PenteKing’s BodyBlog

So, a day after slacking off with my heartbroken friend, Joe, (he’s going to be fine, by the way), I returned to the gym for my first session with my new trainer. Shawn has been a personal trainer for eight (8) years now, and is certified by the state of California. He knows a LOT about anatomy and physiology (sp?). His approach to training is very different from my previous trainer (Coach (who refuses to let me use her name)).

Coach was good at showing me what to do, but poor at explaining what had to be done. For example, there was an exercise she showed me that involved pushing myself off a balance ball to the plank position. She could do it easily, but I struggled and struggled until I gave up in frustration. (I must, shamefacedly admit to kicking the damn ball across the gym floor.) When I explained this to Shawn, he not only showed me what to do, but then explained it to me in a way that lit the bulb in my head. I put myself into the starting position, and after one (1)! failed attempt, did the exercise exactly as he had shown. I was dumbfounded. What a difference in techniques.

The rest of the workout went very well. Shawn taxed the living s**t out of me, but in a good way. I was tired after my workout - physically spent; knowing that I had worked the muscles in the right way, and with the proper form. Today, I was sore in places I haven’t been in quite a while. It makes me believe that I’m going to start making progress again, and I’m excited and pumped by that.

 It’s good to be back in the game. Curt and Bill - thanks for the motivational talk. It helped me get over the rough spot.

Instead of going to the gym today, I attended a networking event. In my defense, I had every intention of hitting the iron after the event, but when it came time to leave, a friend of mine suggested we grab a bite to eat. He’s a little depressed because of having broken up with his woman (who he was convinced was the one), and so, to cheer him up, I agreed. I don’t have to go into the gory details, do I? You can all guess what happened. We got to talking. He ordered a bottle of wine. I had one glass…and then another. By the time dinner was finished, I was in no mood to work out. Sooooo, instead of hitting the iron, I’m hitting the keyboard, confessing my sins in an act of public expiation, and making a vow. Tomorrow, I swear, it will be chest and triceps and abs until I puke.

As you may or may not know (it doesn’t matter), I am participating in a 70 mile bike ride on behalf of the American Diabetes Association. The event kicks off on April 19, 2008, rain or shine, and winds through San Diego county from Encinitas to Escondido to San Luis Rey Heights, down to Camp Pendleton South. From there, it follows Interstate 5 to Oceanside, Carlsbad and Solana Beach before heading back to its starting point at Lake San Marcos.

I’m doing this because my maternal grandmother died of diabetes. My younger brother, Joe, has type 2 diabetes, and if my sister doesn’t watch herself like a hawk, she may contract the disease herself. So, in order to raise funds for research, I’m getting myself in biking shape and am going to do the tour. I’ve got a pretty good training routine outlined, and have been following it religiously. I did twenty miles today, right on schedule, and only hope that I can keep it up.

If anyone is interested in sponsoring my efforts, you can make an online contribution by following this link: http://main.diabetes.org/site/TR?pg=personal&fr_id=5059&px=4006704. Any and all contributions are welcome. It’s not the amount, but the fact that you contribute that is important. Your donation is fully tax deductible, and you will be helping millions of men, women and child achieve a better life.

My eldest son telephoned me before the game yesterday. As you can imagine, he, like much of New England, was ready to bestow the crown of immortality upon the collective heads of the Patriots. The New York Giants were merely stage players - shades to the real actors upon the scene, that talented band of warriors known as the Pats.

After the debacle, I telephoned Dave to commiserate. He had, of course, turned off his telephone to go crawl inside the black pit of remorse and recrimination that had suddenly enveloped the heart and mind of Patriot fans everywhere. Having lived in Boston for more than twenty-five years, I can sympathize. I remember the team when they went 2-14 and were call the "Patsies". I’m no fair weather fan, having suffered through the woeful seasons that preceded their climb to glory.

Yet, even in my disappointment, I must doff my cap to the Giants. They played one hell of a great game. They wanted it more; they went after it with more enthusiasm, and they WOULD NOT BE DENIED! You have got to love that kind of spirit and moxie. It’s what separates the champions from the wannabes. Congratulations Giants. You are the champion and you deserve it.

You all know what I’m talking about. Nachos, spare ribs, hot dogs, chips, hamburgers (with cheese; with chili; with chili AND cheese) and other high-fat foods seem to crawl out of the woodwork on Super Bowl Sunday. They emerge, triumphant, hopeful and expectant that the American public, having once tasted their greasy goodness will be forever hooked on the high-sodium, low nutritional content of their fare. I say, "No way, Jose."

I’m NOT giving in. I refuse to be tempted. I will NOT take the bait. I will drink white wine spritzers instead of beer (140 calories vs. an average of 600). I will eat broiled chicken instead of ground hamburger (202 calories instead of 447). I will have raw carrots and cucumbers and broccoli instead of chips and salsa. And tomorrow, I will still have enjoyed the game and the day and will not have any residual guilt or physical ill effects. Beer guzzling, chip/salsa/hamburger/hot dogs gluttons will not be able to say the same.

Sure, it will be hard, but if it were easy, then everyone would do it. Nothing that’s real is ever for free, and you just have to pay for it sometime.