tell yourself to do this, but since school started back, I have seriously neglected my workouts.  I always tell myself that I will do it in the afternoon or evening, but each day I find an excuse not to do it.

When I stepped on the scales this week, I was shocked to find that I had gained back 10 pounds.  It was horrifying after all the work I had accomplished over the summer.  My eating habits have become rather lazy, too, so I’m in serious need of another overhaul in that department.  In fact, I’ve gotten slack on so many things that I don’t know where to start!

I suppose, to create healthy habits, it has to start with exercise.  If I can’t add in exercise, nothing I do is going to matter.  That means making a commitment to myself to get up at 5a.m. and workout before school.  My CH’s mission, should he choose to accept it, is to ask me every day if I have exercised.  I don’t care how upset I get; I want someone to hold me accountable!

So… tomorrow starts the big day!  Cross your fingers!  And… hey… ISC… What are you doing? 

Bed? 

Already? 

Why?

Oh, I guess sleeping would help.  ‘Nite all!

[If you are reading this and it occurs to you that you have no idea what the hell is going on, let me explain.  Look at the title - this is Part 2.  Part 1 comes before it.  Go check it out and come on back when you've caught up.  If you've already had the joy of reading Part 1, then sit back and prepare for our thrilling conclusion]

“Even though we ain’t got money, I’m so in love with you, honey…”

Aw hell yeah! I think, lying with my eyes closed, I fucking love this song!  ‘And everything will bring a chain of lo-ooove’. Man, this song is truly kickass, I’m so glad its my alarm tone – Holy Shit!

At which point I, the Dirty Young Man, open my eyes and realize that I have no idea where in the hell I am.  Loggins and Messina are still blaring, I realize its Friday morning and I have to work, I look at my phone and – sure enough, I’m already five minutes late.  So I shut the phone off, wondering first why the hell it was on the floor, then wondering what the hell floor this was?  I go through a mental checklist – not my bedroom… not Bonzo’s apartment… not the No Goal Pole’s place… I’m obviously lost.  It is at this point that I realize I’m still more than a little drunk.  As I lay my head back down on the pillow and try to formulate a plan of action, I realize that I am not alone.

You know in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (book or movie) when they happen upon the three-headed dog?  You remember the sound that ol’ Cerberus is making while he sleeps? Yeah, that noise had nothing on what was coming from beside me.  It sounded like Little Nicky (3:49 mark) was sleeping beside me.  I slowly turn my head that way, expecting the worst… which I got.

There she was – Hellmans, back turned to me, in all of her glory.  Thank God the covers were up and she had a shirt on, or I might not have lived to share this story with all of you.  It is at this point that I really start freaking right the fuck out – all we did was sleep, I don’t remember anything, so all we did was sleep, just sleep, just sleep… I kept repeating it to myself like it was my job.  And speaking of job, I realized that I was now easily ten minutes late, and had better get going, for obvious reasons (if you wake a sleeping bear, it will likely eat your ass).

So, I throw the covers back and my mind and dignity shatter at the exact same moment.  There I was, in all of my glory, naked as a gods-be-damned jaybird.  I would be lying if I said I didn’t almost cry, it was that intense.  I pull myself together, hop out of the bed gingerly so as not to awaken the Creature From The Fat Lagoon, throw my clothes on (leaving my watch and underwear at the scene of the crime), pick up my shoes, and head in what I hope is the direction of the front door.  I make it out of the Lair, slide down the hallway in my bare feet a lá Tom Cruise, and drunkenly stumble upon the living room and thus the front door.  I’ve got my hand on the handle when my socked foot steps on a small kitten, causing the kitten to yowl like it been crushed (which it had), causing me to throw myself against the wall, knocking down a painting in the process.  This frightens me so much that I spin around and back into the side of the couch, falling over and ending up with my feet in the air.  I gather myself, rehang the painting, yell “Sorry, kitty!”, and I’m out the front door.

It was at this point that I realize I’m even more lost than I thought I was.  The sun is shining directly into my eyes, seemingly attempting to blind me and I’m still so shit-faced I can’t feel my feet – which is good, because its February.  I find some outside stairs to crawl up, and once I’ve made it to the top, I do an about-face.  Staring back at me is a panorama of Birmingham – I can see everything, from I-20/59 all the way to Southside, and I realize, Holy hell, I’m about 50 yards away from Vulcan.  I contemplate sitting down and really crying this time, but then realize that Hellmans has got to make her way out of the abyss at some point and I’d really rather I didn’t make it so easy for her to find me.  So, I start making my way down the street, toward the Magic City.

