The Contract. (Or, How I Got My Husband to Lose 20 Pounds)

It was the middle of November. We were curled up watching a movie. Out of the blue, I asked him, "Will you let me control what you eat and how you exercise for two weeks?"

"Sure," he said.

He agreed too easily.

"Three weeks," I amended.

"Sure," he said.

I immediately dug out a pen and paper, quickly wrote out a list of rules, which would function as a contract, reviewed them with him, and made him sign the bottom. I worked quickly, knowing I had managed to catch him in a very agreeable state, and that I should take advantage of the opportunity. Never before, in the twelve years we've been together, have I had complete control over something like this. I couldn't wait to be in charge. I was almost giddy.

Before I share the rules listed in the contract, some background on my husbands health. He's a tall lad, six foot three, and has hovered between 220 and 235 for the past decade and a half. He hits the gym regularly, and can put on bulk by just looking at a set of weights the right way. However, he also consumed 5-6 liters of ice cream a week, and on the nights he wasn't eating ice cream, he was eating mounds of peanut butter slathered on a couple pieces of bread, and a beer stein full of milk. He was strong and fit, but had excess weight to lose.

So this is what I made him sign:

The "At the Mercy of My Wife" Plan

November 17 - December 8

1. Lift weights 3x week (He can choose the days)
2. Run 5x week (I choose the days)
3. Only one coffee per day, the rest is green tea
4. Eat every 3 hours. No exceptions. This will require bringing snacks on work days.  **I approve the snacks**
5. Three water bottles per day 
6. Push ups on command 
7. No supplements, shakes, etc.

Absolutely no exceptions:
 - No snacks after 8pm
 - Mealtimes are single serving only
 - No arguing or whining like a baby

**We will be discussing this on a regular basis, so be ready to report on plans for the day, and how the day went. Provide details.**

So he signed.

His runs were between 3 and 6k, nothing substantial, the point was just to get him outside doing cardio. The push ups on command were by far the most entertaining of all the rules. I typically made him do 15 or 20, sometimes I went up to 50...sometimes only 10. Several times a day. And sometimes one set right after another. After another. One day he did over 200 push ups. A couple times I had him clapping in between counts. Like I said....very entertaining.  His snacks were some combination of: yogurt, apples, cheese, raisins, pumpkin seeds, almonds and clementines. If he had milk, it was only 1 single cup, 250 ml.

He rarely complained, though he did try to swindle an extra gym day from time to time. My surprise push ups only made him grin. I only ever heard him utter once that he was hungry, but I think that was a day he lifted weights and ran. But it was at 9:30 at night, and past snack time, so he waited it out. He followed the rules exceptionally well, although there were a few skipped snack times. He paid for that in push ups.

Within two days of signing the contract his pants were loose. Within a week, his chest and shoulders were getting more defined. By the end of two weeks, he had lost 7 pounds and was noticeably slimmer in his midsection. By the end of three weeks, he had lost 20 pounds. We were both shocked.

I was expecting him to lose maybe 12 pounds over the three weeks. But I assume that not devoting as much time to lifting weights and more time spent on cardio, that he had some muscle loss as well. Which is fine, he was pretty bulky to begin with...he could afford to trim down.

So that is the contract. I know some were asking about it, and its nothing crazy or special. Exercise regularly, and eat healthy in proportioned sizes at regular intervals. I think it worked well for him, because he followed the rules, and knew he had someone else, besides himself, to answer to. Plus, push ups.

What goes around, comes around.

We went out with friends to dinner a few weeks ago, and I don't know why this happens, but the subject of our veggie box came up. Must have been talking about kids, trying to get them to eat, or something along that lines. Whatever. Anyway. I go through my whole veggie box spiel, and she says she was interested in the idea and planned to get signed up. Over the next couple of days, I sent her the contact information of our farmers and didn't think much about it.

Fast forward a couple of weeks, and we are at their place for dinner. We sit down at the table to eat, and they have served Shephard's Pie and some squash on the side. Smelled heavenly.

