Warrior Blood


___

In the last few days I’ve started a regimen of supplements to aid in my quest for a better body and better life.

I take it all in the morning after breakfast. 1 Jamieson Vita-Vim, 1 Jamieson Wild Salmon & Fish Oils and I just added a tablespoon of apple cider vinegar to green tea.

Even without the ACV, I was off the walls yesterday. It felt like a whole new person was in my body, burning everything I had inside.

Fuckin’ A.

ACV is kicking in… this is going to be good.

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Road Food

Since January, I’ve gone to Greensboro, North Carolina; Akron, Ohio; Chicago, Illinois, New York City, New York; Poughkeepsie, New York; and Melbourne Beach, Florida for work. 10 hour days, usually, hour or so food break with the crew for lunch, dinner and beers at the end of the day. Always eating out. On every trip I stumble back over 190 from 185. In many places, the price of pure meat is too high (due to the tastes of the well-to-do crew) or only comes in bun form (and who’d want the pink slime anyway?).

When I took it on myself to work out and eat as well as possible, it was hard to keep up with that when most of my food came from gas stations or chain restaurants. In the Chicago-New York trip, I was able to get down a rhythm of working out during out long interviews by walking a lot, stretching and shadow box for short bursts. Foodwise, I ate fish, steak or chicken as my main. If there was a salad, I’d get it. And if wings were the best (ie, cheapest) option, I went for those, despite the enormous amount of fat related with their coating. During Florida, I was able to work out in a well equipped fitness center, have time to do several sets of push ups between interviews as well as get my ass handed to me by high waves on Melbourne Beach. Food wise, being right beside the ocean gave me access to fresh fish, clams, oysters, gator meat and other things. And Melbourne Beach being a smallish city without the insane Miami vibe, the restaurants were locally owned and well-staffed. Not to mention that our director was laid back and was happy to let the boys go out and eat instead of steer our wallets toward more up-in-the-air tastes worthy of a twice-divorce snobby hag.

Its hard to get in the habit of eating as well as you can when your traveling. To make sure you’re not going overboard on calories or chemicals or wheat products. I try to steer from breads as much as I can. Load up on meats. And if needed, skip a snack for a Red Bull. Less calories and keeps me un-hungry for longer than a chocolate bar or soda would. I take a Jamieson Vita-Vim pill everyday now, making sure I have some, if not all, the nutrients my body needs. If I find them, I grab the high-protien shakes like Muscle Milk and use them to supplement meals I miss due to being a lazy ass sleeper. The only thing I never miss is dinner and a post-work drink.

One of the most important things to do while on a job like mine is de-stress. Smoking, for the former smoker, works wonders, especially if just one can get you that high and calm you for hours. I’ll try to avoid that and replace it with things like working out, if possible. But sometimes, you need a bad habit to offset the massive bad juju of someone else, someone else who for a week is your boss.

I forgive myself a cig or two, or a beer or three, to make sure the next day I don’t start with piano wire in my pocket.

Fatty

Its time I work on working out. The job issue won’t be solved anytime soon and my going out spending is getting a little much. My energies need to be reworked. I’m nearly at 190 lbs. Around this time last year, my highest was 165lbs.

I’m going to get as close to paleo diet as I can, but I’m at the mercy of my relatives and their generous offerings.

I’ll use this page to log everything I do specifically for working out. Its going to be a lot of walking and bodyweight. Whatever works…

Feel free to beat my ass about missing a day or not doing enough. I have no excuses.

Before

After

Start With A Strong And Persistent Desire

***

It was his first full day with me in over a year. My dad sat across from me, grey in his hair and beard, but not a moment under young. Fifty-one, three kids all now of legal age, a long marriage and a job that calls him up even when he’s helping his son, he was still smiling. I wasn’t. I was tired. The day after he flew in to calm down the overwhelming mess the move and pack was becoming. The small bedroom room was full her shit. Everything strewn on the floor. It looked impossible. That’s why my father came down. “The hardest part is always starting,” he told me. By the end of that first night he was there, the day of my final shift, we had all of it packed and most of it stored. I had run on short naps and caffeine. That night I collapsed into sleep.

We were at IHOP. The good one south of where I lived. I got coffee, him just water. He had lost a about three toddlers in weight and kept it off for years. He wasn’t going to change just because we were going out to eat while he helped. Fresh eggs, no cheese, avocado, fruit. I had the full omelette with bacon, cheese and the works. I still ran on anything. I wouldn’t be able to do it for much longer.