It takes me about 3 steps to realize that I’m never gonna make it at the rate I was going, especially if I kept swerving on and off the sidewalk.  Thus, it seems perfectly logical to call someone else and make me there problem.  Bonzo’s phone rings about 5 times and I nearly move on to the next name on my mental checklist when finally he answers.

“…Hello.”

“I”M RUNNING DOWN THE MOUNTAIN!!!”

“Wait, what?! What mountain? Where the hell are you?”  I don’t think he actually recognized my voice at this point, but still knew it was the Dirty Young Man because who the hell else would be calling him that early, that drunk.

“I’m running down the mountain – Vulcan’s mountain – and I don’t know where I am… I went home with the fattie… and I woke up… and I was NAKED… but I didn’t fuck her… at least, I hope I didn’t… but I left, and stepped on a cat, and now I’m scared and lost… I can’t read anything – I mean, I can, but my drunk eyes won’t let me… stupid fucking eyes… and I’m late for work… help me!”

Silence on the other end for a good 10 seconds, then a sigh. “Just keep heading that way.  I’ll find you.” Click.

About 10 more minutes pass, and I’m still walking barefoot down the Birmingham streets, clothes dirty with sweat and God knows what else, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot, not even sure if I’m headed in the right direction.  By this time I’ve made it all the way to Al’s (which MapQuest tells me is a 1.5 mile hike) and I finally see Bonzo’s familiar toaster of a car.  As he describes it, he expected to find me “passed out in a gutter somewhere” while instead I was “beboping down the street like you were the happiest motherfucker in the world”.

I get in, tell him what happened, am handed three pennies to suck on (supposedly to get the liquor off my breath, but I really think it was to shut me up), am driven around the block three times to clear my head, and am finally delivered to work 30 minutes after my shift started.  I walk in, manage to avoid both bosses, change shirts, receive the “Good-God,-rough-night?” look from both Black Lightening and Uncle Char-char, and manage to re-pass out for a solid 2 hours.

When I awaken from my near-coma, I recount the nights adventures, which of course elicits “DYM fuck a fattie” chants that I immediately attempt to deny, though I have no idea.  I’m working until 5:30 that day, giving me plenty of time to brood over it.  At 11, I get a text message. Who the hell is Hellmans? I think.  Then I read the message – “Hey! U left ur watch…”

The first thing that hits me is that somehow she got my number, cause even as drunk as I was, I would not have given that creature my number.  The next thing I notice is that there is no mention of my undies, leading me to have visions of her sniffing them and laughing in sadistic glee.

I contemplate not responding, but quickly realize that I really like that watch.  We arrange for her to waddle down to my place of employment and make the drop.  When this occurs 20 minutes later, all that passes between us are quick hellos and the watch in question, and let me just say that the lighting of the club was doing her favors the night before.  I almost ask her, “Hey, did I, you know… ride that donkey last night?” but thought better of it, ignorance being bliss and all.

So, I make it back to the crew room, so depressed I almost grab some scissors to slit my wrists, but Black Lightening and Uncle Char-char distract me.  I lay my head upon the table for an hour, trying my damnedest to remember last night, and failing miserably.  I realize that I’ve still got a full bladder from last night, so I make my way to the urinal.  I whip out my hawg, start draining -

And have an epiphany!  I immediately remember all of last night, finish off, and rush back to the crew room to share my story.

Rewind back to last night: the heifer somehow manages to get to her apartment, I somehow manage to get in, and we both somehow manage to fit into her bedroom.  She says something along the lines of “I’ll go get into something more… comfortable.”   First I think, What, a circus tent? Then I decided that I wouldn’t mind getting comfy, too, and manage to get down to my skivvies in lightening speed.  She’s gone for what seems like forever, so I lay down, figuring it probably takes forever to cover that much skin with something comfy.  The second my head hits the pillow though, I’m out like a light.

This is just me postulating, but I figure she finally came back in, got pissed when she found me passed out, attempted to rouse me and failed, had a gallon of ice cream to calm herself down, and then somehow managed to crawl her portly self over me and fell asleep beside me.

Fast forward about two hours:  it’s 4 a.m. (I know cause I took my watch off to check, thus explaining why I left it there) and I wake up with an absolute raging boner.  I mean, I’m pitching a tent, thinking King Richard the Lionheart is just about to explode.  I’m still very drunk, so I attempt to wake up Sleeping Beastly beside me, but to no avail.  So, I do what any sensible, logical person would do in the same situation.

I start trying to grind it out.

I slip off my undies, and then start going to town.  And even though I’m drunk, I’m really getting at it.  The best part about it was that due to my insobriety, I couldn’t exactly feel my hand, so it was like getting an HJ from the stranger (a thank you to Dave Chappelle).

