September 2009 Archives
Now, a Racket Rut
For months now, I've been
struggling to find ways to "mix up" my workout routine. Loyal readers may
recall my foray onto the basketball court awhile back or my occasional yoga
adventures. Well, now that I'm everyone's favorite tennis opponent, the problem
isn't so much finding a way out of my tried-and-true EDM/lifting/sometimes-stretching
rut; it's all about getting back into the gym!
Since my Belgian Waffle
revelation a week ago, I've not had a chance to visit the gym (or to eat any
waffles, for that matter). I was consumed by various tasks at home over the
Labor Day weekend, I played tennis on Tuesday night, had a meeting after work
on Wednesday, and last night played tennis again. Not against my regular tennis
buddy, M.E., but instead I squared off against an old magazine colleague of
mine, J.W., who apparently reads these pages from time to time and, noticing my
current obsession, challenged me to a match.
J.W. is a kind-hearted soul
who, I figured, would show some mercy on an elderly player who also has fed her a good deal of freelance work over the years (I'm just sayin' . . .),
so I accepted her challenge and we met at the lovely Nokomis tennis courts
after work last night. I also figured I needed some more practice before my
scheduled match with the ultra-competitive M.E. on Sunday; he's been playing
several sets of doubles each week and on Tuesday it showed -- his serve is
getting faster and more accurate, and even though I played pretty well, he
still beat me 6-3. (His Achilles has healed also, I should point out. . . and
he's seven years younger than me.)
Anyway, it turned out that J.W.
and I were pretty well matched. Neither of us has a big serve, relying instead
on solid ground strokes, so we had some great baseline-to-baseline rallies, and
we each hit our share of winners. In fact, J.W. is kind of a machine on the
baseline -- she doesn't make a lot of unforced errors. Which is great fun, if
you can keep up, which I mostly did through the 11 games we played. She went up
2-0, I rallied to win the next two, she went up 4-3, at which time I noted with
some false bravado that I'd have to win the next three games to take a 6-4 set.
It nearly proved prescient,
as I proceeded to take the next two games, losing only a single point. But, at
5-4, my game suddenly deserted me and I put up only weak resistance as J.W.
surged to a 6-5 lead. We didn't play the tie-breaker, as it was getting dark
and J.W. was nursing a bit of a strained hamstring, but I was confident that, had
we continued, my superior conditioning would prove pivotal to the outcome (ha
ha).
And, speaking of superior
conditioning, I'll be heading cheerfully back to the gym tonight for a little
cardio and some stretching. I might even venture down into The Pit to do some
squats and deadlifts. I gotta get ready for my next match.
The Belgian Waffle Diet
Back to the gym last
night after a couple of weeks away, and I have to admit I was a little
apprehensive when I climbed on the scale before my workout. It's not just that
I've been avoiding the gym; I've been avoiding the gym while quaffing pints of
ale, brutalizing Belgian waffles, devouring Yorkshire pudding with no regard
for my personal safety and simply inhaling any jambon et fromage within 30 meters of a baguette. And I'm not even
going to mention the chocolate. A European vacation is a magnificent culinary
adventure, but I had to assume that our 10 days in Belgium, France and England
would create some unwanted impact on my personal poundage.
So, I had to look twice
when 158.6 flashed on the scale's digital screen.
158.6?
All summer long, I've been
essentially stuck at 160 -- despite ramping up my fat-burning efforts on the
Elliptical Death Machine, despite embracing a mindful eating protocol, despite
creatively visualizing those last 5 lbs. melting away. I've been stranded in
plateau city.
Now, if I knew that
drinking lots of beer and eating lots of rich food (you cannot even believe those waffles) was the key to
rappelling down from that bluff, I would've got after it a lot sooner. But, of
course, that's not how it works. My personal weight-loss serendipity had
nothing to do with what I ate or didn't eat; it's all about the sightseeing.
Or, more accurately, it's all about getting from point A to point B without an
automobile.
For years, Americans have
puzzled over the seemingly counterintuitive spectacle of lithe French women who
eat all the rich food they want without accumulating any excess weight. How
come all those croissants and full-fat yoghurt and wine and exquisite sauces
and chocolate don't wind up attaching themselves to their hips?
Well, I'm here to tell
you that it's not just the women and it's not just the French. Europeans, in
general, avoid the epidemic of obesity that so afflicts Americans because they
don't drive that much. A 2008 study from the Journal of Physical Activity and Health says
it all: In Belgium, 30 percent of all trips away from home involve walking,
biking or mass transit. And Belgians are pikers compared with the Dutch; people
in the Netherlands get around town without an automobile 52 percent of the time. (Each year, the average Dutch resident logs
an outrageous 1,225 kilometers on foot, bicycle, bus or train.) Americans, on
the other hand, drive everywhere: only 12 percent of trips away from home in
the U.S. are accomplished sans
automobile.
Such "active
transportation" helps prevent weight gain, the study's authors note:
"Walking and bicycle commuting usually fall into the moderate-intensity
range, and if performed regularly, can result in substantial amounts of energy
expenditure. In
addition, the use of public transit (trains, subways, and buses) usually involves
walking or cycling to and from transit stops and, hence, would also be expected
to promote weight control, as well as a host of other physical and mental
health benefits."
This added
"routine" activity by your average European burns as much as 9 pounds
of fat per year, while your average car-centric American might burn 2. And,
when you add it all up, here's what you get: In the U.S., 34 percent of the
population is now considered obese. In the Netherlands, it's 11 percent.
So, this helps to explain
that 158.6 number above. Every day of our vacation, we walked. A lot. On our last day in London, for
instance, my son decided for some reason to count the number of stairs he
climbed. The final count when we boarded the train back to Brussels that
evening: 903. Now, he went out of his way to scamper up steps unnecessarily at
times, but I'm guessing that My Lovely Wife and I scaled at least 750. At
least, that's what my knees were telling me. That's a pretty decent StairMaster
session.
We'll see in a few days
whether I've been able to maintain my newfound European weight-loss plan in a
city with one puny light-rail line and the ever-alluring Crapmobile parked in
the driveway, but as long as my old Schwinn remains operational and my sneakers
hold onto their tread, there's no reason why I can't continue to live like a
Belgian (or even a Dutchman!) right here on the prairie.
Except for the waffles.
I'm really going to miss the waffles.
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