I love you, Coach, but you were wrong. At least one time in your life, you did not have the predetermined answer to your own question. When you approached me that day, in that sweaty high school gym, and mandated, "You really don't want to coach, do you?" "Barb could really use your assistance in the front office.", you were wrong. You did make me think, however, and reflect, and prioritize, just like you demanded of all you players...and I went; and I listened, and learned. And I literally would not be who I am today, 25 years worth of youth coaching later, without that inquisition, and opportunity. That and, because of our discussion, you literally turned me into what I am today...The Bull.
It's funny to think about now, how one conversation, or coronation (I felt like I was being knighted), lead me to an alter ego, or identity, by which I've been recognized for over two decades: Bull Deuschle. There are some people who couldn't even tell you my real name, all because of that encounter.
To you, pop culture was the equivalent of winning a free Coke playing the bottle cap game, i.e-it didn't exist. When you approached me that day, you sounded more like Chris Farley in the middle of an SNL skit when you asked, "Have you ever heard of that movie, Bull Durham? You should have been in that movie instead of working at one of my camps, because you always have a baseball hat on."
"I used to play baseball. In fact, I was probably a better baseball player than a basketball player, but they told me I had no arm so I started taking basketball more seriously."
"So, at 6 foot nothing, and slower than a snail in a puddle of glue, here I am. Good choice, huh?"
"You're probably left handed too, aren't you? Lefties are all screwed up. They can't even wear their hats straight. Look at you. It's true. Well, are you a lefty, or not?"
"Yep."
"I knew it; figures."
"Go do something positive, that you'll probably forget but somebody else never will, Bull."
Here endeth the lesson, and I am reborn...
My Coach's personality was as complex as DNA sampling in the O.J. Trial, and his practices were Armageddon; like a sort of schizophrenic church camp. There were the blood vessel-in-the-forehead-bursting-aneurysm-waiting-to-happen diatribes that could be triggered by something as simple as the weather, and there were the quiet, sincere teaching moments, that could be affected by a child who was struggling, or a member of the extended family who had passed. Both were amazing to behold...from the outside.
I couldn't imagine being the target in one of his practices; or, being his player, for that matter. I received more than one eyebrow raising glare, just for being me, or breathing at the wrong time. My Coach was tough. Impossible, at times, because he demanded absolute effort and perfection. There were moments he made Herb Brooks', 'I play for the United States of America' after practice meltdown, look like the opening monologue at a Boy Scout convention. That's what I loved about him, and made me want to be around him; you didn't cut corners, you always gave more of yourself than you thought possible, and even though you might hate practicing for him, you would kill to play for him. I, unfortunately, just wasn't good enough, even though I tried my hardest to prove I was, especially when he wasn't watching.
My Coach had an innate sense about these things-realizing when a little something extra toward an individual might bring about a desired result, either for his team, or the person affected. Such was the case for me, on more than one occasion.
One day in practice, at a point where we were winding down, and he was in a 'fun' mood, My Coach had me come out onto the floor and post up our perennial All-America, all-time collegiate scoring champion, for what he termed, 'proper post defense and positioning', but was little more than my time to spend on the floor with the guys, against a player that, even though he had a vertical of approximately 12 inches, should probably have swatted every attempt I made at the goal. And he fed me the ball, over and over; and I scored, over and over. And he kept feeding me the ball, until the practice was focused solely on that exchange, and until he could tell I was near death..and he stopped. Then he brought it in, stacked it up and said, "Now, that's how we don't want to defend in the post, huh Hutch?" "Good work, Bull." And that was it. Never was another word uttered, and I never participated in anything other than a supporting role in practice, again. That was the genius of the man. He knew when enough was enough and he cared...about all of us.
As much as My Coach demanded excellence, I never heard him swear. Well, once. But, even then, the incident was so benign, he made it sound as if he were giving a lesson on one of the 8 wonders of the world. This is why he was so mesmerizing, so captivating and endearing. You could get berated, dressed down, torn to shreds and, in the end, you felt more like you had let down your father, than angry about the incident; at least 75% of the time. Why? Because you knew, above all else, he truly loved you and cared about your well being and improvement...as a person, as well as a player.
In all of this, I can't imagine how his family-Carmen, Jerry, Brooke and Brittany coped with the difficulty of sharing their Coach with hundreds of other brothers and sisters, and thousands of aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews, but I can tell you this; he loved his family more than all of the other stuff, and I know that because of the strength of his character, and character doesn't lie. Perhaps one day, if they haven't already done so, they too can reflect on the relationships they had with their husband and father, and see that some people are just born to serve others in a larger capacity than you and I. Thank God for those people.
I know they sacrificed many things for their father's relentless pursuit of perfection in life and sport, but man what a legacy to leave. And it's not about living up to something unattainable, it's about living with purpose and reaching others, by any means necessary.
I've seen the outpouring of support, all of the encouraging words and messages, and one thing is constant and true; as much as you may have hated losing to his teams, or enjoyed beating them, in the end we all stand with him...Our Coach. We love you, Coach Meyer.
Rest in Peace,
Bull
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Kids Say The Darnedest Things
Kids are crazy...and brilliant.
Just last night, while changing my son's diaper, I found a penny inside; not exactly a 'rabbit out of the hat' moment, but pretty close for me. At first I was curious, then confused. But, upon further inspection (realizing there was nothing but pee inside), and the fact that it was "head's up", the powers of deduction lead me to the conclusion it was inserted there, not deposited, and I kept the coin.
What made the moment even more humorous was, during this morning's 'changing of the guard', in an obvious allusion to last evening's events, my son looked at me during wipe down and said, "Daddy, I have pennies."
Initially, I queried what might cause him to recall that insignificant moment in his life, before answering, "I know buddy, I was there. That was pretty neat."
"No daddy, I have pennis."
"I realize that. It was really fu..."
"NO, Dadd-y!" (Here it comes) "I..have..pen-is!" "Penis! Penis! Penis!"
Oh boy.
How we managed to transition from a 12-hour-old topic of innocent wizardry, to a toddler's version of pubic discovery, is beyond me. What it made me acknowledge, instead, is just how amazing, bright and hilarious the child's' mind truly is; and reflect on the fact that these little people really do say the darnedest things...
What's up, dude?
This was the first conscious example of my son's quirky, conversational tone. I had just put him in his bed, walked over and sat down on the couch, firing up my iPad, when I happened to glance up and notice him standing in his crib, legs crossed, with his arm draped lazily over the side. Looking like a Huggies-overnight-diaper-swaddled miniature James Dean, or a pre-crazy, bloated, botoxed Mickey Rourke, he took a pull from his sippy cup, nodded his head ever so coolly and uttered, "What's up, dude?"
