Unstoppable

My right leg cramped while I was on the treadmill at the gym, so I hopped to the side and turned the machine off.

There I was. Pissed at my body's weakness and how it was ruining my work out. I had planned on really hitting the treadmill for an hour so I can burn off a lot of calories tonight.

Then I decided, I wouldn't let a little cramping ruin my workout! So, I hopped and dragged myself to the weights machine, and really pumped some iron. In lieu of a cardio workout, I lifted light, but with high number of reps and sets. The idea is to keep my heart beating fast, and my muscles engaged.

Which, I think, is a good metaphor for how I deal with problems. Yeah, I hit snag now and then, and they hurt like a motherfucker. They hurt so much I have no choice but to stand there. But if I don't keep moving, I'll waste my time and my life. So I carry on. I find a work around. I focus on other things I can work on.

Not Done at All

There's a snag in my weight loss program. I'm at the point where I'm ready to commit to cutting down my carbs intake, so I can consume more protein for muscle building and repair.

But I have a day job, and the food place where people go to for lunch is a carinderia that doesn't really cater to my needs. It's pretty OK for a carinderia, the food's OK, there's enough choices everyday. But they're mostly fried, or sauced up that they can only be eaten with lots of rice.

So, I'm forced to look for other places to eat. Like this inasal place nearby. Roast chicken is good, it's high in protein. It's also expensive to keep eating roast chicken for lunch. The other options for lunch are fast food (I work near Morato), which would hurt my budget and my diet plans WORSE.

Men's Health and other fitness experts recommend the same thing: For anyone dedicated enough to commit to a strict high protein low carbs diet, LEARN TO COOK.

My friend Neil cooks his own food, and that's why he looks like the Baby Hulk (which sounds like an amazing idea for a Marvel franchise). He steams chicken breasts everyday, seasoned with pepper and salt, and eaten with steamed camote (sweet potatoes).

Confession time. I know I may come off as perfect, and what with me being able to do basically everything, but I am not perfect. I can't cook.

Technically, I can learn to cook. There was a time when I saw myself experimenting in the kitchen, and by that, I don't mean sexually, with a stranger on the kitchen floor, but actually whipping up a dish.

But, really. I have a day job, I go to the gym, I'm working on two novels simultaneously, and I do my own laundry. I can't, by any sane amount of reason, squeeze in an extra hour in my life to prepare my own food. I can't invest in a steamer, do weekly grocery shopping for chicken breasts and fish fillet, wake an extra hour early (or stay an extra hour late) to prepare my food for the next day. That's where I'll draw the line. I can't do that, I won't do that, I refuse to prepare my own food.

Which sucks. So I'm stuck with eating what's easily bought. Ugh. I hate this.

Caged

It was a Saturday afternoon, and I was in a cage with eight other boys. It wasn't how I usually spend my Saturday afternoons. I fancy myself a member of the culturati, wandering and wondering alone, imagining myself a Parisian, with my Bohemian sensitivity to what is art and its negation, as I haunt cafes with my Penguin Modern Classic paperback, a stylish scarf in my bag for the probability of an afternoon drizzle.

But there I was, barefoot and dripping sweat, pushing my weight against Lyle. The look in his eyes told me I should be wary of Lyle. He looked like he could break my neck  if provoked, and would Instagram it afterwards.

So, how did I end up signing for this? Oh, yeah. Steve Patrick.

I met Steve Patrick in one of our events. He was our host for a series of shows in Dagupan. He speaks in a deep bass that sounds like it belong to a much older, more experienced gentleman. When I close my eyes listening to him do the voice overs, I could picture him with a full grown moustache, twirled at the edges, like Daniel Day-Lewis in "There Will Be Blood", except much younger. Together with his towering height of six feet, Steve Patrick's presence isn't one of subtle grace. He is a tank, and I am afraid of him.

He is also into mixed martial arts.

Friday afternoon, I got a text message from Trish. Trish works in Extreme, one of the three gyms that I go to. How I ended up going to three different gyms is another story altogether. Trish would send me messages about Extreme's promos. This week, they were holding a special "MMA BOOTCAMP", and the first session is FREE TO TRY. I immediately signed-up.

Come on. It was a free chance to get pounded on my sweaty strangers inside a cage. Can you blame me?

The Bootcamp was conducted by Coach Mel. He had us do drills to warm up. What accounts as "warm up" for Coach Mel was a series of exercises that almost killed me. It was a very humbling experience, and as The Siege Malvar, humbling experiences come very few and far between.

My favorite was The Bear Crawl. Basically, we crawled around the cage like a bear. If that sounds like fun, or easy, you should try it. It engages the core, the upper, and the lower body. It's a walk in the park. For bears. But as someone who makes a living writing flyers to sell dishwashing liquid, it was pretty challenging. He made us do several sets of Burpees, and Squat Jumps, and Wheelbarrows (to strenghten the wrist).

"Now for the first lesson," he began.

I was like, "YOU MEAN WE HAVEN'T STARTED YET?" Which was promptly ignored, considering what credibility I had, squeking like a mouse on the floor, barely able to hold myself up.

That afternoon, I learned how to shoot. Which is an attack move in wrestling. I also learned how to sprawl. A defensive move to avoid your opponent from grabbing your legs. I also learned how to get out of an underhook.

Before the session ended, he had us matched against each other. Fighter to get the opponent in a double underhook--or a bear hug-- for three seconds win.

I lost to Lyle. On hindsight, I should have fought harder. I faced him expecting to lose. It was my first time, and he had been training. I believed I would lose, and I did. But what if I didn't? What if I believed, from the core of my black heart, that I stood a chance? That if I blocked out all my insecurities, and my consciousness of people watching, that I really stood a chance?

I want to find out. I want to know just how hard I can fight. I want to experience not just the thrill of fighting, but of winning. I want to be good at it. Maybe not good enough to compete, or to save my life when it comes to an actual street fight. But I want to win a fight. Just one, little skirmish, I want to win a fight for a change.

So I'm coming back next week. I'll train again. I'll do what Coach Mel will tell me to do, and  I will believe that I can do it. Because I want to win. I want to know how it feels like to win.

Standing next to Steve Patrick is not fair.

How to Eat at a Buffet

My friend Armand and I went to Mr. Miyagi along Timog after jogging for a couple of hours around the UP oval. I'm no expert on fitness and nutrition, but here's my strategy in attacking the buffet table when you're on a fitness program.

Go for the Grill.  I avoided the cooked dishes and went for the raw stuff that we had to grill ourselves on the table. For one thing, the grilled choices has less MSG. Also, grilling food is healthier in terms of cholesterol level.

Protein Load. I selected meats and seafood for their protein content; I avoided  all the carbs: the rice and the noodles. Well, I had some rice, but only because I couldn't resist the sushi bar. Speaking of: another GREAT source of protein is the sushi bar! I think I must have eaten half a salmon raw that night. It's like feasting on someone's open wounds, but yeah, the protein is amazing.

Pace Yourself. Like in running, you need to pace yourself at the buffet table. It takes the brain 20 minutes to recognize that you are full. This means that you can eat-MORE-than-you-actually-can within a window of 20 minutes, and after that, your brain sends signals to your digestive system to stop the traffic. If you pace yourself at the table, you avoid the risk of overeating.

Water's best. Do not get soda or juice. This should be a general rule every meal time. Sodas are poison. They're basically liquified sugar melted in acid. Think of that the next time you put a glassful inside your body. You're filling up on liquified sugar melted in acid, which your body will absorb and mix in with your blood.

 

Well, those are some of my strategies in attacking the buffet table when you're on a fitness program. If you want to share yours, leave them in the comments section.