I’m not a fan of cliffhangers. I think they’re cheap ploys to ensure somebody comes back to something. Television shows do it all the time, and films do too to guarantee the sequel’s success.
As a youngster, I remember watching “Superman” (the movie) for the first time during its network television premiere, and then being greatly disappointed when they split it over two nights, with the split occurring just after Clark Kent gained his superhero abilities. A little boy of only 5 or 6, I remember crying myself to sleep that night because I was desperate to find out what happened next. This was in the days before VHS, so in order to find out how it ended I needed to watch the second half when it was broadcast on television. Needless to say, I wasn’t able to see it, so I had to wait years to find out if Superman saved the day (I now realize it’s foolish to think it was even possible that he wouldn’t).
I encountered the ultimate cliffhanger several years later when I saw “The Empire Strikes Back” in the movie theater. The “Star Wars” sequel was the greatest movie I had ever seen (and it still is), but the ending left people hanging. Were the rebels going to rescue Han Solo from his carbonite prison? Was Luke going to finish his Jedi training? Was Darth Vader really his father?
People had to wait three years for the answers to these questions, and the wait was excruciating.
The wait to find out how any cliffhanger is resolved is usually painful, mainly because the payoff is weak in comparison to our hopes. “Return of the Jedi” was a worthy follow-up it seemed at the time, but in hindsight it could have been much better. Mark Hamill didn’t age well, Harrison Ford phoned in his acting for the film and the dialogue is laughable in places. Carrie Fisher in a gold bikini made the wait worth it, though. On the other hand, Jar Jar Binks was definitely not worth the 16-year wait for the next “Star Wars” film.
I bring up cliffhangers because I kind of left people with one last week in my column about my 10-year proposal anniversary to my wife, Jenny. To quote myself: “The next 10 years should be interesting, too. But I’ll address that next week.”
Why will they be interesting? What more can this loud mouth tell us about his family that he hasn’t already told us? Enough already about that kid of theirs?
Well, if you don’t like me writing about my family, you better stop reading this column because my family is about to get bigger.
Not bigger in the physical sense, although the way Braden eats that’s definitely possible, but bigger number wise. After trying for years, and being told it’s most likely not going to happen, Jenny, Braden and I will welcome a new baby to our family in August. That’s right, I’ll have one more Steuck to write about.
We learned shortly before Christmas Jenny was pregnant; Mother Nature gave us a Christmas present we really wanted but thought we’d never get. We thought this because several doctors and nurses have told us the chances of Jenny getting pregnant again were slim to none because she had an ovary removed several years ago due to endometriosis.
When I told her to get a pregnancy test after complaining about several possible symptoms, she laughed at me. Several days later, after realizing I might be right in my guess about her problems, she did. Two positive tests later, she realized it would be time to start coming up with some baby names.
We had Braden’s name fairly early, although we didn’t tell anybody.
We have several possibilities for this baby. They are..., well, come back later to find out.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, Feb. 17, 2012.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Ten-year anniversary practically began by dipping head in tomato paste
Sunday, Feb. 12, marks an important anniversary in my life. Ten years ago on that date I proposed to my wife, Jenny, while at a restaurant in Ripon.
At the time of my proposal we had been dating for nearly 10 months, but we had known each other for four years. We had met at a wedding in 1998, and I had liked her immediately. She was a bridesmaid and I was an usher, and during rehearsals the night before we flirted with each other, despite the fact she had a boyfriend (a complete loser in my opinion, so he didn’t really count).
We flirted more at the wedding, and danced together during the reception. The next day I even went to the gift opening in hopes of seeing her. I’m not normally the type of guy who goes to a gift opening, as I’d rather dip my head in tomato paste than watch someone else open gifts. My decision to attend the gift opening was noticed by my family who whispered about it to each other, as they tend to do when someone who isn’t married by the time he is 20 as he they think he ought to be is taking notice of a single girl.
She could tell by the whispering that I must have been interested in her, so she told her boyfriend to amuse himself after he called her in an attempt to get her to ditch the gift opening and go out with him and his friends.
