Happy New Year! Following up on last week's post, here is the active list of self-improvement projects.
No, these are not New Year's resolutions.
Yes, I recognize a list of 'things to do better from today forward', posted on New Year's Day, fits the exact definition of a New Year's resolution.
*Lose thirty pounds in thirty years (June 2011)
One year after my college graduation, I noted the following:
1. I weighed 195 pounds, the same as I did to start my senior year college basketball season.
2. My strength, speed, and overall conditioning were noticeably reduced compared to the last time I weighed 195 pounds.
3. If #1 and #2 were both true (they were), then it meant muscle was becoming fat (it was).
I reconsidered my exercise plan. Resuming my college workouts was unrealistic. Those workouts were strenuous, time consuming, and tough on my joints (and in the case of burpees, possibly IQ-lowering). I needed a new approach that fit better into my post-college life.
I settled on running. The most obvious obstacle to enjoying running was injury. Some injuries are unavoidable- you slip and fall, maybe, or turn an ankle. In those cases, the only approach is to treat the injury and maybe do some rehab. Planning better won't reduce the injury risk all that much for next time.
I was concerned about overuse injuries. These are very avoidable (though it is easier said than done). I'm a veteran of such problems due to my tendency to dive deep into my hobbies and my somewhat high tolerance for pain.
The relationship between weight and overuse injury risk was obvious to me. A five mile run at 195 pounds is more strenuous on my body than the same run at 185 pounds. Over the course of my twenties, such a discrepancy might not matter all that much. But over several decades, I figured carrying the extra weight around on my citywide trots would wear down my body. (1)
So, acknowledging my budding desire to run, perhaps forever, I focused on getting my weight down. Thirty pounds was a somewhat arbitrary designation, I admit. I went with it because I researched and discovered that many top endurance athletes with my frame weighed between 160 and 170 pounds.
I set the time frame using a combination of observing others, reading about nutrition, and thinking about my lifestyle. I filled in the gaps of my knowledge with educated guesses and went from there.
The thought process went something like this. I observed that most elderly men (into and beyond their 80s) who lived appealing lifestyles also happened to be very lean (guesswork). Thus, I would need to lose weight to attain that physique before I reached that age (fact based on guesswork). I estimated that with my height the number was right around 160 pounds (guesswork based on fact). I figured the easiest time to lose the weight was now (guesswork) because I had no family to support (fact), an easy job (fact), and enough free time (fact).
I understood that sudden changes in weight encouraged further fluctuation (fact) and that diets heavy in produce tended to control such fluctuations (guesswork). I recognized that I tend to over-measure in the short-term (fact) and set a long trajectory for this project to minimize that tendency (guesswork). I admitted that I disliked shopping for new clothing and should therefore lose weight as slowly as possible to delay any major wardrobe overhauls (preposterous, but factual).
As the case is with long term projects, new information and lifestyle realities came into play that I did not anticipate initially. Some of these things helped (such as ESPN's '30 for 30' series that gave me a clever little name for the idea) and some hurt (such as the discovery of a local Chinese takeout that I frequently ordered while watching ESPN's '30 for 30' series). Keeping an eye on the big goal- 165 by 2040- made incorporating such realities much simpler.
Progress so far is pretty good. I'm ahead of schedule. I'm considering adjusting the goal a little bit to aim for 160 by 2050, in fact.
*Learn the piano (January 2015)
I've always had a little bit of music in me. Apparently, I started early- family legend reveals that my first Christmas gift was a drum (beat that). I remember driving my toy cars up and down the family's piano, no doubt familiarizing myself with the instrument's intricacies in the process. The first mainstream song lyrics I memorized were for 'American Pie', a silly accomplishment given its length (eight minutes) and my level of access to the song (none, save for catching it on the radio).
In third grade, all this cultivated music ability came together as I (unofficially) performed the best rendition of 'Hot Cross Buns' ever played on a recorder. Recognizing my prodigious talent, my elementary school music teacher encouraged me to continue playing an instrument when the option came up to try something different at the end of that year.
Demonstrating a third-grader's sound understanding of self, I chose the baritone horn. The baritone horn is basically the tuba's sad little brother. At some point in the future, I upgraded (or downgraded, not actually sure) to a euphonium, its pronunciation of 'you-phony-um' an appropriate reflection of my fake interest in playing the instrument.
