Winnipeg Free Press

Back in 1979 I got my first motorcycle. It was a dirt bike actually, a Yamaha GT80. My dad bought it for me.  I was totally pumped, but the truth was, in very short order the bike was too small for me.

On the gas tank there was a decal that read, ‘Maximum weight 135 pounds.’ I was 12 at the time, and already weighing in at more than 150.

This wasn’t the last time I’d be too big for my motorcycle. As I grew up, and out, my love for two wheeled machines continued, but alas, I was eventually too big for any of them. The suspension would bottom out, my motocross jersey was always too tight, and kids half my age could pass me on a dirt track with little effort.

It eventually got me down, and kept me there. In my garage there are no less than four motorcycles, and they are all too small for me.

Even my Harley, a Sportster model, is typically not ridden by folks my size. Sometimes folks ask me why I ride smaller motorcycles, they expect me to be on some huge touring bike with a windshield and a stereo. That kind of defeats the purpose for me, the last thing I want is to be further weighed down by a huge motorcycle, I want a nice light and nimble bike like the ones I have. The problem is, even at 235 pounds, I’m still too heavy for my machines.

People lose weight for all sorts of reasons, perhaps because of an upcoming high school reunion, and more often for health issues. One of the big reasons I’m trying to lose weight is because I’m too big for my motorcycles.

I imagine myself weighing in at 200 pounds, being able to ride my dirt bike all day, and hop on my Harley and ride it all night.

I wonder how many other daredevils there are in this world trapped in a body too big for their recreational machines, and I wonder how many of them have simply done what I did, cover them up, tuck them in the corner of the garage and try to forget.

This summer, all that is going to change. Weight loss is the ticket to ride…

Cheers and thanks for stopping by!

Willy

I’m having trouble deciding what to wear again. I’ve lost over 30 pounds, and all my clothes are too big. I used to wear a triple extra large. Did most of my shopping at Wal-Mart.  Even the shirts that used to be a bit tight are too big on me now. I’m not sure if I’m bragging or complaining, but I do know that I’ve tried on every shirt in my closet, and they are all too big.

So I went to Wal-Mart.

Since I still have at least 20 more pounds to lose, I’m not about to purchase a new wardrobe, but I gotta’ wear something. So after milling around for about an hour trying on every shirt in the store, I’ve come to a conclusion. I’m now officially an extra-large and a half. The extra large is a bit tight, and I swim in the double extra large. I wonder what it would be like to live in this ill fitting purgatory for the rest of my life.

On the pants front, I’ve dropped from a size 44 pants to a size 38. That is if I don’t pull them up. I tried that in the store and I looked like a retiree from Florida. You know, the type who wears his pants too high and complains about the government full-time.

Tried to tuck in my shirt too. Bad idea. Looked just like my grandfather. He was a handsome man, but he was at least 50 when I was born. I don’t want to look 50.

So what should I do?

I’m gonna’ keep wearing my ill-fitting clothes until another ten pounds melts off of me. Then I’m gonna’ go back to Wal-Mart and get me some extra-large shirts.

As for all the surplus clothing…I’ve got a cousin who’s gonna’ be one stylish crane operator. Well, if you call triple extra large T-shirts from Wal-Mart stylish….

Cheers, Willy

A reader e-mailed me this and I thought it was funny. I tried weighing myself after a haircut but it didn’t seem to make much difference.

Cheers, Willy

1. Weigh yourself fully clothed after dinner and again the next morning without clothes and before breakfast, because it’s nice to see how much weight you’ve lost overnight! 

2. Never weigh yourself with wet hair. 

3. When weighing, remove everything, including eyeglasses. In this case, blurred vision is an asset. Don’t forget to remove jewellery as it could weigh as much as a pound! (Yeah, if your name is Mr.T)

4. Buy only cheap scales, never the medical kind. Accuracy is the enemy and high quality scales are very accurate. 5. Always go to the bathroom first. 

6. Weigh yourself after a haircut, this is good for up to half a pound of hair (hopefully). 7. Exhale with all your might BEFORE stepping onto the scale. (Air has weight, right?)

8. Start out with just one foot on the scale, then holding onto a towel rod slowly edge your other foot onto the scale while slowly releasing the towel rod. Admittedly, this takes time, but it’s worth it. You will weigh at least two pounds less than if you’d stepped onto the scale normally.  