The boyfriend kept me from asking her for her phone number, as I figured she’d say no if I asked. That didn’t stop me from asking someone else for her number, just in case I decided to become the type of guy who doesn’t care about boyfriends.
Several weeks later my grandmother told me she had heard Jenny was disappointed I had never called. Fearless learning this information, I called 20 minutes later. She made it clear she had a boyfriend, though, but she’d be happy to go out as friends. Much later, after I had told her what my grandmother had said, she noted she never said anything of the sort. Clearly, my grandmother was up to some Betty White tactics in getting me to be rather youthful.
We went out and saw “There’s Something About Mary,” and hung out a number of times as friends. I wanted more than friendship, especially after realizing her boyfriend was an even bigger loser than I had originally thought and that he didn’t appreciate her as well as he should have.
I even made a mix tape of songs I thought would swoon her: “Thunder Road” by Bruce Springsteen, “I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend” by the Ramones, “Shelter from Storm” by Bob Dylan. The Ramones song probably wasn’t subtle enough in its message because it frightened her enough to prevent her from listening to the tape.
We became good friends, and I stuck by her through the end of her relationship with her boyfriend. She wasn’t ready for me, though. I was already a college graduate working a full-time job and she was only a sophomore in college. Unable to accept that decision, I told her I couldn’t be friends anymore.
We didn’t talk for more than six months. I met another girl and we dated for several months. When it became clear that relationship wouldn’t work, I called Jenny one day to apologize for my behavior and to tell her I’d like to be friends again.
However, she was skeptical at this point, and in school, so our conversations were limited. Over the next few years we saw each other a few times, and talked occasionally, but our friendship was just that, friendship.
As she neared graduation, we met some friends at a bar in Wautoma during her spring break and enjoyed the evening together. She called me the next day to tell me she realized on the way home that night she had feelings for me.
Those were words I had wanted to hear for three years.
After dating all summer, fall and most of the winter, I asked her father for permission to marry her. I knew I would get a “yes,” as he was pushing her to date me for the years we were just friends.
I popped the question at Michael’s in Ripon, while we were looking for an apartment we would share together. Two days before Valentine’s Day, she never expected it, although I knew she had wanted it, based on all the hints she had been dropping in the months prior to my proposal.
The last 10 years have been the best ones in my life. We’ve shared plenty of good, and not-so-good, experiences, had a son we adore, bought several houses, moved five times and pursued even more education to hopefully better our lives.
The next 10 years should be interesting, too. But I’ll address that next week.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, Feb. 10, 2012.
At the time of my proposal we had been dating for nearly 10 months, but we had known each other for four years. We had met at a wedding in 1998, and I had liked her immediately. She was a bridesmaid and I was an usher, and during rehearsals the night before we flirted with each other, despite the fact she had a boyfriend (a complete loser in my opinion, so he didn’t really count).
We flirted more at the wedding, and danced together during the reception. The next day I even went to the gift opening in hopes of seeing her. I’m not normally the type of guy who goes to a gift opening, as I’d rather dip my head in tomato paste than watch someone else open gifts. My decision to attend the gift opening was noticed by my family who whispered about it to each other, as they tend to do when someone who isn’t married by the time he is 20 as he they think he ought to be is taking notice of a single girl.
She could tell by the whispering that I must have been interested in her, so she told her boyfriend to amuse himself after he called her in an attempt to get her to ditch the gift opening and go out with him and his friends.
The boyfriend kept me from asking her for her phone number, as I figured she’d say no if I asked. That didn’t stop me from asking someone else for her number, just in case I decided to become the type of guy who doesn’t care about boyfriends.
Several weeks later my grandmother told me she had heard Jenny was disappointed I had never called. Fearless learning this information, I called 20 minutes later. She made it clear she had a boyfriend, though, but she’d be happy to go out as friends. Much later, after I had told her what my grandmother had said, she noted she never said anything of the sort. Clearly, my grandmother was up to some Betty White tactics in getting me to be rather youthful.
We went out and saw “There’s Something About Mary,” and hung out a number of times as friends. I wanted more than friendship, especially after realizing her boyfriend was an even bigger loser than I had originally thought and that he didn’t appreciate her as well as he should have.