I’ve been really getting it for about 4 minutes, and feeling really good, when suddenly I hear a rumbling, then a growl, and then finally a roar:

“CUT THAT SHIT THE FUCK OUT!!!“

At the exact same moment a Christmas ham hits me in the chest, knocking the wind straight outta me.  All I can manage is a breathless sorry, and then its black again.

Upon realizing what had really gone down, I was overjoyed: I hadn’t fucked that bullmoose!!! It was like finding out you don’t have gonerrhea or something.  I related all of this to the rest of the crew and they had the same question that many of you likely have right now:

Alright, Dirty Young Man, sounds somewhat believable, but how can you know for sure you didn’t pork the porker?

This very question plagued me for another few hours, but as if God himself had decided I’d suffered enough, He (through Hellmans) sent me a message.  Specifically a text message that read:

“Had fun last night! But don’t ever try in beat off in my bed again!!”

Not to worry Chubs – I don’t plan on getting caught anywhere near your big fat ass ever again.

Moral(s) of the story: Don’t get so drunk that going home with Godzilla’s homely cousin becomes a great idea.  Also, it is not ok to beat your meat in some random heifer’s bed… for the most part.

Keep the faith. Deuces.

Picture it:

Dark, dingy room. A veritable cornucopia of smell: sweat, perfume, ass, tobacco – all wafting around the room, and you can be damn sure they will permeate your clothes and hair, and not wash out for at least a week.  The music is pounding so hard you feel it more than hear it, which isn’t that bad because what you would hear is shitty anyway.  The dim lighting is illuminated every now and then by strobe lights that could have only been installed for the dual purposes of causing an inordinate amount of seizures and making white dudes look like they might actually be able to dance.  And as terrible as it all sounds, you find it exhilarating due to the fact that all your blood’s been replaced by cheap beer and even cheaper vodka, and you find yourself surrounded by easy (though more-than-sometimes unattractive) puss.

That’s right: its Thursday night.

We make it to the club by 12:30; and while all of us are all kinds of fucked up, no one is more so than the Dirty Young Man.  Then again, that’s what you get for trying to go toe to toe with the No Goal Pole in drinking shots of Aristocrap (or, in the words of NGP, “Aristotle – be wise!”).  We pay the $10 cover, make it inside, and immediately start trying to drink the club out of Long Islands.’

I’ve got two drinks in my hands, so I’m ready to start mingling – and by mingling, I mean “accidently” bumping into scantily clad slutbuckets and trying to figure out if their tits are real or not.  This goes on long enough for me to finally get to the point were I need to leech.

I’m not proud of it, but when I get to a certain point of drunkenness, I immediately fix my eyes upon the nearest ho-bag that I think I can go home with, or at the very least passionately makeout with until it’s time to leave.  The only real problem with this – aside from the increased chance of being infected with a sexually transmitted disease – is that the Dirty Young Man’s judgement is not exactly great. I mean, its shot.  Which will lead us directly into…

“Dude,” says the Dirty Young Man, “I think I’ve found one!”

“Oh yeah?” says Bonzo, one of my best buds and the only person who still attempts to try and talk some sense into me when I’m three sheets to the wind. “Where is the lucky lady?”

“Right… there.”

I then proceed to point across the dance floor to the girl of my dreams nightmares.  In a previous blog, I described a girl as, I believe, “linebackerish”.  She looked like a beauty queen compared to this young lady.  Honestly, you know how some girls are described as having “hourglass figures” while others are shaped like mustard bottles?  This bitch was shaped like a mayonnaise jar.

“Wait,” says Bonzo, “that girl?!”

“Yeah, she’s in one of my classes, and I always thought she looked a little like Hayden Panettiere.”

“Ok, maybe if Hayden Panettiere had eaten a whole goddamned bear!”

“Dude, fuck off… she’s a sweet girl.  And she’s about to be mine.”

And not waiting for his inevitably negative response, I glide across the dance floor to the Hellmans herself.

[I need to point something out and this seemed like as good a place as any - this story takes place during one of the weekends in which my ex-girlfriend and I had gotten into a "fight" and she had "broken up" with me.  I use quotes cause this happened about 4 separate times in the span of 4 months, so by this point I realized it was all a sort of ruse to get me to pay attention to her.  We would inevitably get back together after she would apologize, saying she didn't mean it.  I tried the same thing once and it turns out there was a double standard that I was unaware of ("nobody breaks up with me") so it didn't quite turn out the same way - that's why she's got an ex- in front of her name.  The point is, I was pissed at being jerked around, so I was looking to get a little even.  This is actually the only part of the whole ordeal I feel bad about.]