I used to be able to fall asleep anywhere. In cars, on the team bus, on airplanes, no problem, just close my eyes and drift away. It was never a refreshing sleep though, in fact, no matter how much I slept, I was always tired.

All that changed a couple of years ago when my snoring got so bad my wife suggested I had sleep apnea. After a battery of tests at the local sleep clinic (Medipaidforthatmyself) it was determined that in an average hour of sleeping, I choke and wake up about 12 times. It has been compared to having the phone ring, only once, every four or five minutes.

Suffice it to say, I got one of those sleep machines. It’s called a CPAP, something about positive airway, basically it’s a small mask that covers my nose and blows in air. It makes me sound like Darth Vader when I’m sleeping. I’m told it’s creepy.

Truth is this machine was like a gift from Heaven.

In mere days my energy increased, the headaches went away, and for the first time in years I actually remembered a dream.

Prior to January 1, 2008, when I kicked off this hare-brained idea to publicy chronicle my battle with the bulge, I was sleeping about seven hours a night.

Yesterday was a full day, Tuesday always is. Today will be a busy one too.

So why am I awake at 5 a.m.?

Because I can’t sleep.

The weird thing is, after losing weight, I am actually finding that I sleep way less. Perhaps the sleep apnea machine isn’t even required anymore. The doctor told me this might happen. Apparently sleep apnea is a common medical issue with folks who are obese. When I weighed 270, I was obese. I wonder if at 235 I’m still considered obese? Maybe I’m just overweight now.

And maybe, because I’m not dragging around all that extra weight all day, I don’t require as much sleep.

The possibilities are exciting. What if I gain an hour of awake time every day?

That’s like 365 hours a year. That’s almost 10 full work weeks. What could I achieve with this extra hour?

Maybe I could build a website, or learn to play another musical instrument, or improve my typing skills…

Then again…this entry has made me a little sleepy.

Maybe I should just go and grab a couple more hours of sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep…

It’s been my experience that injecting a bit of humour into life’s trials and tribulations makes things easier to deal with. On that note, please appreciate that I am fully aware of the fact that I am an idiot. I also know, that upon review of the situation I’m about to share with you, I should have gone to the hospital, or at the very least visited a doctor.

I didn’t. You should.

Now that we have that out of the way, here’s my story:

I’ve done many things in my life that hurt. I’ve crashed a motorcycle, a snowmobile, and a stock car. I’ve been punched in the eye, had my nose broken like three times, broken about seven bones, hit my thumb with a hammer at least a dozen times, and been knocked square on my ass on a football field more times than I care to admit… 

All that being said, nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, ever came close to the pain that I experienced this morning.

It all started on Friday. With the World of Wheels car show in town, I had a big weekend ahead of me, but I felt tired. I rarely get sick, but I’ve had a mild cold that’s been hanging around for a while. I figured it was back.

Although my back was sore and I had a headache, I really didn’t feel all that bad.

I was also excited about the show, and lots of folks were counting on me. Plus I really wanted to meet Vinnie from American Chopper.

Friday and Saturday I felt okay, but on Sunday I was starting to feel lousy. Rundown from the show I told myself.

By Sunday at midnight I felt really lousy. Something else happend too, I’ll spare you the complete details, but as the doctor says, I was having trouble “passing water”.

I took it pretty easy on Monday and drank lots of water. I thought I was just dehydrated and tired from the marathon week I’d had.

This morning, at exactly 7a.m., I wasn’t feeling too bad, and after sending out my annual April Fools e-mails, I felt the urge to “pass water” again.

Most of what occurred next is a fog. The pain was excruciating. Sweat poured from my forehead, my hands shook, and I felt sick to my stomach. Time stood still.

Then it happened.

I passed a kidney stone.

If you don’t know how this happens, look it up. I’m not telling you.

The gut-wretching screams of agony that accompanied this “passing” were surely heard by my neighbours. They live a half a mile away.

The amazing thing was, even in my moment of shock and terror, relief was instant, and I mean instant.

The offending stone is about the size of a chocolate chip. I kid you not. Even I couldn’t make this one up.

After regaining my composure I checked in with Doctor Google and sure enough, the images I saw of kidney stones were exactly the same as what had been “passed” with my “water.”

Apparently, with the blockage gone, I’m cured. At least until the next time.