By eighth grade, it was clear that 'Hot Cross Buns' was the pinnacle of my musical accomplishments. I was a near-certainty to get kicked out of the school band. This was nothing personal, just a reflection of reality. After all, I (a) never practiced and (b) regularly scheduled other activities that clashed directly with the band's two commitments per school year. I retained my place due to the fact that I was the only one playing the instrument (though I suppose it did not hurt that, if I may say, I was a half decent player as well).
Looking back, outside of the weekly improvisation sessions with my music teacher (who I suspect gave up on any lesson plans once the frequency of my practice became clear), the whole experience was a waste of time. I learned critical life skills such as the value of faking it and understood the suffocating sense of obligation in being the only one who knows how to do something vital in a group. Learning these skills came at the cost of ignoring the potential of playing an instrument more suited to my musical interests (as well as just 'cost' for lessons, instruments, and so on).
Of course, understanding my musical interest was a whole separate matter. I really did not know what I liked until my mid-twenties. Once I clarified my interest, the combination of the piano's versatility and a suspicion that my highly developed computer keyboard skills might translate to the instrument's movements convinced me to try and learn it.
The realities of space meant I would start like many others- on the keyboard. Luckily, my mother owned a little-used keyboard so I was able to acquire one at no cost right around Christmas of 2014.
Things got off to a good start. I spent some time each day poking around, learning the sounds, and trying to memorize 'Ghosts', a piano driven song from The Head and The Heart. I remember the keyboard being especially helpful during a couple of that season's many blizzards.
Unfortunately, just a couple of months after I started, my mother's cancer took a significant downward turn. I soon did not have the time to practice. It's been in the corner of my apartment ever since.
The itch is returning. I'm finding myself considering how different songs might sound if covered on the piano. Once more, I'm paying a little closer attention to music which incorporates the instrument. And (breaking news) winter is approaching. The coldest months are always a good time to try something new or run back a once abandoned idea again.
*Eat a lot of vegetables for my first meal (April 2016)
*Go outside in the morning (May 2016)
I got going a bit on this one so I opted to cut it for another day. I'll explore it in detail later this month.
To summarize quickly, these two ideas form a foundation for how I take care of myself. In the spring, I recognized that I intertwined these self-care concepts with the routines and requirements of my job. When I was laid off, I did not immediately make the adjustments needed to continue these two maintenance tasks.
*Limit blog posts to 2000 words (August 2016)
Gotcha!
*Stop using racial terms (Fall 2016)
This one grew out of the
I started to think more about this as I started applying for jobs. Many web-based applicant portals ask classic 'HR' questions as part of the process. These questions include everything from an applicant's legal status in the country to how one originally learned about the posting in question. Tucked away into these sections were questions about gender and race.
I initially considered the future of the gender question. The usual options were male, female, or 'opt out'. After very little contemplation, I got the sense that time would see the proportion of those choosing 'opt out' increasing in comparison to those choosing one of the first two options.
As the summer went on, I found myself stopping more frequently at the race question. Again, I thought ahead a little bit. I wondered how the answer distribution would change over time. I reached a similar conclusion- over time, more and more people would choose 'two or more races' or 'opt out' when asked about their race.
I saw no other way, really. I'm blessed with the trivial ability to 'round up' to one of two races. There are a lot of us out there. Our descendants will struggle to find one easy box to check on these forms. Many already fail to find a simple box to check for this question, I suspect.
I see a future where this question is not on these job applications. What would be the point of asking the question if everyone says 'two or more'? (2)
I think at some point I'll be Asian like I am a Capricorn or white like I am I left-handed. In the future, racial identity will be, at worst, a vestige paying testament to a unified society's journey away from a past ruined by needless division.
Now, this future might be thousands of years away. It's no use predicting the exact day. I don't even know what tomorrow's weather will be. I am pretty sure we'll get there eventually, though.
So, anyway, these thoughts were rattling around my head a few months ago. In the fall, I decided not to use racial terms as descriptors anymore. Why fight the flow, right? The plane in the air arrives earlier than the one on the tarmac.
Early progress, though, was not good. There were plenty of times where I forgot myself. Casual conversations rarely make good starting points for New Year's resolutions (not that these are resolutions). Each slip of mine was a reminder of how easily I get sucked back into the established patterns, rhythms, and vocabulary of communication with those in my life.
There is an element of 'placing the cart before the horse' in this resolution. Though I dismiss the value of describing the sauce on my lunch as 'Asian', suffering brought on by racism is reality for many. Not contributing to the problem is one approach and perhaps the best I can do at the moment. But refusing to acknowledge the terminology might put me in jeopardy of losing touch with the real problems brought on by arbitrary concepts.