Then they say that everything we are eating that night is local, from the veggie box they signed up for! Woo! The Shephard's Pie hamburger was even mixed with a bit of the lamb from the box.

And then I asked what kind of squash it was, and she said it was the squash from the box as well. Wait. What? You mean those squashes that we've been getting are edible? I've been using them as ornamental fall decorations around the house!! They are so little and pretty!

 

See? Looks different than other buttercup squashes...more ornamental...

So I passed the word of the veggie box to someone, and in turn they taught me something new! And now I have five little squashes to roast...mmm... And now I'm glad that I talk about my veggie box in random conversations. It all works out in the end.

My Veggie Box.

"Your what?"

That's the usual reaction when I mention my veggie box.

Every week, I pick up a plastic tote full of vegetables, eggs and herbs from a local farmer. I believe it started as a part of a government healthy eating program. I signed up to the program, and now every week, for the past two years (possibly three- I'm getting old and am losing track of time) the farmer packs up a large number of boxes into their cube van, parks in a central spot in town, and townfolk like myself pay the $25 to give back their empty box and pick up a new one.

A mid-summer veggie box. Mmm corn on the cob.

This was the contents of the box this week:

• broccoli 

• cauliflower

• beets

• kale 

• tomatoes

• cucumber(2)

• large white onion

• spaghetti squash

• dozen eggs

And two week before:

• carrots

• red cabbage

• cucumber(2)

• tomatoes

• leek

• broccoli

• small sweet dumpling squash

• large white onion

• swiss chard

• dozen eggs

So you get whats fresh, and there is a good variety, in the summer at least. In the winter, there are a lot of root vegetables, which they sometimes supplement with their own flour, or pancake mix, homemade jam or fresh bread.

The great thing about the veggie box is that it really forces me to eat more veggies. Pasta is a rare thing in our house, as is rice, fries or any kind of boxed side dish. I love love love squash. I am starting to learn how to eat beets (we bought a juicer!), and recently discovered that bacon (from the same farmer!) is a very tasty ingredient in a cabbage dish. You have to get creative.

I really recommend looking into this in your own town. For smaller households, you might be able to negotiate with your farmer to get a box every second week, perhaps. We are really lucky, because our farmer also supplies frozen meat boxes as well, as they raise cattle, pigs and lamb. Grass fed beef...so so good.

When you live in a rural setting, take advantage of the ruralness. Local veggies ftw.

The documentary that changed the way I ate.

The tagline for Food, Inc. is "You'll never look at dinner the same way again". Never have truer words been spoken.

When we watched the documentary, I had no clue about food systems. I had a good handle on nutrition, and the rules: stay out on the outside walls of the grocery store, don't eat food that comes in a box, blah blah blah. I mostly listened to it. I get my veggies from a local farmer, but still bought my meat from the grocery store. And occasionally bought processed food for the sake of convenience and a "treat" for the family: chicken nuggets, chicken burgers, hamburgers, etc.

I was pretty much in the dark.



I encourage everyone to watch it. Granted, this is a documentary about the American food system, but who knows what happens inside an industry?

I've made some pretty significant changes in the eight months since I've watched it. I no longer buy chicken at the grocery store. The only chicken we've eaten since last January (eight months ago) has been whole chickens, raised locally. The farmers that provide us with our veggie box also prepare a meat box as well, so I've been buying their locally grown, grass fed beef. And let me tell you. Grass fed beef tastes so much better.

I've been reading more about what the industry is putting cattle through, and in the book I'm reading now, The Omnivore's Dilemma, by Micheal Pollan, has done some eye opening research.

A cow can't live on a feedlot for more than 150 days, without succumbing to one of the many diseases and sicknesses that it is inevitable with being on a corn fed diet. Bloating to the point their stomachs balloon and put so much pressure on their lungs, it suffocates them. Acidosis -really bad heartburn- to the point of diarrhea, ulcers and liver disease. These cows are sick. Antibiotics are the answer, of course. Antibiotics are pumped into the bodies of those cows to keep them alive as long as possible, to gain as much weight as possible before they are ready to slaughter.