Not wanting to draw attention to the fact that this might have been the funniest thing I had ever seen or heard him do to date, and because it was way past his bedtime, I simply played it straight and nodded back, "What's up?" What this accomplished, in his formative, impressionable, mischievous mind, was buy him more time; that, and provide license to give a voice to any, and every, variation of that phrase possible...for the next 3weeks. On this night, however, we mercifully ended our "conversation" with, "Night, dude."
No!
We transition from my favorite of phrases, to the least. We all know this one and it drives us equally insane. The 'no'.
It doesn't really matter, the request, or demand; the answer is the same...'no'.
"Let's change your diaper."
"No."
"Time to get up for daycare."
"No."
"Are you hungry?"
"No."
"Do you love me?"
"No."
"Do you love yourself, you narcissistic little..."
"..."
Where does this come from? Are they really that bent on independence from us, when they are so dependent on us? I mean, come on! He's two; not twenty two. I found myself constantly wandering aimlessly, asking, 'How did this sweet little angel morph into the devil's spawn, seemingly overnight'? Then, one day, shuffling through the living room in my mind's fog, a trail of 'No! No! No!' following me like a bad reputation, it hit me when I raised my battered, defeated head, to recognize the shadowy templates of my two pre-teen adolescents, pointing and laughing, in their smug, mocking tone. Evil is everywhere...
Guess what?
Speaking of insane...
Typically, I encourage my children to ask questions, in an effort to feed their quizzical little minds. But, there comes a time when it is deemed counter productive to the health and well-being of any of them to ask one..more..question. The 'guess what' is undoubtedly one of those times.
"Hey dad, guess what?"
"What?"
"Did you know Jacob's dog has two legs and two wheels?"
"Hey dad, guess what?"
"What?"
"Did you know I kissed a girl...and I liked it?"
"Hey dad, guess what?"
"Did you know I can drink Coke and blow it out my nose and make bubbles."
Now, that one's kind of cool.
"Hey dad, guess what?"
And on, and on, and on. I'm all for opening their minds and feeding their intellect, but sometimes it feels as if I'm stuck in the middle of a bad Jerry Maguire sequel...
The parrot
Equally as taxing on the 'patience meter' is the "parrot", or the recitation of every single thing that I say to any of my children (as if it bears repeating).
"Suzy, pick up you clothes."
"Yeah! Pick up your clothes!"
"Eat you vegetables, Dexter."
"Eat you vege-ta-blLlLlLes!"
"Go outside, Clarence."
"Go outside. Go Outside. Gooo Ouuut-SIDE!"
If I could retrain his little mind to actually follow the directives he mandates, my requests may sound more like, "I want to get dad a drink.", or "I really need to help dad with the chores." To this point he has proven much too smart to fall for such antics, and they are mere echoes off of our four walls. I am determined. I will find a way...
Shut up!
The independence previously touched upon, is quickly followed up by defiance; rude, disrespectful, vocal defiance.
"Sit down and eat."
"Shut up!"
"Go to your room."
"Shut up!"
"Stop clubbing the Chihuahua."
"Shut up!"
"You are the most awesome kid ever."
"Shut.."
Ha! It seems the old man still has some tricks up his sleeve. One of us may make it through this phase alive, after all...
You're not the boss of me
These two could probably be 1a and 1b, in the pantheon of disrespect. Although exclaimed with varying intonations, they both have the same long-term effects on the parental psyche'; sheer destruction.
"Go upstairs and pick up your toys."
"You're not the boss of me."
Get your coat on and get in the car."
"You're not the boss of me."
"Time to come inside." (Neighborhood full of children and adults witnessing the battle of wills)
"You're not the boss of me! You're not the boss of me! You're not the boss of me!" (Running up and down the sidewalk, in circles, ADHD in full effect)
(Parents and children still entranced)
"Yeah, well I may not be the boss of you, but I brought you into this world...and I can take you out!" 'Thanks, pops', I think, pointing upward (even though he still lives in rural Ohio), and getting a discreet round of thumbs up from the other dads standing within earshot of this showdown at high noon. The only thing missing is a slo mo of the smoking gun being thrust back into my holster, with the theme song from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly blaring in the background. It is a moment of great pride...
What does the fox say?
Mercifully we've graduated to a "Happier" place...
They make us laugh. They make us cry. They drive us mad with their unwavering spirit and dogged determination, and they make us beg for more. I don't know that pennies come from heaven, but kids surely do.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Just last night, while changing my son's diaper, I found a penny inside; not exactly a 'rabbit out of the hat' moment, but pretty close for me. At first I was curious, then confused. But, upon further inspection (realizing there was nothing but pee inside), and the fact that it was "head's up", the powers of deduction lead me to the conclusion it was inserted there, not deposited, and I kept the coin.
What made the moment even more humorous was, during this morning's 'changing of the guard', in an obvious allusion to last evening's events, my son looked at me during wipe down and said, "Daddy, I have pennies."
Initially, I queried what might cause him to recall that insignificant moment in his life, before answering, "I know buddy, I was there. That was pretty neat."
"No daddy, I have pennis."
"I realize that. It was really fu..."
"NO, Dadd-y!" (Here it comes) "I..have..pen-is!" "Penis! Penis! Penis!"
Oh boy.
How we managed to transition from a 12-hour-old topic of innocent wizardry, to a toddler's version of pubic discovery, is beyond me. What it made me acknowledge, instead, is just how amazing, bright and hilarious the child's' mind truly is; and reflect on the fact that these little people really do say the darnedest things...
What's up, dude?
This was the first conscious example of my son's quirky, conversational tone. I had just put him in his bed, walked over and sat down on the couch, firing up my iPad, when I happened to glance up and notice him standing in his crib, legs crossed, with his arm draped lazily over the side. Looking like a Huggies-overnight-diaper-swaddled miniature James Dean, or a pre-crazy, bloated, botoxed Mickey Rourke, he took a pull from his sippy cup, nodded his head ever so coolly and uttered, "What's up, dude?"
Not wanting to draw attention to the fact that this might have been the funniest thing I had ever seen or heard him do to date, and because it was way past his bedtime, I simply played it straight and nodded back, "What's up?" What this accomplished, in his formative, impressionable, mischievous mind, was buy him more time; that, and provide license to give a voice to any, and every, variation of that phrase possible...for the next 3weeks. On this night, however, we mercifully ended our "conversation" with, "Night, dude."
No!
We transition from my favorite of phrases, to the least. We all know this one and it drives us equally insane. The 'no'.