I even made a mix tape of songs I thought would swoon her: “Thunder Road” by Bruce Springsteen, “I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend” by the Ramones, “Shelter from Storm” by Bob Dylan. The Ramones song probably wasn’t subtle enough in its message because it frightened her enough to prevent her from listening to the tape.
We became good friends, and I stuck by her through the end of her relationship with her boyfriend. She wasn’t ready for me, though. I was already a college graduate working a full-time job and she was only a sophomore in college. Unable to accept that decision, I told her I couldn’t be friends anymore.
We didn’t talk for more than six months. I met another girl and we dated for several months. When it became clear that relationship wouldn’t work, I called Jenny one day to apologize for my behavior and to tell her I’d like to be friends again.
However, she was skeptical at this point, and in school, so our conversations were limited. Over the next few years we saw each other a few times, and talked occasionally, but our friendship was just that, friendship.
As she neared graduation, we met some friends at a bar in Wautoma during her spring break and enjoyed the evening together. She called me the next day to tell me she realized on the way home that night she had feelings for me.
Those were words I had wanted to hear for three years.
After dating all summer, fall and most of the winter, I asked her father for permission to marry her. I knew I would get a “yes,” as he was pushing her to date me for the years we were just friends.
I popped the question at Michael’s in Ripon, while we were looking for an apartment we would share together. Two days before Valentine’s Day, she never expected it, although I knew she had wanted it, based on all the hints she had been dropping in the months prior to my proposal.
The last 10 years have been the best ones in my life. We’ve shared plenty of good, and not-so-good, experiences, had a son we adore, bought several houses, moved five times and pursued even more education to hopefully better our lives.
The next 10 years should be interesting, too. But I’ll address that next week.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, Feb. 10, 2012.
Friday, February 3, 2012
‘Alcatraz’ fools shouldn’t be allowed to board ferry
A little over a year ago I visited Alcatraz while my wife and I were in San Francisco, Calif. Three weeks ago, Fox debuted a new J.J. Abrams (“Lost,” “Fringe”) television series, “Alcatraz,” which tells the “real story” of the prison island’s last inmates in 1963. When I visited the island, nothing in the tour mentioned anything about this “real story,” probably because it’s completely fictional.
Apparently other people don’t understand the difference between fact and fiction, though, as Parks Services representatives have told members of the media they’ve caught people sneaking into closed areas on the island looking for the “secret” control room featured in the television show.
I wouldn’t think this difference would be hard to figure out. In the television show, the last inmates were not put in other prisons when Alcatraz was closed, but instead mysteriously vanished. Nearly 50 years later, they started reappearing – at the same age they were in 1963 – with many of them resuming the crimes they had committed many years prior.
Part science-fiction, part procedural crime thriller and part time-travel story, “Alcatraz” is about as real as “Star Wars,” as only in a galaxy far, far away could any of this have actually occurred. Like “Star Wars,” though, it’s fun fiction that’s meant to let our imaginations explore realms of different possibilities. Unlike “Star Wars,” it’s only mediocre, as it leans far too close to repetitive “CSI” territory than it does to out-of-this world “Lost” and “Fringe” territory that Abrams is best at doing.
Because some people don’t understand the difference between fiction and reality, Alcatraz has now posted signs on the island that read: “The TV show Alcatraz is fictional; many areas it depicts are not real. Closed areas protect you, historic structures and nesting birds.”
They should have just posted a sign that said “All stupid people should get back on the boat. We don’t want to be responsible for you.”
In fact, the Alcatraz tour groups should weed these people out before even boating the ferry. As a federal island, security measures limit what people can take to the island, and everybody has to go through several checkpoints before boarding. One more stop should be included in which somebody quizzes each boarder with one question: “Do you expect to see Hurley at Alcatraz?” “Yes” answers mean no entry.
When I told my wife about the stupidity of some people visiting Alcatraz, she quickly pointed out I’m not much different. “Well… it isn’t that much different than someone recreating a pose from ‘The Rock’ for a photo op,” she said. “It’s a blurred line between fiction and reality.”
