Given the apparent influence of fruits and ice cream on workout performance (not to mention weight; I’m up half a pound since yesterday), I want to test my theory. Instead of more ice cream, I have a peach today, a few hours before my workout. I’m still feeling the pulled back, so I skip the warm up again and get right to it.

Forwarding my Heroic Soundtrack past the… Continue reading

A few hours before my last workout, I had two very fresh, very organic peaches from the tree in my yard, and then a bit of cold water just before (and during) the workout. While on The Machine, I felt stronger and went longer. My theory is that the peach (and perhaps the water, but mostly the peach) contributed to that.

After due consideration, I decide to test this theory scientifically, by consuming Ben & Jerry’s ice cream today, instead of peaches. A rigorous selection process swiftly winnows down my choices: Mint Chocolate Cookie, and the ever-popular Cherry Garcia. Unable (or unwilling) to narrow the candidates any further, I decide to eat both—one pint each. Continue reading

It’s been pretty hot lately. Today, the outside temperature hovers around 100. And while there may be some deranged individuals eager to step outside and exert themselves in this kind of heat, I am not one of them.

I get to The Machine fairly late today, so it’s warmer than usual inside as well. I don’t turn the a/c on in the living room, for the simple reason that it takes an hour or more to cool down the room, and I’ll only be exercising for 14 minutes. (Power rates in southern California are like real estate used to be: always going up.)

I do consider skipping today’s session, because even just standing here, it’s uncomfortably warm—at a guess, somewhere in the 80s. (Note to self: get accurate thermometers for inside/outside temperature measurements.) After a moment’s consideration. I decide that would be wimping out. Continue reading

I regain consciousness after too little sleep, and shamble to the bathroom to weigh in. I can hardly believe my sleep-filled eyes: 249.7 pounds. I step off and on again, to double-check. Sure enough. For the first time this year, I’m sub-250.

That makes—what?—3.8 pounds in 11 days. Even though I slipped up and had two skinny pizzas and a pint or two of Ben & Jerry’s. (I didn’t mention this earlier, fearing that I might appear weak-willed. Now I’ve decided to mention all such transgressions, reasoning that the potential for public embarrassment may help curb my sweet tooth.) Continue reading

Back to The Machine. I do the usual stretch routine to warm up, then hit the road (so to speak). Before I get rolling, though, I decide to test The Machine’s calorie-burn readout. I mean, without knowing my height or weight (or for that matter anything else about me), how accurate can it be, really—and how can I test it?

It occurs to me that the faster I pedal, the faster the calories-burned readout should tick upward. At my normal pace—somewhere between 50 and 55 RPM—the display tells me I’m burning a measly 1/10th of a calorie for every two strides on The Machine.

So I stride as sluggishly as I can, feet barely moving, like some slow-motion runner. I watch the calorie-burn readout like a hawk. It doesn’t slow down. Instead, it speeds up—to the point where (if the readout is to be believed) I’m now burning 400% more calories than I do when I’m striding 500% faster. Continue reading

Same-same today. My legs start burning at about 8:30. Again I push to 14 minutes. It definitely seems to be my legs that are the limiting factor here, though I do become a mouth-breather after maybe 6 minutes in The Machine’s clutches.

I wonder idly if this has more to do with the rate at which I’m ellipiticaling (my stride rate, in proper terms) than anything else. Perhaps it’s time to increase the resistance, or perhaps start using the incline ramp? Continue reading

Cue music. Stretch. Ride. I seem to be settling into a routine now. I set up one of those tall, rotating fans beside The Machine, thinking it will help keep me cool. The Machine does have its own small, internal fan, but when I crank this up the air hits me in the chest, and smells like plastic.

Trouble is, I’m so high when riding The Machine (the ceiling is not far off) that the tall fan only reaches my legs. Gotta fix that. Next time, baby. I try the on-board pulse monitor again, just for grins and giggles: 148 it tells me, before I’ve even begun. Horsepuckey. Continue reading

Some people jump out of bed in the morning. I’ve never been one of those people, and—short of waking beside a rattlesnake—probably never will be. My post-waking gait can best be described as a sort of semicatatonic zombie-shuffle. It takes a few minutes for the world to come fully into focus. Continue reading

Today is T-Day. Training Day. The new beginning. My ascension to fitness should, I feel, be accompanied by a fittingly heroic soundtrack. I cobble together a few tracks from Iron Man, allowing roughly 5 minutes for warm-up stretching exercises (recommended by the brief instructions that came with The Machine), 21 minutes for the workout itself, and another 5 minutes for cool-down stretching exercises.

I enter the living room. The Machine awaits. I toss it my best hard stare. It seems unimpressed. Continue reading