My “Pie a Month” Ironman Diet Regimen

Before I begin, I swear that this whole weight loss thing is working. So far I’ve lost 20 lbs from my fattest sad panda state, and I’m roughly six pounds away from my tentative weight goal (which may change depending on how much belly pooch I’ve got when I hit that magic number). That being said, let’s talk pie. So when I trained for my first Ironman, I ended up eating a lot of frozen custard from Old School. It’s freakin’ delicious, and you can’t beat the fact that they have a new flavor every day. I’m not really a “sweets” person; normally I’m more of a savory/salty fan when it comes to food cravings. However, for some reason I just ended up gorging on frozen custard in conjunction with the ridiculous amount of training hours I was racking up each week. I had the calories to spare, so what the hell, why not waste them on frozen snacky snacks. This year I thought about changing things up a bit. While I’m still intent on losing weight, I’ve decided that Ironman #2 will be fueled with pie. My fellow Ironman Canada alum Bill is married to a woman named Alley, and not only does Alley run like the wind (I don’t know if she’s done any tris, but she’s done a bunch of run races), she bakes pies. Normally I’m not a huge pie freak (again with typically being “meh” with regards to desserts), but I commissioned Alley to make a coconut cream pie for Jason’s birthday last month and once I tasted that coconutty goodness, I got a little hooked. Like any junkie, soon after polishing off this bad boy I was craving another fix, so after trying to hold out for a couple weeks, I messaged my dealer on Facebook: Me: “Okay, so I seriously am thinking about buying a pie from you every month. Would that be ridiculous? I’m open to seasonal flavor deliciousness…something seasonal and awesome sounds like it could be a winner for October. Yes, I am addicted to your pies after only having tried one. Don’t judge me.” Alley: “Hahahaha! I KNEW you’d get hooked! Atta girl!” And thus my “One Pie Every Month” agreement had been born. On Saturday I picked up October’s flavor, apple. When Jason heard we were getting an apple pie, he had this reaction: But then he saw this hefty motherfucker: When he tried it, he reacted accordingly: I picked up the pie on Saturday and right now there’s only one slice left. We’ve been pairing our portions with snickerdoodle ice cream from Bluebird for super extreme deliciousness a la mode. (I must point out that despite Jason being fully on board with the Pie of the Month agreement, he’s lost 30 lbs thus far and has been dropping weight like a mofo. So there, I’ve now justified our fat-assness with the fact that we’re mostly being responsible and health-conscious, minus pie.) November’s pie flavor will obviously be pumpkin. That combined with the fact that Thanksgiving is easily my favorite holiday purely because of the large quantity of food that can be drenched in gravy means my triumphant return to racing (the Seattle half marathon) could either go well because I’ve been injury-free and running well lately, or it could go horribly awry as I stumble 13.1 miles in a bloated pie and starchy haze. Place your bets...
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One of Those Days

We’ve all had them–I’ve certainly had my fair share, like when I set out to ride the Lake Stevens course a couple times and made it 10 miles. Or when I set out to ride 82 miles and made it about 30 and nearly froze to death. Sometimes you just have one of those days where you set out to do something and the forces combine to eff up your ess so that you have the worst day imaginable as one thing after another goes wrong. Yesterday was one of those days for me. I had a speed run workout scheduled, so Jas and I headed to the Greenlake track on our lunch break to bust it out. The plan was to do a 20 minute warm up, then two miles all out with a five minute recovery, then 4×100 at my previous all out pace with a three minute recovery, then a 10 minute cool down. Total workout time: 1 hour. I started my warm up then began my hard effort. It sucked. Bad. My stomach was really sour and I felt like I didn’t have any speed. I stopped after one mile, figuring I’d do my recovery and then I could do another hard mile. I started my recovery time and the sour stomach went into overdrive. My easy set quickly incorporated some “awkwardly mosey over to the portapotty and unleash the fury” time (at least there were portapotties nearby — I wasn’t about to fail my #1 goal). When my stomach quieted down, I left the portapotty and dejectedly made my way back to the track. Okay, so my two mile hard effort was kind of a bust, but at least I could do my 4×100 sets, right? I started one and had a decent lap time, then did a recovery lap. During my second lap the stomach acted up again, and once again my recovery lap included a sprint to the bathroom where I had to do the walk of shame past the same tennis players who I had just passed five minutes ago. I felt like waving and announcing, “Yes, yes, it’s me again. Yes, clearly I’m having some sort of bowel issue. Thank you for noticing. Yes, I have seen Anna Kournikova on The Biggest Loser. Uh, no, I don’t really like her more than Jillian. I mean, she kind of sucks and she’s got the crappiest team, so…you know what, speaking of ‘crappiest,’ I really gotta go. Again.” After Wave of Number Two #2 came and went, I managed to bust out a super sad cool down mile, figuring that the workout was a complete bust considering my guts weren’t letting me run hard. Instead of 7-7.5 miles, I managed a fairly sad five. We drove home and I had some soup and some tea to try and quiet things down, then I headed to the allergist to get my weekly shot. I needed to get a swim workout in but wasn’t sure I’d make the swim time at our gym, so later that evening after my shot I headed over to Medgar Evers to drop in on their lap swim time. When I got there, the employee recharged my parks & rec card and was about to scan it when I looked over at the pool and noticed an unusually large amount of pre-teens occupying the lanes. Me: “Uh, is lap swim going on right now?” Employee: “No, it’s a youth swim clinic.” Me: “Oh…how long does that go for?” Employee: “From now until 6:30.” Damn it all! Me: “Does lap swim start after that?” Employee: “Yeah, from 6:30 to 7:00.” Oh,...
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Countdown to Abs Update: Josette the Nurse Does Not Approve