It doesn't really matter, the request, or demand; the answer is the same...'no'.
"Let's change your diaper."
"No."
"Time to get up for daycare."
"No."
"Are you hungry?"
"No."
"Do you love me?"
"No."
"Do you love yourself, you narcissistic little..."
"..."
Where does this come from? Are they really that bent on independence from us, when they are so dependent on us? I mean, come on! He's two; not twenty two. I found myself constantly wandering aimlessly, asking, 'How did this sweet little angel morph into the devil's spawn, seemingly overnight'? Then, one day, shuffling through the living room in my mind's fog, a trail of 'No! No! No!' following me like a bad reputation, it hit me when I raised my battered, defeated head, to recognize the shadowy templates of my two pre-teen adolescents, pointing and laughing, in their smug, mocking tone. Evil is everywhere...
Guess what?
Speaking of insane...
Typically, I encourage my children to ask questions, in an effort to feed their quizzical little minds. But, there comes a time when it is deemed counter productive to the health and well-being of any of them to ask one..more..question. The 'guess what' is undoubtedly one of those times.
"Hey dad, guess what?"
"What?"
"Did you know Jacob's dog has two legs and two wheels?"
"Hey dad, guess what?"
"What?"
"Did you know I kissed a girl...and I liked it?"
"Hey dad, guess what?"
"Did you know I can drink Coke and blow it out my nose and make bubbles."
Now, that one's kind of cool.
"Hey dad, guess what?"
And on, and on, and on. I'm all for opening their minds and feeding their intellect, but sometimes it feels as if I'm stuck in the middle of a bad Jerry Maguire sequel...
The parrot
Equally as taxing on the 'patience meter' is the "parrot", or the recitation of every single thing that I say to any of my children (as if it bears repeating).
"Suzy, pick up you clothes."
"Yeah! Pick up your clothes!"
"Eat you vegetables, Dexter."
"Eat you vege-ta-blLlLlLes!"
"Go outside, Clarence."
"Go outside. Go Outside. Gooo Ouuut-SIDE!"
If I could retrain his little mind to actually follow the directives he mandates, my requests may sound more like, "I want to get dad a drink.", or "I really need to help dad with the chores." To this point he has proven much too smart to fall for such antics, and they are mere echoes off of our four walls. I am determined. I will find a way...
Shut up!
The independence previously touched upon, is quickly followed up by defiance; rude, disrespectful, vocal defiance.
"Sit down and eat."
"Shut up!"
"Go to your room."
"Shut up!"
"Stop clubbing the Chihuahua."
"Shut up!"
"You are the most awesome kid ever."
"Shut.."
Ha! It seems the old man still has some tricks up his sleeve. One of us may make it through this phase alive, after all...
You're not the boss of me
These two could probably be 1a and 1b, in the pantheon of disrespect. Although exclaimed with varying intonations, they both have the same long-term effects on the parental psyche'; sheer destruction.
"Go upstairs and pick up your toys."
"You're not the boss of me."
Get your coat on and get in the car."
"You're not the boss of me."
"Time to come inside." (Neighborhood full of children and adults witnessing the battle of wills)
"You're not the boss of me! You're not the boss of me! You're not the boss of me!" (Running up and down the sidewalk, in circles, ADHD in full effect)
(Parents and children still entranced)
"Yeah, well I may not be the boss of you, but I brought you into this world...and I can take you out!" 'Thanks, pops', I think, pointing upward (even though he still lives in rural Ohio), and getting a discreet round of thumbs up from the other dads standing within earshot of this showdown at high noon. The only thing missing is a slo mo of the smoking gun being thrust back into my holster, with the theme song from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly blaring in the background. It is a moment of great pride...
What does the fox say?
Mercifully we've graduated to a "Happier" place...
They make us laugh. They make us cry. They drive us mad with their unwavering spirit and dogged determination, and they make us beg for more. I don't know that pennies come from heaven, but kids surely do.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Sunday, March 2, 2014
This City Has Gone To The Dogs
My wife is a pet angel, pure and simple. She has known, since the tender age of 6, that she was put on this earth for one reason-to make a difference in the lives of as many animals, and their owners, as possible while she is here. The rest of us are window dressing, to be drug along with her, many times kicking and screaming.
Don't get me wrong; we all knew what we were signing up for, going in. Well, maybe not the kids-but the rest of us for sure. Okay...we had no idea the level of selfless dedication that would be poured into this calling, a borderline obsessive passion, which to some may appear on the surface to be, well, selfish.
To me, these are all wonderful traits. It's fascinating to watch someone work at a true craft, with an honest purpose in what they are doing. It's rewarding to share a life experience with someone who understands their purpose, rather than floating through life like so many of the rest of us. This has been my reality for 20 years, and I marvel each day at the exhaustive outpouring of emotion, and self, that goes into this 24/7 lifestyle.
Since arriving here in '99, she has spent a great deal of time networking and volunteering, in an effort to establish a true clientele, who get her, and her reason for what she is doing. She has served on the board of rescue groups, been published in several journals and foundation newsletters. She has surrounded herself with many dedicated and adept professionals, who share her vision and sacrifice their own time to help her run vaccine clinics, in order to help educate the public. And, she has committed herself to working with, and offering assistance to, two of the most wonderful organizations in this state, if not the country, and that is what I am choosing to write about today; her affiliation with FACE Low Cost Spay Neuter Clinic, and Indiana Bulldog Rescue.
FACE is a magnificent non-profit organization, whose mission is to prevent overpopulation and disease through affordable surgical and vaccine methods. My wife has worked with this foundation and its amazing director and staff for 6 years. This group has built such a positive reputation in the community, that they were recognized as March 2014's national Shelter Of The Month by Jackson Galaxy, famed feline advocate.
It is this dedication to service which drew her in, and continues to drive her in her mission to help all animals. The personal assistance they provide to each client, regardless of circumstance, is unmatched in the veterinary and rescue community. This is a true purpose driven work, and a great source of pride for my wife and others so fortunate to be a part of such a relevant cause.
Don't get me wrong; we all knew what we were signing up for, going in. Well, maybe not the kids-but the rest of us for sure. Okay...we had no idea the level of selfless dedication that would be poured into this calling, a borderline obsessive passion, which to some may appear on the surface to be, well, selfish.
To me, these are all wonderful traits. It's fascinating to watch someone work at a true craft, with an honest purpose in what they are doing. It's rewarding to share a life experience with someone who understands their purpose, rather than floating through life like so many of the rest of us. This has been my reality for 20 years, and I marvel each day at the exhaustive outpouring of emotion, and self, that goes into this 24/7 lifestyle.