I feel pretty good now, and I have made an appointment with my real doctor for Thursday. I saved the stone so he can run some tests on it. According to Doctor Google kidney stones can actually be caused by dramatic changes in diet. I also take medication for a form of arthritis called gout, a disease that I not only come by genetically, but also likely have due to my former bad eating habits. Apparently, this medication can also cause kidney stones.

I probably should have known all of this. It all just reminds me how important it is to become more aware of my body. Not just the food I eat, or how much I exercise, but all the other factors. I can diagnose a blocked fuel pump on a car in an instant, but I really don’t have a red-hot clue about my own body. It’s time to look at every element of my lifestyle under a microscope, including the final evil, the dreaded smoking…

Each day I come closer to realizing that I must stop taking my body for granted. There is only one enemy in my life, and that enemy is me.

As for the passing of the stone, it was the most painful, and then in an instant, the most relieving experience of my life.

Forgive my candor.

If you ever experience these symptoms, go see a doctor. Apparently they can help.

Cheers, Willy

When I kicked off this lifestyle change on New Years Eve, one of the first things that folks warned me about was how difficult it would be to find the time to exercise. In my typical, ‘What, you talkin’ to me’ fashion, I didn’t listen. Folks also told me that a plateau was on the horizon. I never heard that either.

Well, if you’re out there, I now hear you loud and clear.

In the first month I lost 20 pounds. In the second month I lost 10. Now I’ve lost 30.

 I kicked the year off at 270 pounds. I tipped the scale this morning at 239.

It has been an uphill battle, hard not only on my body, but also on my mind. Throughout it, the best motivator has been the progress. Increased energy, clothes that fit again, even a clearer mind. So many positive things have risen from the ashes of my former girth.

Well, in the last two weeks, I’ve lost three pounds. If you watch the Biggest Loser on TV, you know that 1.5 pounds per week is not going to win me the big money.

I have since come to terms with the fact that I was so overweight in the beginning that it was very easy to lose that first 30 pounds. The next 20, and beyond, will surely be much more challenging.

I’ve also come to the realization that my exercise efforts have not been up to speed. Sure, I’ve been riding the stationary bike, walking the track, enjoying the steam room, even went bowling. It’s all certainly a step in the right direction, but it has been tough to find the time to get to the gym. It’s 30 minutes away from home and I’m lucky to get there three times a week.

I’ve come to the conclusion that home is where the health is. The only way I’m going to get fit, lose the weight, and keep it off, is to start kicking the living crap out of myself right here in my own backyard.

 It’s time for me to get tough with myself. It’s time to do some serious sweating.

 It’s time to get on my bike and ride.

 I’m not talking Harley-Davidson here either, strictly Norco, and I need to investigate all 18-speeds. 

We live about a mile from Birds Hill Park. Folks drive all the way up here from the city to ride their bicycles in the park trails. My mountain bike has two flat tires. This weekend I’m gonna’ fix those flat tires and give my bike a good tune-up. Then I’m gonna’ ride, and ride, and ride and ride…

Perhaps I’ll wait until Sunday for my first big ride though. My wife and I are going bowling again on Saturday night and I want to be in top form. Wish me luck. Last time I bowled a 122, she bowled a 167.

I’ll post the scores on Sunday. (If I win)

Cheers, Willy

My wife Melanie and I have been members of the Fabulous 50’s Ford Club of Manitoba for a few years now, and every March a club representative calls and invites us to the annual BINGO Bowl at the Billy Mosienko Lanes on Main Street.

Last year Melanie and her friend Dawn went, and by all accounts they had a great time. I was gonna’ go too, but I was just too busy (lazy) to attend.

This year when the call came, my mind was in a different mode. Bowling, yeah, that would be fun, and a chance to burn off a few calories too.

Am I ever glad we went!

In addition to getting an opportunity to shoot the breeze with fellow club members we usually only see in the summer months, the night reintroduced me to a sport that I’d forgotten was so much fun. Our daughter Katelyn came along too, she’s 15, and typically way to busy Facebooking or talking on the phone to even imagine accompanying us on such a “lame” adventure. A funny thing happened with Katelyn too, she also had fun.

The BINGO bowl rules are quite a bit different than regular bowling. There were about 60 of us and we were shuffled off into teams. Rather than chase the elusive strikes and spares, in BINGO bowling you have to knock over certain pins, or do it in a sequence, kind of like target bowling.

