The Verdict

I just met with Mistress Amber, and God bless her it looks like all the abuse she put me through has paid off. I lost a total of 17 lbs (7%) and reduced my body fat percentage by 11%. My belly shrunk by 16%.

Lest you think that's a measly loss for six months of work, remember that I didn't care about weight loss when I started: I was only interested in stamina and upper body strength, and Mistress Amber designed my program to achieve these goals. The fat loss was simply a side effect, and something that's easy to measure. Regretfully I don't have hard data on stamina or strength. Subjectively I know that I can go longer and faster on the cardio equipment than when I started and that she's been able to add more weight to each exercise.

Also, I must confess that I've not exhibited a lot of discipline in the cardio department. She said that I would have seen more improvement had I been more consistent in doing it. As I said, I've seen some improvement. I may not be able to determine how (or whether) the work I've been doing has had any impact on my diving. Since I've been doing SOMETHING I have to assume that it will be better than having done NOTHING.

Yuck

Well, I finally did it. I'm in a Holiday Inn in south-central Louisiana and I swam in their pool. For the record, that's ME -- doing water-based exercise -- while on travel.

Unfortunately, the conditions weren't that great. The pool was big enough (barely), but the visibility was almost 4 ft. For you non-divers, we measure water conditions in terms of visibility: How far can you see while you're underwater. In the freshwater lakes I usually dive in vis is from 0' to 2'. In the Gulf it varies between 40 and 60'. In the Caribbean it's often 100-120'. The hotel pool was so turbid I couldn't clearly see my feet while I was floating on the surface, feet down.

I was going to use the treadmill, but it was broken. I considered running, but the only road is an Interstate access road and one of our team members was very nearly struck by a car running it this morning. So I'll probably swim it again, since I've dived in bodies of water I'd normally never consider swimming in, and braved God-knows-what kind of amoebas, planaria, and what-not without a thought. At least with a little chlorine the bacteria might be too stunned (stoned?) to hurt me.

This hotel sucks. I'm going to post bad things about it on travel websites to warn others away.

Wednesday in Austin

Well, I heard through the grapevine that Mistress Amber survived her surgery and all that remains is for her to travel through the gauntlet of pain until she heals. Poor thing. But, she's been through worse, so she'll come through just fine. Also, she's probably got more friends and family than anyone I've ever met, so she's not hurting for moral support.

Anyway . . . . here I am in sunny, downtown Austin hacking away on my laptop. What a geek! I'm a block from Town Lake and its first-rate jogging trail, and I KNOW Mistress Amber would bitch-slap me if I passed up that opportunity. Hell, I might even bitch-slap myself -- nobody's around to see . . . . Naaaaah, don't even go there.

Ultimately, my plan is to hit the pool hard while I'm here. I'm glad it's an indoor pool so I won't have half the hotel as an audience while I flounder (no pun intended -- I don't intend to bury myself in muck on the bottom!) around without my customary diving gear. It's very disconcerting to swim gear-free when you're used to having both air and swim-aids (fins & a buoyancy compensator). I don't know why I'm concerned about being seen, but that's just how I am. It would be a different story if I was rigged up to dive. That's manlier. :) OK, I've changed my mind -- my real reason for being happy it's an indoor pool is because I don't have to worry about skin cancer. That's my story. Of course, if it's full of piss-streaming disease vectors I'll probably run down to the river and swim in the bat droppings. At least that'll be somewhat more hygienic.

Oh, yeah, the work-related reason I'm here is to attend an environmental law conference. I have attended this conference every year for more than ten years, and it's always excellent. I always run into people I've worked with at some point over the past 20 years.

Update: 8:45pm
OK, I'm gonna get thrashed. Or I'm going to stay fat & flabby & out-o-shape. I wasn't responsible after all. I looked at the pool, and it was about 2m wide by 15m long. If there had been one other person using it I wouldn't have been able to swim. Plus, it was outside after all. I looked in the fitness center and they had a lot of machines, but they were almost on top of each other. I'll try & run early tomorrow morning, if I can.

Hunger started to tweak at me so I went to a Vietnamese place not far from the hotel, on 6th St. Afterwards, the unmistakable sound of live blues music wafted over from a bar across the street. There was no cover charge, so I went in and bought a coke & listened to a blues trio, the Jamie Krueger Group, whip out a few tunes. Jamie's vocals are strong, and he was getting a great tone out of his vintage Fender Strat. Nice & meaty, with that particular edge you hear from Texas blues guitarists.

Now I'm back in the hotel room, back on the laptop, working on an audio project I've been wanting to finish for a while.

My Inner Troll

Good News!

I think I've got my inner troll tranquilized. Nothing wakes him up like Mondays, though (it's Sunday as I write this), so I don't want to make any firm commitments until then. To any of you reading this that have had to put up with my BS in person, I apologize for inflicting my bad attitude upon you.

Just remember, "If nothing changes, nothing changes." My motivation for haunting the "fitness center" had faded dramatically during the period of my infirmity, and the last two sessions I was really pumping bad vibes at Mistress Amber, who has been helping me get fitter. In penance, I have increased my efforts to be diligent in following her suggestions (even when she's not around) so that she can get some satisfaction in seeing me improve.