Since arriving here in '99, she has spent a great deal of time networking and volunteering, in an effort to establish a true clientele, who get her, and her reason for what she is doing. She has served on the board of rescue groups, been published in several journals and foundation newsletters. She has surrounded herself with many dedicated and adept professionals, who share her vision and sacrifice their own time to help her run vaccine clinics, in order to help educate the public. And, she has committed herself to working with, and offering assistance to, two of the most wonderful organizations in this state, if not the country, and that is what I am choosing to write about today; her affiliation with FACE Low Cost Spay Neuter Clinic, and Indiana Bulldog Rescue.
It is this dedication to service which drew her in, and continues to drive her in her mission to help all animals. The personal assistance they provide to each client, regardless of circumstance, is unmatched in the veterinary and rescue community. This is a true purpose driven work, and a great source of pride for my wife and others so fortunate to be a part of such a relevant cause.
Indiana Bulldog Rescue was founded by a dear friend and has also become a direct part of our "family". One of our 6 rescues, 'Rex', comes from this institution. The primary function of IBR is to inform current and potential owners of the benefit, and need, of pet adoption versus breeding, in this instance as it pertains to the bulldog.
The staff of volunteers here work tirelessly and run a rescue, foster and adoption group second to none. They have made such an impact locally, that Indianapolis Monthly Magazine named them one of this city's 2013, "best of's".
We have met a wealth of hard-working advocates for pet adoption through IBR, many of whom have become very close acquaintances. Their main source of income is through private donations and fundraising efforts like the "Bidding for Bullies", an online auction which they will hold via their web site March 13-16. Just 'like' the page and bid for an all-important cause.
There is a reason we were brought together, both personally, and to this fair city. There is work to be done, a true service for the local community. One that impacts us both directly, and through what she and other amazing professionals like her, offer our citizens.
Certainly I am biased, but I have never met a more caring and compassionate individual in this field, as my wife. I'm proud of the work she performs, the commitment to her life's vocation and the fact that she chose me to pull along with her.
Take the time to spread the word about the benefit and duty of pet adoption and overpopulation, and next time you are faced with a decision about bringing another furry member into your family, look at one of these remarkable organizations. You'll be glad you did.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Sunday, February 9, 2014
Why I Run...Bully-Free Forever
I have a multitude of regrets in my life. Perhaps none more pervasive, or haunting, than that of the bullying I've witnessed, been victim to, or been a part of at different stages of my existence. This is one of the demons I choose to chase, rather than run from, in what I hope to become a habit forming venture in my 'new' life...the run.
Bullying is one of those high-profile, oft overused terms in our society today and, frankly, an issue I admittedly paid little heed to until it affected me directly as a parent. You see, what I had done, in my own manner of therapy, was manage to bury the various incidents of which I had been a part of, directly or not, growing into young adulthood. I tucked them away, very comfortably and neatly, hoping never to have those shameful memories invade my conscience again. I guess our Gods work in very mysterious ways, because since the issue has affected my son, I have not been able to let go; of him, and the repetitive nature of his encounters, or of those which have silently pursued me my entire life. This is why I run.
I run for the 'friends' of whom I inwardly feared; for the kid who was just a little bit larger than me, and used that to his advantage whenever he deemed appropriate. You know, the one that hides behind the veil of kinship, only to turn on you and betray that fragile bond, or trust, at a moments' notice, like a venomous snake, coiled and ready to strike. What I realize, or 'see' now, is, that this isn't necessarily the person he wanted to be, but rather the result of his own abusive relationship with an absentee parent. He had become the statistic in a household where he was forced to raise not only himself, but his brother...and he was lost. For all of the times he took those frustrations out on me, I am sorry. I am sorry because it causes me to wonder what thoughts had gone through the minds of others, when the tables were turned...
I run for those for whose trust I have betrayed, at some point or other, in our relationships, and marvel at their capacity to forgive. I have an aged mind, more than likely as a matter of convenience, when it comes to issues of my propensity for this behavior. To their credit, my friends, and I continue to call them friends with their grace and permission, have not been as willing to let me off the hook. I have been reminded, on several occasions, about past transgressions of which I was a part, and had one dear soul go so far as to tell me, 'It's okay, though. I forgive you.' Talk about a humility check.
Typically, I pride myself in the way I treat others I consider to be acquaintances, if not close friends, but it is their willingness to hold the mirror in front of me which had caused me to reflect, and admit, that there is just as much guilt in by-standing as there is in participation. In fact, it may be a more egregious sin, because the passive nature of ones' response is firmly within their control; meaning, there is more that could, and should, have been done...
I run for those for whom I did nothing, and for whom I bear the most remorse; for the girl that rode my bus growing up, and faced relentless attacks, almost daily, while I, and other cowards who shared the same route, sat by idly...and watched. She was badgered, had books knocked out of her hands, spit balls thrown at her, drinks poured on her and we sat there. The bus driver sat there. But, why? What did this innocent child do to any of the rest of us? What did she do to her tormentors, to cause such vicious and inhumane attacks? Was it because her clothes were a little different, or her house wasn't as nice? Was it because she had to wear glasses, out of need, that weren't quite as stylish as they would have wanted? What has become of her? Better yet, what has become of them? Do they harbor the same guilt and shame that I've carried with me for over 30 years? Have they shed tears on countless occasions, asking their God to forgive them for their actions, or inaction? I hope today, wherever she may be, she can find it in her heart to forgive me...
I run for my son; for the courage he's shown in undertaking his box top collection venture. I applaud him for standing up and saying, 'My disability is not an excuse for you to attempt to take advantage of me. I won't allow it'. I admire him for asking others, many complete strangers, to stand with him; to show solidarity through clipping, and saving and mailing these, Box Tops For Education, some 5,500 to date. I exalt him for saying, 'Thank You for your effort, but it's not enough'. It will never be enough. This is one of the reasons we've chosen to honor those willing to take the time, and dedicate themselves to this cause, by placing their name on the back of the shirt, or shirts, I will wear in this year's mini marathon, here in Indianapolis; the simple, selfless act of sending box tops to him, at his school, to say, 'We've got your back'.
I realize there are many who have read my blog, that have no idea what a box top is, but are curious as to how they can help. Well, friends in Canada, Germany, Russia, Great Britain, The Netherlands, The Ukraine, Australia, New Zealand, Paraguay, Uganda, Guatemala, Peru, Iraq, Poland, Iceland, Sweden, Italy, Korea, India, Afghanistan, Japan, St. Kitts and Nevis, Belize, Haiti and others I have missed...you are in luck. Send me a coin, pin, or trinket indicating your support of the mission, and I will carry you on my back as well. I will include anyone and everyone who chooses to stand beside my son, and run with me.
