When it comes to weight loss, there’s nothing more rewarding than stepping on a scale that says you weigh less than last time. It’s simple, to the point, and addictive.
What’s tricky is finding a way to appreciate all the things that aren’t happening while staying focused on the task at hand.
Let’s say you have twenty more pounds to lose, but your progress stalled weeks ago. Quitting your diet won’t help, and you know that logically, but the scale isn’t moving anymore, and you’re frustrated. But instead of giving up, you focus on all the things that aren’t happening.
It was late one summer evening, the first time dad broke my nose.
We were out back playing catch, somewhere beneath the shade of that mutated maple. The one that looked like several smaller trees had grown together to make two giant hands praying.
We lived on Frontier, then. The street, not the actual Frontier.
To one side, the old lady with the faded gold chain on her glasses and bird’s nest red hair smoked her trillionth cigarette. …
I’m 10-years old, just tall enough to stare at belts all day, round enough to be considered husky.
It’s recess, again, the worst part of my day. Some sixth graders are making me and a few other kids stand along a brick wall between two buildings that jut up like skyscrapers. It feels like The Swamp Of Sadness from the Never-ending Story.
There’s a teacher out there, somewhere near the metal slide, our savior that never comes, and never answers our prayers. So we stop praying and accept the game. …
A decade of intermittent fasting was long enough, I decided. Time to try something different.
That was eighteen months ago, and I’ve been tinkering with my diet ever since.
I went from none, one or two meals a day to four feedings overall (and zero snacks). From 3,400 calories to 2,650, and I dropped four percent body fat along the way.
A winning experiment, I’d say, since my goal was comfortable fat burning. Which it almost always is.
What made me go back to breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, and dinner? Simple, I believed eating more frequently would burn faster than…
Imagine training for years, telling all your friends about your plans to conquer the world’s tallest peak.
Think about the weeks it takes just to get from your doorstep to Basecamp. The excitement, the anticipation, the endless supply of dopamine.
Visualize a sky and snow combo so bright you need shades just to see. Clouds so near and fluffy you could use them as a mattress. Hear the bony crack of the snowpack beneath your boots.
Then imagine quitting.
Less than thirty percent of climbers who attempt Mount Everest summit. For some, it’s the weather; for others, injury. …
Some people need to be taught how to feel.
They’re more shadows, really. Observing intently, gathering information about emotions they will display as their own when the time comes. They understand the concept of emotion — they can even feel the highs and lows. But it’s more like a traffic jam than expressway. More like a test they aren’t sure they passed.
Others, those born with all their fingers and toes and feelings in all the right places, don’t quite get it. To them, feelings are as natural as yawning. Taken for granted. …
The best cartoons began just before noon.
That gave us a few hours every Saturday morning to crush last night’s leftover junk food, down a few liters of Mountain Dew, and head to the comic book store.
On the way, my best friend and I would talk shop — which superpower we wanted most, which titles we were desperate to own, and of course, how cool it would be if someone could make a comic book movie. A real one. With uniforms, crazy villains, and all the trimmings.
It took a lot of cold pizza and enough soda to give…
You don’t need parallel bars, special workouts shoes, or two-hundred-dollar Lu-Lu socks.
There’s a way to see if your body is primed for fitness, and it doesn’t require a wearable.
You don’t have to be good at it, either; you just have to be consistent. Even when it sucks. Even when you don’t want to, you have to do it every day.
First, get on the floor. Then put your legs together and extend them straight out in front — you should look like an “L.”
Place your hands beside your hip pockets. Lift both legs as high off the…
Some actors can just do angry.
You get the feeling that it’s who they are. That they live in a constant state of pissed off, ready to blow up buildings and break noses.
Think Denzel Washington. He’s an actor who doesn’t have to try to be angry. I could watch that man be mad all day. Same goes for Samuel L. Jackson and Joe Pesci — fury incarnate.
Anger is an art. A quality that swirls passion and purpose only to direct them in such a way that we can’t stop watching. …