It’s been 44 days since I embarked on my quest for abs so that I won’t race Honu 70.3 in shame. Jas and I are progressing along nicely, and save for a gloriously unhealthy weekend in Portland a few days ago, we’ve managed to shed some poundage thanks to the combination of constant exercising and counting calories via the My Fitness Pal app. Right now I’m back to my Ironman Canada race weight. Huzzah! I’ve also noticed that my running has felt noticeably stronger, probably because I’m hauling less junk in the trunk. After this week’s track workout, Bridget and her mom commented on my relative speediness (which was actually an optical illusion because my friend and multiple Boston marathon runner Kirsten slowed down to run alongside me for the evening, thus making me look way faster and giving the impression that I can hang with the 3:13 marathon runner): Karen: “You’re so fast!” Me: “Thanks, it’s amazing how being less of a lard-butt does wonders for your running.” Bridget: “So you have lost weight!” Me: “Yeah, 16 lbs so far.” Karen: “You know where I’ve noticed it? Right here!” She pats my back. Me: “Uh, so I’ve lost back fat?!” Good lord, I knew I was a bit chunky but back fat? Really? Bridget: “No! I think she means that you’ve got an hourglass figure now!” At this point I stifled a guffaw. Being the boobless and hipless wonder that I am, one would not in a million years describe my figure as “hourglass” shaped. That chick from Mad Men has an hourglass figure. Salma Hayek has an hourglass figure. I am built like an Asian boy. In fact, one time at Express the salesgirl wrinkled her nose when I asked why this pair of pants I tried on looked so funny and responded with, “Um, because, like, you have no hips.” Whatever, so I don’t have a womanly body. Today I headed to the UW Medical Center to get my weekly allergy shot so hidden evils like dust mites and pollen won’t someday kill me. While I was there, a newer nurse loaded up the syringe while my usual regular nurse, Josette the motherly African woman, popped her head in to ask a question. She noticed me sitting there, narrowed her eyes, and said in her slight accent, “Are you losing weight?” Her tone felt like it was an interrogation more than a casual question, so I uncomfortably replied with, “Uh, yes.” Josette: “Why?!” Now she sounded practically angry, as if I told her that I had just broken her favorite vase on purpose. Me: “Um…I’m just…eating better?” Josette: “But you looked good before!” Me: “Yeah, well, I’m visiting my mom in a couple weeks so I’m hoping to escape her harsh judgment unscathed.” Josette: “Oh you kids…you always think us parents are harshly judging you but we’re not.” Me: “…..yeeeahhh, my mom really does. She’s Asian and brutal.” I got my shot and sat in the waiting room for 30 minutes, then had my arm checked out by the newer nurse and was cleared to leave. On my way out, I passed by Josette, who chirped, “Bye sweetie!” Then she frowned and said, “No more.” Me: “No more what?” Josette: “No more weight loss!” I laughed and got the hell out of there, figuring it was a bad idea to tell her I actually wanted to drop ten more pounds. Great, now I have a motherly figure in Seattle who’s telling me I’m too thin and one in Michigan who always tells me I’m too fat. You can never please a...
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