We all deserve to live the best life possible. At times it takes a difficult lesson to come to this conclusion, but the truth is irrefutable. There is no excuse for intolerance, only acceptance of others. Oh, and the realization that forgiveness is a key component; and attainable. Ask and you shall receive, but you have to be willing to forgive yourself first...and let go. And run.
The address:
Makenley Deuschle
C/O Robey Elementary
8700 W 30th St.
Indianapolis, Indiana 46234
USA
Share to make aware,
Scott
Bullying is one of those high-profile, oft overused terms in our society today and, frankly, an issue I admittedly paid little heed to until it affected me directly as a parent. You see, what I had done, in my own manner of therapy, was manage to bury the various incidents of which I had been a part of, directly or not, growing into young adulthood. I tucked them away, very comfortably and neatly, hoping never to have those shameful memories invade my conscience again. I guess our Gods work in very mysterious ways, because since the issue has affected my son, I have not been able to let go; of him, and the repetitive nature of his encounters, or of those which have silently pursued me my entire life. This is why I run.
I run for the 'friends' of whom I inwardly feared; for the kid who was just a little bit larger than me, and used that to his advantage whenever he deemed appropriate. You know, the one that hides behind the veil of kinship, only to turn on you and betray that fragile bond, or trust, at a moments' notice, like a venomous snake, coiled and ready to strike. What I realize, or 'see' now, is, that this isn't necessarily the person he wanted to be, but rather the result of his own abusive relationship with an absentee parent. He had become the statistic in a household where he was forced to raise not only himself, but his brother...and he was lost. For all of the times he took those frustrations out on me, I am sorry. I am sorry because it causes me to wonder what thoughts had gone through the minds of others, when the tables were turned...
I run for those for whose trust I have betrayed, at some point or other, in our relationships, and marvel at their capacity to forgive. I have an aged mind, more than likely as a matter of convenience, when it comes to issues of my propensity for this behavior. To their credit, my friends, and I continue to call them friends with their grace and permission, have not been as willing to let me off the hook. I have been reminded, on several occasions, about past transgressions of which I was a part, and had one dear soul go so far as to tell me, 'It's okay, though. I forgive you.' Talk about a humility check.
Typically, I pride myself in the way I treat others I consider to be acquaintances, if not close friends, but it is their willingness to hold the mirror in front of me which had caused me to reflect, and admit, that there is just as much guilt in by-standing as there is in participation. In fact, it may be a more egregious sin, because the passive nature of ones' response is firmly within their control; meaning, there is more that could, and should, have been done...
I run for those for whom I did nothing, and for whom I bear the most remorse; for the girl that rode my bus growing up, and faced relentless attacks, almost daily, while I, and other cowards who shared the same route, sat by idly...and watched. She was badgered, had books knocked out of her hands, spit balls thrown at her, drinks poured on her and we sat there. The bus driver sat there. But, why? What did this innocent child do to any of the rest of us? What did she do to her tormentors, to cause such vicious and inhumane attacks? Was it because her clothes were a little different, or her house wasn't as nice? Was it because she had to wear glasses, out of need, that weren't quite as stylish as they would have wanted? What has become of her? Better yet, what has become of them? Do they harbor the same guilt and shame that I've carried with me for over 30 years? Have they shed tears on countless occasions, asking their God to forgive them for their actions, or inaction? I hope today, wherever she may be, she can find it in her heart to forgive me...
I run for my son; for the courage he's shown in undertaking his box top collection venture. I applaud him for standing up and saying, 'My disability is not an excuse for you to attempt to take advantage of me. I won't allow it'. I admire him for asking others, many complete strangers, to stand with him; to show solidarity through clipping, and saving and mailing these, Box Tops For Education, some 5,500 to date. I exalt him for saying, 'Thank You for your effort, but it's not enough'. It will never be enough. This is one of the reasons we've chosen to honor those willing to take the time, and dedicate themselves to this cause, by placing their name on the back of the shirt, or shirts, I will wear in this year's mini marathon, here in Indianapolis; the simple, selfless act of sending box tops to him, at his school, to say, 'We've got your back'.
I realize there are many who have read my blog, that have no idea what a box top is, but are curious as to how they can help. Well, friends in Canada, Germany, Russia, Great Britain, The Netherlands, The Ukraine, Australia, New Zealand, Paraguay, Uganda, Guatemala, Peru, Iraq, Poland, Iceland, Sweden, Italy, Korea, India, Afghanistan, Japan, St. Kitts and Nevis, Belize, Haiti and others I have missed...you are in luck. Send me a coin, pin, or trinket indicating your support of the mission, and I will carry you on my back as well. I will include anyone and everyone who chooses to stand beside my son, and run with me.
We all deserve to live the best life possible. At times it takes a difficult lesson to come to this conclusion, but the truth is irrefutable. There is no excuse for intolerance, only acceptance of others. Oh, and the realization that forgiveness is a key component; and attainable. Ask and you shall receive, but you have to be willing to forgive yourself first...and let go. And run.
The address:
Makenley Deuschle
C/O Robey Elementary
8700 W 30th St.
Indianapolis, Indiana 46234
USA
Share to make aware,
Scott
Monday, February 3, 2014
My 24 Day Challenge...Day 25
I stand here at the crossroads of my 'Magical Mystery Tour', wondering what's next. Okay, not really wondering; dreading, perhaps? Anticipating? What is the next phase of my reality? It's a rhetorical question, really. I know what the next 90 days have in store for me and my body, although at times I doubt my readiness for that torture based transformation. Beyond that, I'm not sure. I want to think I'll remain strong and dedicated to this "new me", but I've been here before. Once I have met my goal of preparing for the run, then accomplished that goal, if I don't have a ledgers' worth of new hurdles, I'll be lost. Ironically, that will be right at the time I am able to start cycle 2 of the 24 Day Challenge, so there is that.
All in all, I feel like a million bucks, although it's not easy altering so many aspects of your life in one fell swoop. I questioned myself, almost daily along this most recent journey, but only I am to blame. They recommend weighing at the beginning and at the end of the process. Now I know why. The psychological roller coaster you ride weighing daily, is draining, and enhances the struggle; for sanity, if nothing else.
As good as it feels to lose 3 lbs in one day, it's just as damaging to gain 2 the next. And you do gain. Anyone who tells you differently is lying. The body is smarter than we are. Every seven days, or so, it wakes up and says, 'Alright smart guy; I can play that game too', then commences to lay down the hammer of Thor on our arrogant heads. Knowing what I do now, I would eliminate those masochistic tendencies, follow their directions, and lose even more. There is no doubt in my mind, my selfishness cost me my goal weight. That being said...
