The Cushion Competition

Like most people, I appreciate a challenge. In fact, for me, I sometimes only step up when I'm challenged on something. And sometimes, because of being challenged, I take it too far. During the summer of 2013, four of my friends on the swim team and myself challenged each other to a weight gaining competition during the two month training hiatus of July and August. We wanted the challenge to be fair so we weighed in after the last swim practice and weren't allowed to weigh ourselves again until September.  Not only that, but the calculations were based off percent gained not gross poundage.  We didn't see each other as much during the summer months at that time so we also relied on the honour system to see the competition through.

I started in at 142.6 lbs.  I was 16 at the time, so this weight was pretty average for my height, build, and exercise level. But from there it got fun. Looking back, it is only with the freedoms of youth that I was able to do what I did for the next two months.  Two of my fellow competitors chose the strategy of weight lifting and bulking to achieve their heaviest self.  The rest of us chose the dangerous but tantalizing route of lethargy. Much like the routine I imagine a method actor would use to prepare for a particularly obese role, I employed the tactics of purposely avoiding activity, and consuming considerable amounts of pie. I remember it as quite heavenly.

Sadly, I did not document the competition closely, so I am relying only on my memory and a couple scarce posts in our still-standing Facebook group. What I do remember, and want to point out is that it was not easy. For example, at a typical, pleasant family-and-guests weekend dinner at our cottage, when dessert was served, I made it clear I had my eyes on the prize. I would get seconds or thirds of strawberry rhubarb crisp and ice-cream before passing out on the couch from what I can only imagine was digestive exhaustion. I would watch my progress in the mirror, barred from the scale, and notice little change on a daily bases. This was to my downfall — or advantage, I guess — as much like a increasingly heavy dose of "medication", it takes some time for the impact to reveal itself. So I would go back to the kitchen and consume, baby, consume.

By the time we were supposed to get back in the water that fall, a couple of my friends must have disregarded the competition, because they appeared unchanged. Turning to me, on the other hand, you were looking at a plump boy. I specifically remember at the first practice of the season, I walked onto the pool deck in my newly tight fitting jammer bathing suit and was welcomed by my new coach, as he learnt about the challenge, with disbelief, disgust, and the words "Get in the water, you are fat." Hahaha.. Good times.

I won. I moved from 142.6 to 154.8. Twelve point two pounds. In hindsight, perhaps not that impressive, but as I proudly put it then...



(For reference, as of today I only managed 152.4 lbs.)

You're welcome,

B.F. Greenough, aka,
Chief Hanky,  One Padded Lad

Facebook Poke to Facebook Burn

I would like to think that, if I focus on it, I can be quite proficient in the spelling and grammar used in my writing.  I don't think people like grammar nazis that much.  If they do, they gave them a twisted title of endearment.  When it comes down to it, I might be a bit of a grammar nazi, even if it's just in my own head. I recently remembered a traumatic experience that may have set me on my path as a strict language critic.

Like many of my blog-worthy stories, romance returns as a driving factor. Let me set the scene:
Grade 9. Climbing the hill to manhood. Ready for some real romance. Enough hugging and hand holding. Grade 10 girl thinks I'm cute? I'll poke her. On facebook. Like a real man... Right? That's all I really had -- Erica took it from there. She messaged me saying that I had to take her on a date. I was all hers at that point. An older woman with confidence and experience was all I needed to make foolish decisions.  It turns out that "experience" was with my friend just days after our first date.  It was too late, I was already foolish.  We stayed together for a couple months at that time, she taught me a lot.  High school was going to be a complicated place.  When she broke it off with me she was pretty straight forward about it.  I appreciated that.  Still, I was a little heart-fractured.  Where did I turn?  Where it all started.  Facebook.
One dramatic expression to encompass my feelings. One post. One word:
"Dam."


Dam?

A couple hours later, I had a message in the chatroom.  Erica.  Returning for my affection after seeing what she'd done to me no doubt.

"It's spelt 'damn'."

I deleted the post.  I have never misspelt the word since. Probably.

You're welcome,

B.F. Greenough, aka,
Chief Hanky,  The Dang Dumpee