She was referring to a photo I had her take of me pretending to hold some flares with the skyline of San Francisco in the background from Alcatraz, much like Nick Cage did in the 1996 film.
“These people are looking for something that doesn’t really exist,” I argued. “I was recreating something that exists.”
“And you were pretending to be something that isn’t real,” she said. “The movie exists, but the story was fictional. So in essence, you were imitating fiction, as are they. You know you can’t win this argument.”
“No. They are literally looking for something that doesn’t exist because they think it does exist,” I said.
“Or so they say,” she said.
At that point I realized I shouldn’t separate fact from fiction. The fact is I was never going to win this argument. I never do. Winning would be fiction.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, Feb. 3, 2012.
Apparently other people don’t understand the difference between fact and fiction, though, as Parks Services representatives have told members of the media they’ve caught people sneaking into closed areas on the island looking for the “secret” control room featured in the television show.
I wouldn’t think this difference would be hard to figure out. In the television show, the last inmates were not put in other prisons when Alcatraz was closed, but instead mysteriously vanished. Nearly 50 years later, they started reappearing – at the same age they were in 1963 – with many of them resuming the crimes they had committed many years prior.
Part science-fiction, part procedural crime thriller and part time-travel story, “Alcatraz” is about as real as “Star Wars,” as only in a galaxy far, far away could any of this have actually occurred. Like “Star Wars,” though, it’s fun fiction that’s meant to let our imaginations explore realms of different possibilities. Unlike “Star Wars,” it’s only mediocre, as it leans far too close to repetitive “CSI” territory than it does to out-of-this world “Lost” and “Fringe” territory that Abrams is best at doing.
Because some people don’t understand the difference between fiction and reality, Alcatraz has now posted signs on the island that read: “The TV show Alcatraz is fictional; many areas it depicts are not real. Closed areas protect you, historic structures and nesting birds.”
They should have just posted a sign that said “All stupid people should get back on the boat. We don’t want to be responsible for you.”
In fact, the Alcatraz tour groups should weed these people out before even boating the ferry. As a federal island, security measures limit what people can take to the island, and everybody has to go through several checkpoints before boarding. One more stop should be included in which somebody quizzes each boarder with one question: “Do you expect to see Hurley at Alcatraz?” “Yes” answers mean no entry.
When I told my wife about the stupidity of some people visiting Alcatraz, she quickly pointed out I’m not much different. “Well… it isn’t that much different than someone recreating a pose from ‘The Rock’ for a photo op,” she said. “It’s a blurred line between fiction and reality.”
She was referring to a photo I had her take of me pretending to hold some flares with the skyline of San Francisco in the background from Alcatraz, much like Nick Cage did in the 1996 film.
“These people are looking for something that doesn’t really exist,” I argued. “I was recreating something that exists.”
“And you were pretending to be something that isn’t real,” she said. “The movie exists, but the story was fictional. So in essence, you were imitating fiction, as are they. You know you can’t win this argument.”
“No. They are literally looking for something that doesn’t exist because they think it does exist,” I said.
“Or so they say,” she said.
At that point I realized I shouldn’t separate fact from fiction. The fact is I was never going to win this argument. I never do. Winning would be fiction.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, Feb. 3, 2012.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Car batteries should get more praise, especially in cold Wisconsin winters
Considering the powerful job they have to do and the conditions they often have to work in, car batteries often effortlessly and thanklessly provide a function many of us couldn’t do without.
Except when they don’t start.
Because someone left the headlights on all night.
Oops.
Did I do that?
I’m not purposely trying to quote Steve Urkel, but I’ll admit I left my headlights on this week, draining my battery of all its power. After coming home from an evening class at the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point, I parked my vehicle in the garage and promptly got out without turning them off.
To come up with an excuse, I’ll blame my error on the fact my other vehicle has automatic headlights. I assumed these would turn off automatically also.
They didn’t, leaving me with a vehicle that wouldn’t start in the morning.
Fortunately my wife had just left for work and was able to come back and get me. If she hadn’t been around, I would have been working from home, which is hard to do when everything I need to do my job was on my computer at my office.