Back to Hellmans – I walk up to her, drinks in hand (one for me and one for… me I decided, downing one on the walk over), and immediately through out my best line:

“Hey.”

She seems startled at being addressed, and rightfully so, cause how many other guys were tanked enough to talk to this behemoth? My guess is none.

“Hey,” she shoots back, “do I know you?”

“Maybe,” says I, faux-embarrassed look coming onto my face, “we have a couple of classes together.” She starts to say something, but, deciding that the night is no longer young and that I need to make my move, I press right on: “I just know you cause you’re the cute girl who sits in the front and makes all the really smart comments.”

“Ohhh, really?!”  Bull’s eye, bitch is already mine.

“Yeah…” I think I’ve got her, but I need to seal the deal. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure,” says Grendel, leaning her ear as close to my mouth as her gargantuan body will allow.

“I’ve… I’ve kinda had a crush on you for a while.”

I could literally get her to blow me right now in the middle of the club, and I might have were I not afraid of her confusing my goods for an Oscar Meyer weiner.

It’s at this point that Bonzo apparates from thin air with a look on his face that could best be described as a mixture of disgust and awe – its like the look you get when you see an animal carcass smeared across the road and the only identifiable part is the head.

“Dude,” he says, only glancing sidelong at Hellmans, trying his damnedest to not laugh at her I suppose, “we’re leaving.”

“Naw,” I say, looking at Hellmans who gives me a “I’d-kill-for-you-Big-Daddy” look, “I’ve got a ride.”

All Bonzo can managed is an under-his-breath Jesus Christ and a good luck, and then he’s gone.  Hellmans and I stay at the club for maybe another thirty minutes, in which I somehow manage to get her to buy me about 3 drinks.  Maybe she’s not so bad, I think to myself. Talking to her is like listening to cats scream, and she strongly resembles Fat Bastard, but at least she’s keeping the liquor flowing. Finally, Hellmans says its time to leave, and would I like to come back to her apartment for a drink or something.  Well, no shit.

We somehow stumble down the stairs and into the street, making our way uneasily to her car.  I have an almost irresistable urge to hop on her back and announce to the world that an elephant had escaped from the zoo, but not to worry, I had caught it.  We make it to her car, I sit down, and immediately think to myself bad idea.  I can feel the inordinate amount of alcohol coursing through my veins, I can feel my brain trying to give way, I can feel myself blacking out -

(Thus concludes Part 1; look for Part 2 tomorrow… or later… whatever, it’ll get up there soon.)

I know it’s been absolutely forever since I’ve posted on here.  I know I keep saying I’ll keep up with it better.  I try, but then ….. same old song and dance I guess.

Truth of the matter is, I’m stuck here.  Sitting here at this plateau.  Waiting for a break through.  Getting discouraged.  Trying not to.  Trying to hang on.   Holding by a thread. 

I broke my foot a few weeks ago.  It was a real blow to this whole thing.  I’ve been working out still, doing upper body with my weights and getting cardio in with the rowing machine and stationary bike.  Eating has been … eh… ok.  I’ve done ok for the most part.  I’ve had a few cheat days, more than I’d like to count. … but overall, just ok.

I know I could break through if I would just do what I did in the beginning.  I know it would happen.  I have got to find a way to get my motivation back.  I need the drive that I had when I first started.  Gotta find it somehow. 

I’m just tired of these injuries setting me back.  I hurt my shoulder probably about 2-3 months ago and it’s not much better.  I’ve had steroid injections and everything, but it’s just still hurting.  Probably a result of over training and trying to do too much before I’m ready.  On the one hand, I need to be more aware of my limitations, but on the other hand, I need something to push me harder.  It’s just such a hard place to be in.

Plus, lately when I look in the mirror, I still see the old 300 pound me looking back at me.  I know I’ve mentioned it before, but she’s plaguing me more lately.  It’s like she’s hanging around, just waiting to be back in my life….to be me again.  I feel haunted by her somehow.  There’s this nagging voice in my head telling me that she’ll be back…..that I was just born to be fat.  I hate her.  I hate everything I was when I was her.  I was so weak…so depressed….so out of control of my own actions.  But there she is, every morning, looking at me.

Sure, it would be easy to just give in…give up, eat what I want, not go to the gym, not have this stupid pain from over doing it.  But what would that mean?  It would mean me giving up on myself.  It would mean not giving myself a chance to be the best person I can be.  It would mean ultimately a shorter life most likely….medications for blood pressure possibly…type two diabetes possibly….everything I don’t want.  Easy is never better.  Taking the easy way out is just exactly that….taking an out.  It’s something I can never do.  So somehow I have to break through this….make my way out….find some motivation….do something….

somehow