If I'm being honest, can I really act like I'm disappointed to only lose 20.2 lbs in 24 days? R-e-a-l-l-y? 20.2 lbs?!? The obvious answer is 'no', but leaves the door open for an even greater second phase of my process, to realize my weaknesses and failings, grab them by the horns and regain control. For as awesome as AdvoCare was to me in this journey, I have to tell you, that is a fraction of the battle. The remainder revolves around dedication, temptation, determination, real change and a constant motivation to be better...to do better. Because, to this point, friends, good hasn't been good enough.
Here, I give you the last 10 days, of my own personal reality check. It wasn't easy; it's not supposed to be. But, it's worth every dime, sweat, tear and pill (and there are a LOT of pills)...
Day 15-Still ahead of goal pace; crossed with exercise, should bring it home.
Day 16-Leveled out, but feeling great. I may not win the $100, but there's a bigger pay off in the end; Tony Horton, where are you?
Day 17-Not gaining, not losing; hopefully workouts will assist loss; torture starts today. Lord help me...
Day 18-Little movement; variety of foods expanding; temptations limited.
Day 19-Rock solid; light at the end of the tunnel; I will win the war...
Day 20-H-U-G-E day; it seems I threw my body another curve, just when it appeared he had figured me out; wow!
Day 21-The lifestyle has become habitual, and the transformation is clearly evident; a little fine tuning to close it out.
Day 22-WT?? I'm doing all the right things, staying focused...and I'm gaining??? Not defeated, just pissed; there is a BIG difference...
Day 23-Not bringing the scale out until tomorrow; in fact, that was probably a mistake from the beginning; should have listened, but noOOoo; tomorrow's the day; screw the money, this is about me.
Day 24-I should not have allowed my self to finish on Super Bowl Sunday. What was I thinking? Okay, yes, I had an extra burrito; sue me. Bottom line, I know where mistakes were made and why I had very minimal loss over the last 5 days, or so; 20.2 lbs, pretty freaking awesome, so I'll take it! On to the next episode...
I told you at the beginning to follow me, watch the transformation for yourself, then judge the value of change for you. It works. I am living proof. It's not about turning yourself over to a bunch of supplements, to alter your body. This isn't a steroid shop. It's about surrendering yourself to those things that can help along the way. My AdvoCare 24 Day Challenge has been exceptional. Now that I've immersed myself in the benefits of the products I've been exposed to, I have even greater confidence in expanding my selections, to meet my needs going forward. Here's to being better...
13.1,
Scott
All in all, I feel like a million bucks, although it's not easy altering so many aspects of your life in one fell swoop. I questioned myself, almost daily along this most recent journey, but only I am to blame. They recommend weighing at the beginning and at the end of the process. Now I know why. The psychological roller coaster you ride weighing daily, is draining, and enhances the struggle; for sanity, if nothing else.
As good as it feels to lose 3 lbs in one day, it's just as damaging to gain 2 the next. And you do gain. Anyone who tells you differently is lying. The body is smarter than we are. Every seven days, or so, it wakes up and says, 'Alright smart guy; I can play that game too', then commences to lay down the hammer of Thor on our arrogant heads. Knowing what I do now, I would eliminate those masochistic tendencies, follow their directions, and lose even more. There is no doubt in my mind, my selfishness cost me my goal weight. That being said...
If I'm being honest, can I really act like I'm disappointed to only lose 20.2 lbs in 24 days? R-e-a-l-l-y? 20.2 lbs?!? The obvious answer is 'no', but leaves the door open for an even greater second phase of my process, to realize my weaknesses and failings, grab them by the horns and regain control. For as awesome as AdvoCare was to me in this journey, I have to tell you, that is a fraction of the battle. The remainder revolves around dedication, temptation, determination, real change and a constant motivation to be better...to do better. Because, to this point, friends, good hasn't been good enough.
Here, I give you the last 10 days, of my own personal reality check. It wasn't easy; it's not supposed to be. But, it's worth every dime, sweat, tear and pill (and there are a LOT of pills)...
Day 15-Still ahead of goal pace; crossed with exercise, should bring it home.
Day 16-Leveled out, but feeling great. I may not win the $100, but there's a bigger pay off in the end; Tony Horton, where are you?
Day 17-Not gaining, not losing; hopefully workouts will assist loss; torture starts today. Lord help me...
Day 18-Little movement; variety of foods expanding; temptations limited.
Day 19-Rock solid; light at the end of the tunnel; I will win the war...
Day 20-H-U-G-E day; it seems I threw my body another curve, just when it appeared he had figured me out; wow!
Day 21-The lifestyle has become habitual, and the transformation is clearly evident; a little fine tuning to close it out.
Day 22-WT?? I'm doing all the right things, staying focused...and I'm gaining??? Not defeated, just pissed; there is a BIG difference...
Day 23-Not bringing the scale out until tomorrow; in fact, that was probably a mistake from the beginning; should have listened, but noOOoo; tomorrow's the day; screw the money, this is about me.
Day 24-I should not have allowed my self to finish on Super Bowl Sunday. What was I thinking? Okay, yes, I had an extra burrito; sue me. Bottom line, I know where mistakes were made and why I had very minimal loss over the last 5 days, or so; 20.2 lbs, pretty freaking awesome, so I'll take it! On to the next episode...
I told you at the beginning to follow me, watch the transformation for yourself, then judge the value of change for you. It works. I am living proof. It's not about turning yourself over to a bunch of supplements, to alter your body. This isn't a steroid shop. It's about surrendering yourself to those things that can help along the way. My AdvoCare 24 Day Challenge has been exceptional. Now that I've immersed myself in the benefits of the products I've been exposed to, I have even greater confidence in expanding my selections, to meet my needs going forward. Here's to being better...
13.1,
Scott
Saturday, January 25, 2014
I Love My Kids So Much, I Hate Them
Have you ever made a comment to one of your children and then been racked with guilt for hours, if not days? What is it about our offspring, that cause us to react in such a wide array of emotions? Could it be the fact that they are ours and, hence, doomed to wear many of our genetic characteristics like a scarlet letter? How is it possible to see both the devil's horn and the halo of an angel on the same little head, depending on how the light reflects off of their shiny, golden ringlets, or which profile they choose to share with us at any given time? Regardless of the conundrum posed by these rhetorical queries, one thing is certain: our kids bring out the best, and worst, in all of us.
When I get older, I'm never going to be mean to my kids!