My vacation & money budget for 2007 is pretty much spent, and the outlook for 2008 is very much up in the air right now, as some of you know. My dive shop recently started teaching more NAUI courses than PADI courses, and I'm particularly interested in taking the NAUI divemaster class. That is the first in the series of "professional" level courses, and it would qualify me to conduct "Discover SCUBA" sessions, assist in instruction, and lead dive trips. It carries with it a lot more responsibility, but the training I'd receive would be extremely valuable (and very enjoyable). However, I'm already working and studying a bunch of other stuff and I don't really have time to spend on it, so it's one of those "if only. . . ." goals I'll try and achieve some day.

My final note for the day: I have decided to limit my use of the word "douchebag" to refer to politicians. I know you were concerned about this.

Updated Intel

All right, I can confess to being wrong as well as the next guy. Even faster if you hurt me. Mistress Amber (if that's her real name) is not Sajida Heiralla Tuffah after all. Mrs. Tuffah was, in fact, Saddam Hussein's wife. My bad. I need to monitor my valium dosage better.

After a series of lengthy discussions with Mistress Amber, I believe that her command of the Arabic language is simply not sufficient for her to have survived a marriage of any length to a lunatic that couldn't speak English. I don't believe that she'd appreciate his love offerings of the severed heads, hands, or private parts of dissidents in the spirit in which they were intended. Plus, she'd be like, all TOTALLY in his face all the time. Not that I'm a relationship expert (notwithstanding two successful marriages so far), but she just doesn't seem like she'd be a good personality match for the ruthless dictator type.

Which leaves open the question of who, in fact, she is. Today's session gave me some valuable insight into her training. I now believe she was an intelligence officer stationed at Guantanamo Bay trained by the U.S. CIA in "enhanced interrogation techniques." I'll review the evidence I collected today which supports my position.

One technique commonly used on enemy combatants and other "undesirables" is what are called "stress positions." The prisoner is required to stand or kneel in a very uncomfortable position for lengthy periods of time, until muscles cramp and the pain overcomes the prisoner. Today, I was forced to lay face-down on the floor, supporting my full body weight on just my toes and elbows, back perfectly straight, for as long as 40 seconds! This was done to me at least three times and resulted in moderate back pain and an embarrassing lack of dignity as my ordeal was being witnessed by several attractive ladies.

Another example of a technique used by military interrogators is the sexual humiliation of prisoners, as witnessed in the Abu Ghraib prison photos. To my dismay, I was not invited to participate in building any naked pyramids with the other gym patrons. Instead, I was forced to humiliate myself in front of them, to the great delight of Mistress Amber. This ordeal involved making me rest my neck on a large (3' diam) inflatable ball, feet flat on the ground, body facing up. I was then forced to repeatedly thrust my hips and naughty bits up toward the ceiling, which I presume concealed a video camera. This process was repeated at least two times (the first video must not have adequately recorded the shame and humiliation in my face).

Finally, I am pretty sure I caught Mistress Amber checking me out for the best places to attach electrodes. I only caught the briefest glimpse inside the equipment closet behind the desk, so I'll have to confirm the presence of an arc welder or other torture device during my next interrogation. Also, black hoods.

I'm still trying to determine the true identity of Mistress Amber, but it is extremely difficult to learn the real names of operatives engaged in "wet work," as the professionals call these kinds of activities in the movies. I'll keep you posted on my research in the hopes that some of my clandestine colleagues can confirm my fact-findings.

Pray for me, friends, as I feel my resolve slipping almost daily.

By the way, I think I hoovered three lbs of cherries today. By the end of the week I know I can polish off a full 4 lb container! If anyone knows any reason I shouldn't be doing this, I'd be more than happy for you to share that information with me. No, really.

Physical Progress!

As you are no doubt aware from my prior postings, or perhaps by "overhearing" my conversations in my completely private cubicle, I have slavishly devoted myself to improving my physical condition. I have been spending countless hours in the gym under the strict tutelage of a strangely terrifying professional trainer. She says her name is "Amber," but at the end of one of my workouts I'm certain I heard her referred to as Sajida Heiralla Tuffah, a woman known to have been smuggled out of Iraq in the early days of the war to testify about the atrocities she participated in under Saddam's regime.

In fairness to Ms. Tuffah, I'm still seeking confirmation of her identity, so don't take that as gospel. You see, I heard the name during a post-workout period of intoxication, either from the natural endorphins released from the exercise or the handful of Valium I took in case the endorphins took too long. Either way, she is quite skilled in the art of pain, so you can understand my confusion.

Actually, whoever she really is, she confirmed today that I am, in fact, making a little progress. To me, the end of every workout feels like "G*DDA**SH**F*CK I'M PARALYZED!!!" but she is actually paying attention to what's going on and she says I'm improving some. I think I'll start tipping her with real bills from now on. Well, depending on who she really is.

Just out of curiosity, is there any good reason not to eat 2 lbs of fresh cherries in one sitting? Just asking.