Alexander and the Horribly Long, Non-Sensical No-Good Post

By the hammer of Thor and all the powers of the abyss, it seems that I’ve let my blog run off without me putting anything on it! It’s funny that now the initial awe and wonder of posting has faded, it is not becoming a bit of a chore to get these up as constant as I want them to be. It feels like so much has happened, and yet at the same time not much at all as well. So, seeing as it’s been a couple of days, let’s get the fitness out of the way, then I’ll gush about the other things on my mind and in my life.


Pilates. You cock-gobbling, tear drinking, soul crushing beast of a woman, you have me back here once again for what you call an “active rest” day. Oh yeah, sure, it’s hardly a strain at all. It’s just constant muscle exercise performed in slow motion to set your abs on fire and make your thighs feel like they’re covered in fire ants. Maybe I’m a little over the top with this, but what the hell, I’m in my own domicile and I can feel whatever the hell I want to this perky brunette whom existence scars me for thirty minutes.

But I suppose griping about a working system is arrogant on my part.

Actually, there is a good news with this. See, Beach Body has an additional workout that you can do for expedited results called “10 minute abs”, where it’s literally the title. Ten straight minutes of ab exercises, done as often as you’d like. They are intense, but it’s short and the burn goes away soon enough. The fact that my wife was the one suggesting we do these three times a week made me so proud, as now she’s taking steps on her own terms to get healthier. I shed a manly tear at this.

Food was on point, healthy, and otherwise unremarkable. Not much happened that day, or at least nothing that I can recall. I really need to jot down some damn notes or something.



This was a full day. Started it taking my dogs to the vet for their annual check ups, and wrangling those two is strength training in their own right. Everything was fine, and I made it up to them by taking the to the dog park where I was lucky to have one other dog there that really wanted to play with my pooches. Windy and cold, but man was it fun.

Dinner was…kind of a let down for me, but the rest of the family liked it. Hand rolled meatballs with almond flour, Italian herbs and sea salt on whole wheat rotini noodles. Used green pepper and mushroom sauce from a can, but I made up for that with a side salad (the second damn one in the same day). I really hate the taste of mushroom, so this meal was a struggle. Also I need to remember to add an egg when I make this again, as the balls were dry as all get out and needed something to moisten them up. Suggestions?

Gym time, and boy did I mess up my triceps and learn something about myself. Here’s a rundown:

  1. Elliptical: 20 minutes, 422 calories.
  2. 21’s: 25/30/30, and hurt like a mother f***er.
  3. One arm high cable side bend: 50/70/95, did the trick but I can’t do this anymore as I’m too tall to use a tower and keep the correct form. I can however do…
  4. Cable iron cross: 45/50/60, and ermahgerd did this…mess…me…up. I know form is key, but I struggled like mad at the end.
  5. Dips: 85/85/85, and I know I’ve done better but my arms were on fire, so this wasn’t getting much better.
  6. Wide grip bench press…

This one deserves a little build up. If there’s anything in my opinion that officially makes you “a man” when you work out, it’s this simplistic exercise that seems to be the judge of how strong you are. It’s just your chest with assisted arms, but man do I look at this thing like it’s some judgmental jock ready to whoop my ass if I can’t dodge him in the hallway fast enough. I knew it was time to face my demons, but I was doing it on my terms. It’s an assisted machine, so I’m not worried about a spotter. I start small, putting a total of 50 lbs on it to start. I’m assuming the bar is 10, but whatever.

I do it, and with little difficulty. Eager but still hesitant, I slap on another 10 lbs. Again, no trouble.

I take my chances and I add another 20 lbs, and boy did I struggle. I did my reps, I kept my form, but combine all the work I had done, here I was with (only) 90 lbs of weight and feeling a little defeated. This victory will come in time, and I don’t even know what I want my goal to be, but I’ll get there.