I still remember the first time I spouted this nonsense to my parents. We were living in central Ohio, riding home from church one Sunday morning and, as usual, my mouth was writing checks my body couldn't cash. I received one of my seemingly endless 'tickets to discipline' and the only ridiculous response I could muster was how patient and understanding I would always be to my children, because my parents were so cruel and unusual to me.
What I found, rather quickly, is, the only thing unusual about my profound, illogical, logic was how flawed my perspective and rationale were, at the ripe old age of eleven. I mean, clearly I had all the answers. I was just asking the wrong questions...
Karma is a female dog
They knew. They knew, they knew. And they knew that we didn't know they knew. But, how is that possible? How did they constantly out maneuver us at each turn, so agile and ninja like? I mean, they were our parents. They were stupid. Well, they played dumb...and they were brilliant.
Just as often as utilizing discipline as "teaching moments", they may just put us outside and lock they door, forcing us to resolve our conflicts however we saw fit. What was that all about? Were they too blind to realize we might kill each other? No, but they may have been hoping.
And the little mental checklists, we now understand they kept hidden in the deep recesses of their minds all of those years; were they realizing the exponential growth of the wisdom instilled in them by their parents, all those years before? Were they celebrating the sowing and harvesting of their personal bushel of karma, then clipping us off our own little keepsake, like the root of a Hosta plant? It gives one pause...
My parents are mocking me
Its funny, watching them now, sitting there basking in their arrogant glory, quiet little smirks crossing their wrinkly old faces, as we struggle to wrest control from one adolescent to the next, like a finely choreographed scene out of West Side Story. They don't say a word, just make a little extra noise tuning the page of the Daily Bugle, clearing that nasty frog from the dark hollows of their grainy esophageal canal. Come to think of it, they are acting in the exact same fashion that their parents acted before them. The main difference being that I actually liked their parents.
Maybe I don't hate my kids. Maybe I'm still extremely resentful of the omnipresent nature of my parents and their clear parental superiority, in all things decidedly parental. I don't know, but if my dad gives that contented sigh one more time, after biting into a Lay's potato chip...
I wish they were home more
This is the prevailing attitude that lingers for eight weeks a semester, then is extinguished eight hours into their break...any break. What does 'home more' mean, exactly? Do I mean, 'so I can ignore them more while they're around me?' Do I feel an overwhelming urge to heap more of my own parental inadequacies on their slight frames?
I know, it must be because, when they are away, the silence is deafening. We can't stand not having the chaos, and fighting, and screaming, and...
How did I fall and hit every branch on the Tree of Ignorance, while for all intents and purposes, my parents came out of this thing unscathed? Funny, I do wish they were home more...
What year do they graduate, again?
Now, hold on a minute. There they go using that Jedi mind trick on us again. Just when you think it's safe to believe they are sane, they find a new, improved, button to push; one that couldn't possibly have been discovered before, in the history of mankind. No, this level of disobedience and disrespect is presidential (look, I made a funny).
The ingenious nature of a multitude of their arguments, is so absurd, you have to simply sit back and admire the sheer tenacity with which they display their self-evident "truths". You've heard it before: 'If they would put half as much energy into...', but it's true. If they would only listen, our lives would all be so much easier. 'Don't focus on winning the battle, win the war'. Well, I've got to tell you, if they're not careful, this is going to turn into a single battle war. Pipe down, pops, I can hear you crunching...
I love them in spite of my flaws
This is the greatest truth, and the most glaring weakness. They are mine and they are a direct reflection of me, so they can't be blamed for 'inconvenient truths', or those beyond the realm of their control. What they can do, is overcome them. They can strive to prove me wrong every day, to make a better life for themselves and their families. They can mature and be smarter, and wiser than we are, as parents (I know, not exactly the 'Fosbury Flop', huh?). They can grow to be benevolent and kind, and...greater.
If they hate me now, my ignorance and ineptitude, then I must be doing something right. This is all we can do for them; give them the tools to succeed and the perseverance for when they fail. Faith and destiny will take care of the rest. Don't hate your kids...all of the time.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
When I get older, I'm never going to be mean to my kids!
I still remember the first time I spouted this nonsense to my parents. We were living in central Ohio, riding home from church one Sunday morning and, as usual, my mouth was writing checks my body couldn't cash. I received one of my seemingly endless 'tickets to discipline' and the only ridiculous response I could muster was how patient and understanding I would always be to my children, because my parents were so cruel and unusual to me.
What I found, rather quickly, is, the only thing unusual about my profound, illogical, logic was how flawed my perspective and rationale were, at the ripe old age of eleven. I mean, clearly I had all the answers. I was just asking the wrong questions...
Karma is a female dog
They knew. They knew, they knew. And they knew that we didn't know they knew. But, how is that possible? How did they constantly out maneuver us at each turn, so agile and ninja like? I mean, they were our parents. They were stupid. Well, they played dumb...and they were brilliant.
Just as often as utilizing discipline as "teaching moments", they may just put us outside and lock they door, forcing us to resolve our conflicts however we saw fit. What was that all about? Were they too blind to realize we might kill each other? No, but they may have been hoping.
And the little mental checklists, we now understand they kept hidden in the deep recesses of their minds all of those years; were they realizing the exponential growth of the wisdom instilled in them by their parents, all those years before? Were they celebrating the sowing and harvesting of their personal bushel of karma, then clipping us off our own little keepsake, like the root of a Hosta plant? It gives one pause...
My parents are mocking me
Its funny, watching them now, sitting there basking in their arrogant glory, quiet little smirks crossing their wrinkly old faces, as we struggle to wrest control from one adolescent to the next, like a finely choreographed scene out of West Side Story. They don't say a word, just make a little extra noise tuning the page of the Daily Bugle, clearing that nasty frog from the dark hollows of their grainy esophageal canal. Come to think of it, they are acting in the exact same fashion that their parents acted before them. The main difference being that I actually liked their parents.
Maybe I don't hate my kids. Maybe I'm still extremely resentful of the omnipresent nature of my parents and their clear parental superiority, in all things decidedly parental. I don't know, but if my dad gives that contented sigh one more time, after biting into a Lay's potato chip...
I wish they were home more
This is the prevailing attitude that lingers for eight weeks a semester, then is extinguished eight hours into their break...any break. What does 'home more' mean, exactly? Do I mean, 'so I can ignore them more while they're around me?' Do I feel an overwhelming urge to heap more of my own parental inadequacies on their slight frames?
I know, it must be because, when they are away, the silence is deafening. We can't stand not having the chaos, and fighting, and screaming, and...
How did I fall and hit every branch on the Tree of Ignorance, while for all intents and purposes, my parents came out of this thing unscathed? Funny, I do wish they were home more...