This author, Micheal Pollan, was a part of the Food, Inc. documentary, as was this interesting guy: Joel Salatin. He's probably one of the most memorable characters in the doc. He's being interviewed, and telling stories while working on his farm, and we're literally watching him wring a chickens neck with his bare hands as he speaks. But he is so charming, you actually feel good about the chicken bodies piling up. These chickens are wholesome. Dead... but wholesome.

I hope everyone has a good weekend. Watch the documentary if you get a chance. Find out more about what you are eating. Support your local farmers. More importantly, trust your local farmers. Know that they care about what they are feeding you.

My newest obsession.

Now that Tough Mudder is over, I need something else to work towards. I took a week off to do nothing, and tried to figure out what I'm up to next. And then I saw it. The internet pointed me towards Nerd Fitness website, and a couple of articles in particular.

One article is a success story about Staci, who went from a little overweight to a kickass powerlifter. Besides telling Staci's story, the article drives home the point that lifting big weights does not make you big. That was one thing that was always in the back of my mind, and one of my first questions to the trainer when I started at the gym. I didn't want to get bulky. When I read Staci's story, a lightbulb went off.

The other article is about body fat percentages.

So, between the two articles, I've made some changes, given myself some timelines, and reworked my handy dandy workout whiteboard.

My handy dandy workout whiteboard.

My goals over the next four months is to:

1. Deadlift 150% of my body weight
2. Lower my body fat percentage (I'm hoping by 5%, but would like to get my hands on some calipers first to see what's feasible)

To do this, I'm lifting heavier weights with lower number of reps, focusing more on lifting and less on cardio, and eating every two hours.

This is my second week on the plan and I am loving it. Eating every two hours is awesome. Its making me drink less coffee, so my stomach isn't as rotten all the time, I have tons more energy, and my workouts have gotten way more interesting.

So that's what I've been up to! One journey ended and another one begins.

Tough Mudder. Let's do this.

Mile 7

I am sitting in tall brush under the sparse shade of a tree on the side of a mountain. I am covered in dried mud. No... more than mud. There is small twigs, dead grass and other unknown material dried to my skin. I look to my left. My brother's face is grey. He's in pain and I know he's considering quitting. Movement catches my eye. I watch a bug navigate the debris on my arm. A second one lands. I watch that one, too. Any other day I would have flicked them away, but today I had no energy to care, let alone move. I can feel my friend look at me, concerned. The mountain path we just finished was the toughest yet. We were near the end and people were struggling, myself included. Dozens of bodies littered the edges of the path, on all fours or laid on their backs, trying to catch their breath, coax their muscles to loosen and let them continue the climb. My husband says, "Let's go." He pulls me to my feet and I step into the hot sun. Break is over. We keep moving. 

Mile 3

We walk up to the Berlin Walls as a group. One person asks, "How are we doing this...same as last time?" Someone else agrees. A third person gets into position, kneeling so I can step on his back. I feel a twinge of fear, but I ignore it - I've done this before. I can do this. I use my husband for balance as I step up onto his back with the left foot, and place my right foot in another's waiting hands. I reach for the top of the wall and push myself off from his hands. It worked. I lean way over the edge to get my weight balanced and pull one leg over the edge. I sit up straight, straddling the top of the 10 foot wall. I have no time to stop and enjoy the view or the moment, although I am vaguely aware of the chaos around me. I grip the wall tightly with my hands, lean down and swing my other leg to the other side. My body is pressed against the wall and, still gripping the edge, lower myself down to hang from the wall. My hands let go and I drop. 


Two more walls left to go. And they only get higher.

Mile 9

I watch my teammate successfully get up Everest, one of the obstacles I've been fearing the most. It was his second attempt; his first time ended up with him sliding down the huge greased quarter pipe. I knew it was my turn. He was up at the top of the pipe, arms ready, waiting for me. I pointed at him, signalling to him I was aiming for him. I started to run, pumping my legs harder as I got closer to the pipe. My feet slammed into it...one, two, three, four times. I'm near the top, as far as I can go, and I see the hands I was aiming for. I grab them and they grab back. I shouted at another guy close by to grab my leg, as I twist and try to get my foot up as high as I can. He catches it and between the two of them, they haul my body clumsily over the edge. I get out of the way quickly. I shout my thanks and start the descent down the other side. They don't hear me as they prepare for the next body hurling itself towards them. 