I got home after the gym and did the next Beach Body day, cardio fix. Sadly though, I had to do it alone as my wife had to go into work and couldn’t squeeze in the time. It was legitimate, but you’d better believe that I’m ensuring she catches up tomorrow when she has to do her own version of “double down”.

How bad ass would it be if I did cardio again with her?



With all these big changes happening and my weight going down, I decided to get in touch with one of my older sisters who I haven’t spoken to in a while (nothing bad, I’m just shit at keeping in touch). She used to be a personal trainer, but now she does physical therapy and she’s always in amazing shape. I talk to her for a bit, and I tell her my story. She in turn asks me a few questions.

Her: Well what do you drink every day? Tell me everything.

Me: A gallon and a half of water, three cups of black coffee and a glass of red wine every night before bed.

Her: What do you eat? Don’t skimp.

Me: Usually two pieces of whole grain toast with two eggs for breakfast, that or a cup of Greek yogurt with almonds and craisins. Salad or veggies or leftovers for lunch, and dinner I usually like quinoa, whole wheat, an occasional red potato and a mix up of chicken, ground beef or turkey.

Her:How active are you?

Me: I do 30 minutes every day of random exercises for 21 day fix and go to the gym three times a week for heavy weights.

Her: I’m sorry, what the hell do you want me to do?

That was hilarious and uplifting at the same time. My sister, the fitness guru, couldn’t think of anything in addition for me to do and that I’d already chosen a pretty solid path. I was thrilled with this, not just because I was doing good but also because I wasn’t lying about any of it either. I’m sure anyone has been asked something and you fudged your results a bit, but it was so awesome for me to know that I was being true to myself.


Know what I miss though? Pizza. I find myself thinking about all sorts of pizza. My east coast heritage calling out for New York style thin crust (delicious and less carbs), the mouth watering look and crunch of Detroit style with it’s almost burnt edges and thick cheese and sauce. Not Chicago style, it’s too much sauce, too guilty a treat and it takes 30 minutes to make the damn thing. I’m hungry now, and I don’t want a server to knock me on the back of my head and let me drown in my pizza. I choose life and pepperoni.

Excuse me, I need to be alone with myself.

Now, what’s with the random thought? Well on the way to the dog park, my father in law (who wanted to get out of the house and volunteered to help dog wrangle with me) pointed out a pizza place on the way over. He vouched for it, and I found out that they serve Detroit style, a style I haven’t had in a while and didn’t realize I wanted it until just that moment. Too bad my diet isn’t very forgiving for that kind of stuff. Sad face is sad, and I promptly thought of what I’d have for lunch to try to forget it.

Well, after dinner, I thought to myself “let’s step on the scale”. I’m sure if you do weigh-in’s (like weight watchers or most fitness plans), you only weigh yourself once a week, at a certain time and usually in the morning before you eat. It makes a sense of consistency and accuracy. Now, I’d just eaten dinner, so of course this is going to make me feel like I’ve gained, right?

Nope. Exactly the same as when I checked on Tuesday. 273.

I was ecstatic. If I weighed this at the end of the day after a meal, then I probably lost another half pound or so. This was awesome! Super pumped, I got dressed and hit the gym. On the way back though, I remembered that pizza place and had a rather cruel idea for a bet to myself, to which I told my mother in law and now I’m telling you.

My birthday is early June, the eighth to be precise. Sixty one days from the moment I’m drafting this (probably error-riddled) blog. If I can weight 260 or lower in two months time, I will happily enjoy that thick rich Detroit style meat lovers pizza to my hearts content with zero guilt and enjoy my birthday meal to the fullest vigor, reveling in my cheesy and saucy victory for one night and one night only. I will be bloated and soar, but I will enjoy it with a goofy smile and share my victory with you.

If I weigh 260.5 or more…I will eat a salad at this restaurant as my family enjoys their pizza. Pics will follow, and I assure you I’m going to look sad.

The challenge has been thrown down, the stakes have been made.

I’m getting my fucking pizza.



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