I’ve only had car battery problems twice in my life, and the first time probably shouldn’t count since the problem wasn’t actually the battery but the starter. I was young and inexperienced with even less car mechanic knowledge, so I assumed my car wasn’t starting because the battery was dead. After purchasing a new battery, figuring out how to change it and then trying with no luck to start it, I learned a good lesson: make sure the battery is dead first.
It was a good lesson, as I’ve had starters go out twice since then. Knowing the battery was fine, I was able to address the actual problem without unnecessarily buying a new battery. And when I encountered a legitimate battery problem two years ago after returning from a week-long trip to Florida, I knew it could be resolved with jumper cables rather than purchasing a new one.
I was told a little later by a mechanic I would need a new battery soon, as it only had a 30 percent life left in it. Two years later, I’ve finally used that remaining 30 percent, through a big fault of my own. Who knows how long it may have lasted had I not oopsed?
Usually when I have vehicle problems, I tend to curse the problem and the vehicle. But I’m not now. I’m praising all the car batteries I have ever had. They have been especially good to me over the years, especially when the temperatures have dropped well below zero. My grandmother told me a little praise can go a long way. I’m hoping this means I’ll never have to replace or jump another car battery again.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, Jan. 27, 2012.
Except when they don’t start.
Because someone left the headlights on all night.
Oops.
Did I do that?
I’m not purposely trying to quote Steve Urkel, but I’ll admit I left my headlights on this week, draining my battery of all its power. After coming home from an evening class at the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point, I parked my vehicle in the garage and promptly got out without turning them off.
To come up with an excuse, I’ll blame my error on the fact my other vehicle has automatic headlights. I assumed these would turn off automatically also.
They didn’t, leaving me with a vehicle that wouldn’t start in the morning.
Fortunately my wife had just left for work and was able to come back and get me. If she hadn’t been around, I would have been working from home, which is hard to do when everything I need to do my job was on my computer at my office.
I’ve only had car battery problems twice in my life, and the first time probably shouldn’t count since the problem wasn’t actually the battery but the starter. I was young and inexperienced with even less car mechanic knowledge, so I assumed my car wasn’t starting because the battery was dead. After purchasing a new battery, figuring out how to change it and then trying with no luck to start it, I learned a good lesson: make sure the battery is dead first.
It was a good lesson, as I’ve had starters go out twice since then. Knowing the battery was fine, I was able to address the actual problem without unnecessarily buying a new battery. And when I encountered a legitimate battery problem two years ago after returning from a week-long trip to Florida, I knew it could be resolved with jumper cables rather than purchasing a new one.
I was told a little later by a mechanic I would need a new battery soon, as it only had a 30 percent life left in it. Two years later, I’ve finally used that remaining 30 percent, through a big fault of my own. Who knows how long it may have lasted had I not oopsed?
Usually when I have vehicle problems, I tend to curse the problem and the vehicle. But I’m not now. I’m praising all the car batteries I have ever had. They have been especially good to me over the years, especially when the temperatures have dropped well below zero. My grandmother told me a little praise can go a long way. I’m hoping this means I’ll never have to replace or jump another car battery again.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, Jan. 27, 2012.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Getting braces removed calls for a William Wallace ‘Freedom’ shout
I sort of relived this week the scene in “Braveheart” where Mel Gibson’s William Wallace character has his intestines removed by his captors in hopes he’ll confess his sins, except I didn’t have my intestines removed, I wasn’t being tortured and nobody was trying to get me to confess my sins.
But I was lying down and I did have something extracted, and when it was done I wanted to yell “Freedom,” much like Wallace actually did do during the scene.
My moment of almost mirroring “Braveheart” took place Monday when the braces I’ve been wearing for the past year and a half were removed, returning freedom to my mouth.
Wearing braces for the past 18 months has been a chore. I’ve been limited in the foods I can eat, although I haven’t always followed some of those limitations as popcorn will never leave my diet.
Braces also occasionally hurt. When they shifted my teeth around, my lips and inner mouth often had to adjust to sharp edges piercing into their soft tissues, often making me whine to my wife. And she’ll admit that I’m usually pretty good about sucking up any pain and not complaining about it.
