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Sports nutrition commentary: Progress report No. 1

It was one of the greatest tests of my will I have ever faced.

I was very hungry and, my wife Kayla’s pregnancy-induced carpal tunnel flaring up like mad, I stood over the garbage can and peeled the skin off about 10 pieces of broasted chicken.

Flap after flap of salty, slimy, mouth-watering skin fell into the trash. But not without leaving little bits of delicious shrapnel and plenty of residue on my hands. I wanted to lick them. I wanted so badly to give in to my primal instincts, pull the skin out of the trash and devour it without bothering to chew.

Instead, I fed one of the big sections of skin to the dog, then shredded the actual chicken for sandwiches for the week.

Don’t praise me just yet. I’ve been far from perfect. After about 12 hours of moving furniture, then cleaning our old house, I indulged last Saturday night. My Fitness Pal rewarded me about 1,500 calories for my hard labor, and I used every stinking one of them.

We’d bought tickets to the Dixon Beer-Tasting Festival for our dads and Kayla’s brother, Kyle, who we asked to be a godfather last weekend, as Father’s Day gifts. My dad had to bail early, so I pounced on a Father’s Day gift of my own.

It was a celebration. New home. New city. New additions getting very close. Similarly, I wasn’t about to turn down a piece of cake and the formerly breaded broasted chicken at the baby shower the preceding weekend.

What does it all mean? Life is to be lived. The other 6 days out of each week, I ignored my grumbling tummy during 12-hour shifts. I passed on the traditional Wednesday outing to Buffalo Wild Wings for $1 tenders.

Six out of the 7 days both weeks, I checked in under my calorie allowance. And, when I went to Bryan Frederick’s office Tuesday, I found out I’d trimmed an inch from my waist and eliminated 3 pounds of fat from my body, lowering my percentage from 29.4 to 28.6.

For those who have either just tuned in to this series or haven’t read the blog at, I visited Frederick, CGH’s Lifestyle Medicine instructor, for my body fat analysis via skin calipers. I did this because Margaret Glady, whose bioelectrical impedance thinger found my body fat to be 27.3, was going to be out of the office to be married.

For consistency’s sake, I decided to visit Frederick every week. I was kind of bummed to find out my body fat was even higher than the gadget told us. But, hey, that just means more benchmarks to celebrate, right?

That clarification aside, things are going well. As Frederick emphasized, I shouldn’t be bummed if next Tuesday my numbers haven’t moved. It’s a big-picture thing. By the time I let him pinch my skin folds at the beginning of August, I hope it’s a struggle to find such excess. I can dream that my body-fat percentage will have dipped into the teens.

To get there, I’ll need strength. You know, the sort of strength Mark Jordan tapped into to drop 32 pounds in about a month. Angel Sierra and I will be meeting with him today to shoot video to tell his story. We’re hoping to stockpile stories like his. Still plenty of room for more Naturals in our gang.

This column was originally slated to run with the next installment of “The Naturals,” the summer series that will continue in Friday’s edition. But I moved it up a day, because I simply couldn’t sleep at night if I didn’t weigh in on the dietary supplements issue. You know me. I won’t pull any punches. Tune in Friday.

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