Our waitress, Alexis, was a looker. Blonde, skinny, cute face. Very friendly. She woke me up a little before the coffee came. I could feel the urges begin. I wanted to game. I had comments and smiles and moves ready. I looked for rings on her fingers. None. I watched her as she walked away. Yes, this would be a good one to work with. Then, the genetic gift, the man I had doubted in previous manifestations of myself, came to the front. Years of being away. Years of indoctrination and bias and hurt and angst burned away like mist over Los Angeles in the morning sun. My dad spoke to her, naturally, in a way I’ve tried to do for years. Socially extroverted. Assertive, but so subtle the ticks in her brain were unnoticeable. I’d think of something to say when she came over and it was already out of his mouth with his smile bookending the neg or the compliment or the simple observation. My dad is happily married to the woman of his dreams. My dad isn’t doing this because he read it in a book or, like myself, trying to improve his pick-up. This is my father. This is who I can be.

During that breakfast of insight, he asked me about what I’ll do in television when I get back to Canada. Immediately out of my mouth is a lack of ambition. “I can just be a runner,” I say. He shakes his head with a stern “No.” As he’s about to speak, the man underneath years of middle ground pipes up and mentions writing. “I can write,” I say with a stronger voice. His nods says that’s a better answer. We talk more. He talks about the current show he’s working on and the wannabes who are screwing it up. He reminds me that I have a complex of hating my bosses, calling them all idiots. I acknowledge this. I tell him it was never my job to question or hate them. In the last day I’ve realized I don’t need to try to change anything. I just make the money. Do what I’m told and tell others. Things are changing fast, but they are changing correctly.

The next day, he’s dealing with problems with the crew while we drive around. He gets a call and his voice changes from father to boss in a split-second. I listen in. I used to listen for amusement. This time I listened for lessons. Subtle, unspoken lessons I ignored before because I rode the wave of mediocrity. As he chewed out a inept man, a man who’s nose is browner than the dirt, my brain caught fire. I could feel it burst with electricity as I took it all in. I sat quietly and listened. I heard tone. I heard words. I re-programmed myself with his movements of the air. Things get done his way because he does his job. Things get done because he sees the big picture. Things get done because he says so. He’s hired to make people money. These replaceable people are put in their place. This isn’t important work to the rights of man or the environment or politics. Its television. They get their perspective readjusted.

Beaten and broken for months by a woman, he’s rebuilt me in days. He put the focus in. He returned his legacy to the man he saw once in a while. I’m sorry I ever doubted him and his personality. I blamed everyone for what was happening to me, while in the end, it was me. My weakness and my biases and my outlook. Even while figuring out what needs paying off, and she left a lot to pay off, he tells me point blank that it isn’t fair. It isn’t right. She needs to pay off. I still try to explain it away. That she locks up and gets stubborn. He reminds me I have the code for the lock on the storage shed we rented. I smile, the manifestation of him in my soul laughing the loud chuckle of my father.

We’re allowed our weak moments. I’ve had my quota.

Thank you, Dad.

The Prophet of Dee’s

A long walk ahead
Legs pumping
Brain thinking
Hungry for real food
Hungry for quiet
Hungry for a change
No ideas
No worries
No cares
Step into the diner
Dee’s
Local and good
One, please
Little old lady
Dyed hair
Fragile hands
Yes, coffee, please
The prophet comes over
She asks my beverage
She doesn’t like my answer
She’ll come back later
Her tone is her sermon
It says you don’t matter
It says I can ignore you
It says I’m the queen
Pack and shades on the seat
Drinking the old lady’s offer
Silent in my thoughts
She takes a while to return
I order, she obeys
I work on pictures
I watch her talk
I listen to her mouth
She talks, I eat
Complaints
Speculation
Gossip gossip gossip
She forgets an order
“I feel out of sorts”
Bullshit
Rationalize, hamster, rationalize
I finish
I wait
I wait
I wait
She takes the plate
I wait
I wait
I wait
I get up
No check
Best guessed total in my hand
No tip
I hope the totals bigger
I hope she loses money
Old lady sees me
She smiles
She asks for the check
“She didn’t give me one”
Asks for my order
Gives me the total
I hand her the money
I get change, I keep it
Old lady saved me from leaving a tip
I smile at her, saying thanks
I walk out, light up
I walk back home
The long walk
Thinking of what to write