My technique was rusty to say the least, my buddy Greaser Greg noted that I share a similar bowling style with Fred Flintstone. Once I warmed up though, the pins were dropping like bad transmissions. At one point I hit three strikes in a row, apparently that’s called a turkey. The fact that I was supposed to hit the head pin only, did nothing to help my team, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t empowering to watch those pins drop. The comparisons to Fred “Twinkle Toes” Flintstone continued throughout the night.

We did have one actual match, using the regular rules, and my wife Melanie kicked my butt. She never rubbed it in, well not too hard anyway.

It was a really fun night.

The more I think about bowling, the more I like it. And it actually got my blood flowing. At one point in the heated race to shout BINGO, my forehead was dripping with sweat.

Bowling is now officially my sport of choice.

We’re even gonna’ round up a few of our friends and host our own bowling night. Lots of my “gearhead” buddies and their signifigant others are pretty inactive, and I’m betting I can get a few of them hooked on bowling in no time.

Here are the top-ten reasons why I am now officially a bowler.

1-Fun for the entire family.

2-The shirts are cool.

3-The shoes are cool.

4-They play music while you bowl.   

5-I don’t totally suck at it.

6-It feels so good to knock down those pins.

7-The computer keeps score for you.

8-There’s lots of alleys in town to choose from.

9-It’s cheap.

10-It really gets the blood flowing.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on bowling and suggestions on where the best lanes in town are.

Cheers, Willy

On Monday I stopped at the Garven Grocery on my way into work for some gas. While waiting to pay, my eyes were suddenly drawn to a large clear container of pepperoni sticks on the counter. You know the ones, about a foot long and as thick as a hot-dog. “One pepperoni won’t hurt,” I said to myself. I was just about to reach for one when the nice lady behind the counter said, “Hey, you’re that guy from the paper who’s on a diet, I just read your article, keep up the good work.”

Busted.

Needless to say, after talking with the nice lady for a few moments I paid for my gas and left. No pepperoni.

It got me thinking. By announcing my plans to eat better and get fit on the pages of the Free Press, essentially what I’ve done is put up the dieting equivalent of a wanted poster. Instead of wanted, it reads “NO JUNK FOOD.” All of a sudden I’m the poster boy for diet and fitness, and there’s more than a few eyes on me.

I’m certainly not complaining, in fact, this is a big reason why I’ve been staying focused.

Everywhere I go lately folks have been asking me about how my diet is going, asking me how much weight I’ve lost, offering me tips, and speaking kind words of encouragement.

I think it gives me an advantage. All that pressure is stressful, but it’s positive stress, and I’m eating it up.

Maybe we should do the same for you.

How about if I convince my editor to run a full page of photos of Free Press readers who have vowed to make the same changes in their lives. There you are, smiling away for all the world to see, proclaiming that you don’t eat junk food anymore.

Just when you’re about to reach for that pepperoni, the nice lady behind the counter will say “Hey, aren’t you the guy/gal from the paper who’s on a diet?”

It’s been working for me, and I bet it would work for you too.

Let me know what you think…

Cheers, Willy

Twenty years ago my closet was filled with athletic shoes.

Basketball shoes, running shoes, football cleats, golf shoes, track spikes, volleyball shoes, even a pair of motocross boots.

Some of the shoes were more used than others. The shiny black motocross boots, for example, were like new. They were a holdover from my “gonna-be-a-racer” phase. It was a short-lived dream that ended with a broken collar-bone. 

Names like Puma, Adidas, Nike, Reebok, and Converse were all there. Lined up neatly in anticipation of my next athletic adventure.

Over the years my athletic shoe supply began to dry up…literally. Air Jordan high-tops that had once been the envy of my basketball buddies were now weathered and green. Nothing ruins a good pair of runners quicker than walking behind a lawnmower. The track spikes were loaned out and never returned, the football cleats were given away or thrown out, and the motocross boots were relegated to a dark corner of the garage. 

It became a case of supply and demand. Since I was no longer active, there was no demand for athletic shoes, so the supply simply dwindled away.

When I decided enough was enough this January, and vowed to change my sedentary ways, the one thing that really stood out was my lack of appropriate footwear.

Essentially, for the last fifteen years all I’ve worn is black army boots, Ski-Doo boots and skateboard runners. The fact that I haven’t been on a skateboard in more than 20 years might make you wonder about the last choice. They were simply the only type of runners that would fit my size-13 feet. It seemed that with every pound I gained, my feet got another inch wider, to the point where they began to look like loafs of rye bread.  