They also gave me trouble when I tried to pronounce certain big words. In a class at the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point, I often was faced with many big words, some containing many “s” sounds that often tangled with my braces. Fortunately my professor understood my difficulty, as she also had braces as an adult.
Adult braces are worth these costs, though, especially when you had a gap between your front teeth that could have fit the Titanic. I feared smiling in public, scared the draft coming from the gap as my mouth went in an upward motion would knock whomever I was smiling at down. That’s probably not a good way to meet someone.
My wife is now saying I can’t stop smiling, and that I look like the Cheshire Cat – devious and mischievous looking. I can understand, as I’m not quite sure how to smile properly yet. Right now my teeth-showing smile is a cross between Tom Cruise’s perfect smile and Charles Manson’s bug-eyed serial-killer smile. I’ll call it a Charles Cruise smile.
I’ll keep trying to get the Tom Cruise smile. I have the rest of my life to gladly practice.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, Jan. 20, 2012.
But I was lying down and I did have something extracted, and when it was done I wanted to yell “Freedom,” much like Wallace actually did do during the scene.
My moment of almost mirroring “Braveheart” took place Monday when the braces I’ve been wearing for the past year and a half were removed, returning freedom to my mouth.
Wearing braces for the past 18 months has been a chore. I’ve been limited in the foods I can eat, although I haven’t always followed some of those limitations as popcorn will never leave my diet.
Braces also occasionally hurt. When they shifted my teeth around, my lips and inner mouth often had to adjust to sharp edges piercing into their soft tissues, often making me whine to my wife. And she’ll admit that I’m usually pretty good about sucking up any pain and not complaining about it.
They also gave me trouble when I tried to pronounce certain big words. In a class at the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point, I often was faced with many big words, some containing many “s” sounds that often tangled with my braces. Fortunately my professor understood my difficulty, as she also had braces as an adult.
Adult braces are worth these costs, though, especially when you had a gap between your front teeth that could have fit the Titanic. I feared smiling in public, scared the draft coming from the gap as my mouth went in an upward motion would knock whomever I was smiling at down. That’s probably not a good way to meet someone.
My wife is now saying I can’t stop smiling, and that I look like the Cheshire Cat – devious and mischievous looking. I can understand, as I’m not quite sure how to smile properly yet. Right now my teeth-showing smile is a cross between Tom Cruise’s perfect smile and Charles Manson’s bug-eyed serial-killer smile. I’ll call it a Charles Cruise smile.
I’ll keep trying to get the Tom Cruise smile. I have the rest of my life to gladly practice.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, Jan. 20, 2012.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Community Weight Race is good challenge for wannabe Oprahs and Jareds
Oprah and Jared better look out, as a new weight-loss guru is coming to town.
Actually it’s me, and I’m already in town and I’m definitely not a weight-loss guru. But I hope to be as I’m all registered for Ministry Health Care’s fifth annual Community Weight Race. I intend to tell people about my progress, as well as my team’s progress, throughout the four-month challenge, much like Oprah Winfrey used to talk about her own weight loss during the era of her daily show and Jared Fogle still talks about his weight loss by eating subs at Subway.
Weigh-in was held earlier this week, and I came in at 260 pounds with a 46.5-inch waist. I’ll admit I’m fat, but compared to me two years ago when I weighed 315 pounds, I’m in much better shape. In fact, for the past two years I have run and exercised regularly, and have no health problems except a head that is balding.
To put my stats in better perspective, I am 6’4” and have always been a bigger person. I weighed 280 pounds when I got married eight years ago, and throughout my first three years of college more than 15 years ago I hovered around 270.
The summer between my junior and senior year I decided I had had enough of being big. I watched everything I ate, refusing to put anything bad in my mouth, and I started running. Many of my friends in high school were cross country runners and I often listened to them talk about the freedom they felt when they were on roads and trails. I wanted to experience that freedom myself.
At first, I walked more than I ran as my lungs could only handle so much. Within a few weeks I was running more than walking and I began to understand the freedom my friends had talked about. By the middle of the summer, I could often get into the “zone,” a feeling runners can get in which the body forgets it’s running and the mind focuses on other things.