Mile 5

Music pounds. Queens of the Stone Age, my brother tells me later. A teammate hands me half of a banana and tells me to eat it. I decline. My stomach was in no shape for solid food. "You need it," he insists. I take small bites and eventually get it down. I take another sip of water. We're at one of the water stations. There is dirt at the bottom of the cup. I drink it anyway. I'm sitting down again. I don't want to stand up yet, I know I'll be dizzy and likely fall over and I don't want a medic over here. I've heard some others talk about dehydration and the need for more water stations. I sit for a minute longer. The water and music does the trick. Feeling more energetic, I get up on my legs and we start the steep climb towards the next obstacle. 

Mile 2

I get down on my hands and knees onto the mud and rocks. I look into the dark tunnel and it reveals nothing. I know there are people waiting behind me, so I get down on my belly and inch carefully inside. Huh. Ok. Moving carefully doesn't get me anywhere. The tunnel is dark and small and I don't know how long it is. I need to get through the tunnel quicker than this. My crawling becomes quicker, less careful. My knees drag across rocks. My elbows do most of the work, reaching forward, and pulling my body, keeping my hips low. My hands hit dirt directly in front of me. Have I reached a dead end? All I see is blackness. Feel around for empty space. Found it. Twist my body to make my way around the corner. It's a tight squeeze. I wonder how people twice my size, guys like my husband, are getting through this thing. I crawl for a bit longer. I see light! I drag myself through a couple more feet of rocks. I can feel skin being ripped off my elbows. I crawl past the edge into the sun. I hear my teammates start to cheer and I respond by grinning. Let's do this.


(Note on Mile 7: I heard after our group went through this stage of the course that the organizers closed off this leg and shortened the course. People were dropping like flies. Someone saw a guy being carried off this section of the mountain on a stretcher. It was tough.)

I'm about to sign my first death waiver.

Training is over. House is cleaned. Kids are packed. Laundry is happening. Almost ready to go. Only thing left is to do is sign my death waiver.

Checking out the Tough Mudder participant page today and I noticed their Event Schedule reads like the following:

Step 1) Bring Your Signed Death Waiver
Step 2) Pick up Your Participant Packet
Step 3) Get your Face Marked
Step 4) Don’t Throw Up

Well, that's great. Don't throw up. Thanks for the tip. Everything else is covered in the death waiver.

These are my two favorite paragraphs:

"I understand and acknowledge that these risks may cause harm including, but not limited to:  bodily injury, ranging from minor to severe; illness or infection, ranging from minor to severe; physical and/or mental effects of exposure to extreme conditions and circumstances, ranging from minor to severe; temporary or permanent disability; paralysis; death; and property damage or loss. 

  I expressly, knowingly and voluntarily assume all of the risks of participating in Tough Mudder.  I understand and acknowledge that these risks include, but are not limited to:  falls; illness; infection; contact or collision with spectators, personnel, and other pedestrians; contact or collision with motor vehicles or machinery; contact or collision with other participants of varying skill levels; contact and the effects of contact with natural and manmade fixed objects; natural and man-made water, road and surface hazards; close proximity and/or contact with thick smoke and/or open flames; inadequate competition equipment and/or equipment failure; dangers arising from weather conditions, including but not limited to extreme heat, cold, humidity, ice, rain, hail, lightning, or fog; imperfect course conditions; and inadequate safety, first aid and/or emergency response measures."


In all honesty, I'm really not that worried. The terms and conditions of using a PS3 are pretty frightening as well...and really, has anyone out there ever suffered dizziness or seizures from Tiger Woods PGA 13?

So I'm going to go sign this. My first death waiver. Meh. I just hope I don't throw up.