Today finds me stuck in middle ground. Like with last week's
The desired outcome is clear and the required process is obvious. What I currently lack are the details of how to link the two together. Hopefully, the connection reveals itself to me in the course of time. Until then, I guess I'm just practicing my lines, preparing for the unknown role I'll take on the stage.
*Wear shoes that fit (Fall 2016)
Sometimes, these 'resolutions' are no more than just acknowledging the ways I've been an automaton. Once a size twelve, always a size twelve, right?
Right.
*No more snacking (November 2016)
Other times, these 'resolutions' are no more than just acknowledging that some currents run so strongly through us that fighting upstream is a futile effort. In these cases, the battleground must be moved away from where defeat is inevitable. When the objective is to avoid being sucked into the river, the battle is fought on its banks.
My weight increased about seven pounds in November. The instinctive reaction is to look at 'the holiday season' and accept convention that everyone's weight bumps up a bit around this time of year. Plus, those trademarked 'semi-mashed' potatoes of mine go straight to the thighs, you know? (3)
I'm fairly sure that in my case some of the weight gain was due to the result of an experiment. In the month of November, I tried to snack. Potato chips, ice cream, cereal, all that and more (peanut M&M's). I even tried Graze, a snack delivery service, when they offered a free trial box. I enjoyed these snacks thoroughly.
The problem was the rate at which I enjoyed them. It was like I convinced myself that everything would go bad in six hours or less. At no point in November did a snack entering my apartment make it to see the light of the next day.
The failure of November means I no longer buy snacks. Instead, I buy beer, something I'm in much better control of. I usually drink one, two, or three beers each night before bed.
I'm not sure about direct applicability here. Advocating for increased drinking is not a great general approach (or specific approach, for that matter). Beer works well for me as a snack substitute because I can cut it off. It could be that for others, the lesson is the reverse- stop buying beers, start buying snacks. Do what works for you.
I am expecting the broader idea to prove crucial for me. Battles lost are often waged again on the same terrain. This is not automatically a bad strategy, especially if prior defeats came about due to bad luck or outside circumstances.
Sometimes, the way forward is to stand up, dust off, and charge again. But this only works if the terrain was irrelevant to the initial defeat.
If the conditions caused the failure, the inclination to try again is harmful to progress. The conviction to fight again prevents us from seeking ways to avoid repeating a doomed battle.
In this way, perhaps a sleep problem is approached from going to bed earlier rather than forcing oneself awake. It could be that a weight problem is better considered through the lens of healthier diet rather than increased exercise. I've read about being worth reading before worrying about readers and that, too, fits into the general idea.
This idea is a roundabout way of twisting the cliche 'choose your battles wisely'. I guess my angle on it is to 'choose your battlegrounds wisely'. Who knows where such a tweak in thinking will lead? New battlegrounds, for starters.
Currently, all I do differently is go to the beer section. I march right past the Cocoa Puffs in the process. That's not much. But I know its only downstream once I wade into that river.
Thanks for reading. See you on Friday.
Tim
Footnotes / imagined complaints
1. Tim Concannon, future (insane) basketball coach...
If you don't believe me, go to the track and run a lap. Then, run the same lap carrying two five pound dumbbells. Good luck beating your original time!
If I became a coach of some sport in the future, I would do a similar exercise to highlight the need for keeping as lean as possible.
2. I think footnotes were invented for the following nonsense...
Maybe these applications will find a way to ask 'what race do you want to be in five years?' or 'what is the biggest weakness of your race?' or the gold standard, 'what will the biggest weakness of your race be in five years?'
3. A recipe for disaster!
Tim's semi-mashed potatoes
Ingredients
*Some potatoes
*A knife
*A backup knife
*A fork
*A cutting board? Up to you, chef.
*A pan
*A mashing tool
*Butter
*Milk
Steps
1. Cut the potatoes using the knife. The idea is to create slices that will be covered by water when you place them in the pan later.
NOTE: If you drop the knife, leave it. LEAVE IT! Use your backup knife.
2. Bring the pan full of water to a simmer. Add the potatoes.
NOTE: Go lookup a real recipe for details on simmering...
3. When the potatoes are ready, a fork will go through the pieces and emerge clean. Remove these potatoes and BEGIN MASHING.
4. Add as much butter and milk as you want. It's your party.
5. Remind your guests that these are 'semi-mashed' to appropriately set expectations. Offer to add 'a little pinch' of butter or milk, but only if they think this will help.
6. Serve with lots and lots of alcohol.