I shed the weight like water and soon was down to 217 pounds. I’d never get lower than that, as a busy senior year took some of my focus away from careful eating and regular exercise. I graduated from college weighing 230 pounds and maintained that weight for about a year. It gradually started going up again, and before I realized it, I was my old self again, someone whom I did not want to be.
And then I became a new person, someone even bigger and someone I definitely did not want to be. A busy family life and work schedule were excuses I used to keep the focus away from caring about myself. It wasn’t until my father-in-law told my wife that I seemed rather winded after doing some mildly involved tasks that I realized I was completely out of shape.
Losing weight has been much more difficult this time around than it was previously. I’m older so my metabolism isn’t the same, and I don’t have the time I had before to concentrate on the weight-loss task.
But it has been slowly coming off over the last two years. I started running again, and I try to make better choices on what I eat. My biggest problem is I like to eat. Food and I were meant to be together, and my stomach demands this. My issue then is making my stomach demand food that is healthy and better for me.
I plan on focusing on this during the Weight Race. While I’ll also look at exercising more and better during the challenge, I know I’ll benefit more by changing my dietary habits. This will mean less eating out, less snacks and smaller portions.
Presenting my progress to the public will motivate me to follow through on this endeavor. It will motivate me the same way I expect it to motivate my other team members (and whom I’m still finding) who I will also follow through a series of articles covering the Weight Race. These articles will start in next week’s issue. Oprah and Jared better watch out.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, Jan. 13, 2012.
Actually it’s me, and I’m already in town and I’m definitely not a weight-loss guru. But I hope to be as I’m all registered for Ministry Health Care’s fifth annual Community Weight Race. I intend to tell people about my progress, as well as my team’s progress, throughout the four-month challenge, much like Oprah Winfrey used to talk about her own weight loss during the era of her daily show and Jared Fogle still talks about his weight loss by eating subs at Subway.
Weigh-in was held earlier this week, and I came in at 260 pounds with a 46.5-inch waist. I’ll admit I’m fat, but compared to me two years ago when I weighed 315 pounds, I’m in much better shape. In fact, for the past two years I have run and exercised regularly, and have no health problems except a head that is balding.
To put my stats in better perspective, I am 6’4” and have always been a bigger person. I weighed 280 pounds when I got married eight years ago, and throughout my first three years of college more than 15 years ago I hovered around 270.
The summer between my junior and senior year I decided I had had enough of being big. I watched everything I ate, refusing to put anything bad in my mouth, and I started running. Many of my friends in high school were cross country runners and I often listened to them talk about the freedom they felt when they were on roads and trails. I wanted to experience that freedom myself.
At first, I walked more than I ran as my lungs could only handle so much. Within a few weeks I was running more than walking and I began to understand the freedom my friends had talked about. By the middle of the summer, I could often get into the “zone,” a feeling runners can get in which the body forgets it’s running and the mind focuses on other things.
I shed the weight like water and soon was down to 217 pounds. I’d never get lower than that, as a busy senior year took some of my focus away from careful eating and regular exercise. I graduated from college weighing 230 pounds and maintained that weight for about a year. It gradually started going up again, and before I realized it, I was my old self again, someone whom I did not want to be.
And then I became a new person, someone even bigger and someone I definitely did not want to be. A busy family life and work schedule were excuses I used to keep the focus away from caring about myself. It wasn’t until my father-in-law told my wife that I seemed rather winded after doing some mildly involved tasks that I realized I was completely out of shape.
Losing weight has been much more difficult this time around than it was previously. I’m older so my metabolism isn’t the same, and I don’t have the time I had before to concentrate on the weight-loss task.
But it has been slowly coming off over the last two years. I started running again, and I try to make better choices on what I eat. My biggest problem is I like to eat. Food and I were meant to be together, and my stomach demands this. My issue then is making my stomach demand food that is healthy and better for me.
I plan on focusing on this during the Weight Race. While I’ll also look at exercising more and better during the challenge, I know I’ll benefit more by changing my dietary habits. This will mean less eating out, less snacks and smaller portions.