A few weeks ago, my wife Melanie and I headed to the mall, in search of the perfect pair of “do-everything for under a hundred bucks” athletic shoes. After circling the mall several times I ultimatey decided on two pairs of shoes. Some nice wide New Balance cross trainers, and a cool looking pair of Reebok walking shoes. In my eyes, the trip was a total success, both pairs were on sale, each for $50, and I managed to stay out of the food-court. In the recent past, every trip I’ve taken to the mall has resulted in a slice of pizza, or a taco, or a 9-piece chicken dinner. Not this time.

A few days later while at the Wellness Institute, walking around the track in my spiffy new walking shoes, it occurred to me that everyone else was wearing running shoes. Even the people who were walking.

Shoe envy began to set in.

Last week while in a pick-up game of basketball with some of the younger members, my cross-trainers were grossly inadequate. My desire to jump for a rebound was shrouded in self-preservation..”Dude, you’re gonna’ turn an ankle.” Instead, I played like my feet were glued to the floor. Throughout the entire game my mind was focused on how under-shoed I was.

Since eliminating fast food from my diet two months ago, there’s been way more green in my jeans. All those drive-through stops used to really add up. Probably $50 a week, easily.

So, here we go again, it’s time to come to grips with the fact that I have a shoe addiction. I suppose it’s alot better than my fast-food addiction.

This week some of that money I’ve saved is going to shoes. A pair of running shoes, and a pair of basketball shoes. That will bring my current collection up to four.

If you know of any good deals, or have any shoe tips, I’m all ears.

As for the motocross boots…I still have them…but have no immediate plans to ressurect my motorcycle racing career. I’ve got to lose at least 25 more pounds before that happens…

Cheers, Willy

Yesterday I spent two hours at the Wellness Institute. Following watching back to back episodes of The Family Guy while pedalling my butt off on a stationary bike, (they have TVs set up in front of the bikes) I then walked about 20 laps around the track. I even picked up some weights and did a fairly rigourous upper-body workout. While I was working out it felt great, like I was a teenager again. I finished off by shooting a few baskets, then hit the steam room. 

One step at a time, I keep telling myself, Rome wasn’t built in a day, but Saturday was the first chance I had this week to spend more than an hour at the gym, and the truth is I probably over-did things a bit. This morning it all came back to haunt me. My body hurts all over. Not an injury hurt, like a sprained ankle or something, more of an all-over hurt, like I was in a car accident, or perhaps got hit by a freight train. My legs feel hot, my biceps are burning too, and my chest feels like I was bench pressing Buicks.

The truth is I was lifting less weight than the nice silver haired lady beside me, the same nice lady who lapped me on the track several times. I suppose this is what I like about the Wellness Institute, I remember when I was much younger, and used to go to the old Gold’s Gym and try and keep up with the bodybuilders, it’s probably what turned me off about going to the gym. “I’ll never get to that level,” I’d think to myself. “What am I even doing here?”

I don’t feel that way anymore, and the Wellness Institute can take a great deal of credit for this. The place is not only decked out with great equipment, it’s also filled with folks who are there with the same goals in mind, to either get fit, or stay fit. There’s no hulking Fabio types grunting and groaning, those guys always made me feel like I was in their way. There’s just some nice folks going about their daily routine.

As I was walking around the track thinking to myself, “one more lap, just one more,” I wondered if some day I’d ever be able to keep up with that nice lady as she ran effortlessly around the track.

I bet the first time that lady went to the Wellness Institute she saw someone who inspired her the same way. I hope one day in the future she strikes up a conversation with me, hopefully it’s right after I just blazed around the track like a gazelle. In my mind’s eye, I see myself casually sipping my water, barely out of breath, the way she was after running for an hour. I’m gonna’ tell her how she inspired me, and I’m gonna’ tell her that I bet I’m not the only one she’s inspired. Like I said, Rome wasn’t built in a day, and it sure as heck wasn’t built alone. It takes a village to raise a child, and when it comes to fitness, I’m an infant.

I’m taking the day off today, I’ve got some work to do around the house, then we’re going to visit my mom. I bet she can out-run me too, she might even give that nice lady at the Wellness Institute a run for her money, thank goodness my mom works out at the Rehab Centre.

Getting lapped by your mom might be inspiring, but having my own mom lap me would surely be too much to handle.

Cheers, Willy