Workout Week Two
Monday begins my second week working out. Today I weighed myself, and learned that the modest dieting and moderate to heavy exercise has netted me a .012% loss of my total mass. I am quite pleased, though I am realistic about staying on this trajectory. I am packing my lunch, bringing along many small items that I eat every hour or two. I read somewhere that it takes about 100 calories to fire up the digestion engine. Eat three 800 calorie meals, and you expend 300 calories digesting 2400 calories for a net of 2100 calories. Eat six 400 calorie meals and burn 600 calories in processing, for a net of 1800. You can extrapolate for yourself.
I imagine there is a point of diminishing returns, but I do feel that my hunger/satisfaction cycles are not as far apart as they are with fewer, larger meals. I have had a problem with indigestion the last few months, and most of that is under control now that I am not eating the same crap as before. Mind you, I still love crap. I can eat deep fried buffalo-style cookie dough sundaes and love each and every bite, but I’d love to live past 55 without needing either oxygen or a Rascal. Torn between to lovers, as it were.
Try as I might, I was unable to “take it easy” in the weightlifting department. I started with fairly low weight and high repetition, just to get used to the exercises. I did curls, rows, flys and presses with freeweights. I also did a few more thingys on a whatchamacalit, but in either case I thought I had been careful to not overdo it. Not so much. I was OK Thursday after my last set. I was a little sore Friday. On Saturday, I couldn’t have made a snow angel to save my mama’s life. I’m OK now, mostly recovering after Saturday night, which prompts me to ask “What the hell took my body so long to get to work?”.
This last is a real question. As I understand it, muscle pain is caused by tissues being stressed and “torn” which in turn causes inflammation. These inflamed tissues begin pressing against nerves making for the ouch. Cells respond to inflammation by cycling the unwanted wastes to the bloodstream and bringing in repair materials that rebuild the stressed muscles. Over time this cycle of tear and repair creates more and stronger muscles.
I am interested in what takes so long. Are there projects going on that have to be wrapped up? Who the hell decides what to work on and when? Is there a little foreman somewhere who has to be bribed? Undoubtedly someone among my six or so readers knows, and I welcome their input. Until then, I hope the little gland with the clipboard and hardhat gets the football tickets I sent him. If I shred my biceps and pecs again, I want it to be first on the list for repair.