What year do they graduate, again?
Now, hold on a minute. There they go using that Jedi mind trick on us again. Just when you think it's safe to believe they are sane, they find a new, improved, button to push; one that couldn't possibly have been discovered before, in the history of mankind. No, this level of disobedience and disrespect is presidential (look, I made a funny).
The ingenious nature of a multitude of their arguments, is so absurd, you have to simply sit back and admire the sheer tenacity with which they display their self-evident "truths". You've heard it before: 'If they would put half as much energy into...', but it's true. If they would only listen, our lives would all be so much easier. 'Don't focus on winning the battle, win the war'. Well, I've got to tell you, if they're not careful, this is going to turn into a single battle war. Pipe down, pops, I can hear you crunching...
I love them in spite of my flaws
This is the greatest truth, and the most glaring weakness. They are mine and they are a direct reflection of me, so they can't be blamed for 'inconvenient truths', or those beyond the realm of their control. What they can do, is overcome them. They can strive to prove me wrong every day, to make a better life for themselves and their families. They can mature and be smarter, and wiser than we are, as parents (I know, not exactly the 'Fosbury Flop', huh?). They can grow to be benevolent and kind, and...greater.
If they hate me now, my ignorance and ineptitude, then I must be doing something right. This is all we can do for them; give them the tools to succeed and the perseverance for when they fail. Faith and destiny will take care of the rest. Don't hate your kids...all of the time.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Friday, January 24, 2014
My 24 Day Challenge...Day 14
This has been quite the roller coaster of physical and emotional, turmoil and triumph. There are quite a few trends which begin to take shape, following the first week, and the realization sets in that diligence is key, and in order to make it through you need to be 100% committed.
Changes in dietary and exercise habits will produce immediate satisfaction, and give you the feeling of complete control. Once your body has a chance to react to these changes, and compensates, you need to surrender to your will power and determination to push through and continue to achieve results.
The best way to describe it, is being on a freeway, traveling at whatever speed you desire, then coming upon a construction zone that has traffic at a stand still. As long as you don't turn around in the median, you will make it through to your destination; it just may take a little more time.
The max phase is where the differences are made. Just when you are left wondering if you may careen off of the plateau you've been stranded on for a few days, your journey starts over again and your body begins a new celebration. Visual changes are more evident and your attitude and energy take a drastic turn for the better. There is a reason you've committed yourself to this program and the investment is paying dividends. I'm two weeks in, ten days to go, and I remain solidly on pace to meet, or exceed, my stated projections. From there, it's up to me...or you. Here are days eight through fourteen of my journey and a glimpse into the reality I have faced (no weigh-ins are included to protect my fragile sanity).
Day 8- Still losing, but need more discipline; fiber is back; AHHHH!!!!
Day 9- Feel like I'm stuck in neutral; getting new scale today, as this one refuses to reset (perhaps its attempting to communicate to me through immense failure); hopefully it's been lying to me.
Day 10- I'm stuck in a weight loss vortex; on a positive note, fiber..is..done!! Good riddance...
Day 11- G-a-i-n-e-d; need a new strategy; perhaps waiting a few days to weigh; daily letdowns discouraging.
Day 12- Stagnate; second day of max phase; next level of losing? Time will tell...
Day 13- Holy $%#*; on the losing train again...BIG time! No more numbers 'til the end; fourteen pills a day is killing me; I think I'm a junkie.
Day 14- ___; wasn't supposed to post weight, but things are looking up again; max phase working like a charm...to this point.
Is it all puppy dogs and rainbows? No. But, the truth is, it works. If you remain focused and if you refuse to allow the battles to dictate the results of the war...you will win. I am proof. The next ten days will test my power of resolve once more but, again, I am entrenched and up for the challenge; the final leg of my 24 Day Challenge.
I've asked you to remain patient and let the results speak for themselves. Can you hear that noise in the distance? It's the sound of the volume being turned...up. Way up. We all deserve a chance to do the most with our position in life, and one thing we can control is the quality and choices we make, to maximize the impact relative to ourselves and others. Stay tuned, and dare to join me at the start/finish line.
$4.17 a day, 13.1,
Scott
Changes in dietary and exercise habits will produce immediate satisfaction, and give you the feeling of complete control. Once your body has a chance to react to these changes, and compensates, you need to surrender to your will power and determination to push through and continue to achieve results.
The best way to describe it, is being on a freeway, traveling at whatever speed you desire, then coming upon a construction zone that has traffic at a stand still. As long as you don't turn around in the median, you will make it through to your destination; it just may take a little more time.
The max phase is where the differences are made. Just when you are left wondering if you may careen off of the plateau you've been stranded on for a few days, your journey starts over again and your body begins a new celebration. Visual changes are more evident and your attitude and energy take a drastic turn for the better. There is a reason you've committed yourself to this program and the investment is paying dividends. I'm two weeks in, ten days to go, and I remain solidly on pace to meet, or exceed, my stated projections. From there, it's up to me...or you. Here are days eight through fourteen of my journey and a glimpse into the reality I have faced (no weigh-ins are included to protect my fragile sanity).
Day 8- Still losing, but need more discipline; fiber is back; AHHHH!!!!
Day 9- Feel like I'm stuck in neutral; getting new scale today, as this one refuses to reset (perhaps its attempting to communicate to me through immense failure); hopefully it's been lying to me.
Day 10- I'm stuck in a weight loss vortex; on a positive note, fiber..is..done!! Good riddance...
Day 11- G-a-i-n-e-d; need a new strategy; perhaps waiting a few days to weigh; daily letdowns discouraging.
Day 12- Stagnate; second day of max phase; next level of losing? Time will tell...
Day 13- Holy $%#*; on the losing train again...BIG time! No more numbers 'til the end; fourteen pills a day is killing me; I think I'm a junkie.
Day 14- ___; wasn't supposed to post weight, but things are looking up again; max phase working like a charm...to this point.
Is it all puppy dogs and rainbows? No. But, the truth is, it works. If you remain focused and if you refuse to allow the battles to dictate the results of the war...you will win. I am proof. The next ten days will test my power of resolve once more but, again, I am entrenched and up for the challenge; the final leg of my 24 Day Challenge.
I've asked you to remain patient and let the results speak for themselves. Can you hear that noise in the distance? It's the sound of the volume being turned...up. Way up. We all deserve a chance to do the most with our position in life, and one thing we can control is the quality and choices we make, to maximize the impact relative to ourselves and others. Stay tuned, and dare to join me at the start/finish line.
$4.17 a day, 13.1,
Scott
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