Presenting my progress to the public will motivate me to follow through on this endeavor. It will motivate me the same way I expect it to motivate my other team members (and whom I’m still finding) who I will also follow through a series of articles covering the Weight Race. These articles will start in next week’s issue. Oprah and Jared better watch out.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, Jan. 13, 2012.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Legos can be object of love/hate relationship with parents
Other people with small children probably understand my love/hate relationship with Legos, the little building bricks of many youngsters’ lives.
I love them because, bottom line, they are fun. Playing with them somehow unleashes an inner creativity many other toys don’t provide. One can build spaceships, temples and giant robots – all of which can be used to battle each other or as a setting for other toys.
As a child, I had a bucket of Legos that lasted through numerous other toy fads. They served as my G.I. Joes, Transformers and Star Wars figures when I didn’t have the actual product, and they were involved in many pretend futuristic wars.
I can’t recall what happened to that red bucket of Legos, but they’ll always remain in my memory.
My 6-year-old son, Braden, has a similar fascination with Legos, one which his parents, grandparents and other relatives have been more than happy to help him with by keeping the supply well stocked.
And by well stocked I mean thousands of Lego pieces, well more than any one child really needs. His Indiana Jones-themed room could be opened as a mini-Legoland if the company ever wanted to open a Stevens Point branch.
We’ve been to two Legolands – the one at Disney World in Orlando, Fla., and the one at the Mall of America in Minnesota. Both were cool places to visit, especially since they had some awesome giant Lego displays that must have taken thousands of hours to complete and hundreds of thousands of Legos to make.
The Stevens Point Legoland isn’t nearly as cool, though, as it’s a mess, which brings me to my hate for Legos: they hurt when you step on them with bare feet. This happens to me daily because Legos are something Braden is always playing with, and leaving on the floor for me to step on.
After spending an entire day over the New Year’s holiday helping Braden put together some of the Lego sets he received for Christmas, I spent the next entire day helping him to organize all of his Legos that aren’t part of a set into a Lego organizer his grandfather got for him as a present.
The organizer worked well, as it allowed us to separate the Legos by color. That seemed the easier way to categorize them, as separating them by type would have taken a week or more.
We completely filled the organizer, which technically means we don’t need to buy any more Legos. I’m sure we will, as there’s too much to love about them and too many battles to be fought using them.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, Jan. 6, 2012.
I love them because, bottom line, they are fun. Playing with them somehow unleashes an inner creativity many other toys don’t provide. One can build spaceships, temples and giant robots – all of which can be used to battle each other or as a setting for other toys.
As a child, I had a bucket of Legos that lasted through numerous other toy fads. They served as my G.I. Joes, Transformers and Star Wars figures when I didn’t have the actual product, and they were involved in many pretend futuristic wars.
I can’t recall what happened to that red bucket of Legos, but they’ll always remain in my memory.
My 6-year-old son, Braden, has a similar fascination with Legos, one which his parents, grandparents and other relatives have been more than happy to help him with by keeping the supply well stocked.
And by well stocked I mean thousands of Lego pieces, well more than any one child really needs. His Indiana Jones-themed room could be opened as a mini-Legoland if the company ever wanted to open a Stevens Point branch.
We’ve been to two Legolands – the one at Disney World in Orlando, Fla., and the one at the Mall of America in Minnesota. Both were cool places to visit, especially since they had some awesome giant Lego displays that must have taken thousands of hours to complete and hundreds of thousands of Legos to make.
The Stevens Point Legoland isn’t nearly as cool, though, as it’s a mess, which brings me to my hate for Legos: they hurt when you step on them with bare feet. This happens to me daily because Legos are something Braden is always playing with, and leaving on the floor for me to step on.
After spending an entire day over the New Year’s holiday helping Braden put together some of the Lego sets he received for Christmas, I spent the next entire day helping him to organize all of his Legos that aren’t part of a set into a Lego organizer his grandfather got for him as a present.
The organizer worked well, as it allowed us to separate the Legos by color. That seemed the easier way to categorize them, as separating them by type would have taken a week or more.
We completely filled the organizer, which technically means we don’t need to buy any more Legos. I’m sure we will, as there’s too much to love about them and too many battles to be fought using them.
****
Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, Jan. 6, 2012.
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