Eating Healthy Can Like Totally Kill You, and Stuff!

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Aaron:

No, really!  It can!  

Yesterday, we were getting ready to cook some wild rice.  My wife had taken out some turkey to thaw.  We were going to mix them together in a wrap.  So, my wife put the rice on to boil and we went downstairs to work on some home improvement projects in our bedroom.  The wild rice mix we like usually takes about an hour to cook, so we weren't really in any big hurry.

After being in our basement for about twenty minutes we smelled something burning.  Janet went up stairs to check, thinking the heat was on too high and it had boiled over.  Suddenly, she yells for me to come upstairs.  I stepped upstairs and entered a cloud of smoke.  It was strong enough to make it very difficult to breath and caused my eyes to burn.  I entered the kitchen to see the wild rice burning and sending out a ton of smoke.

Janet:

Woah!  Wait a minute!  The Editor here.  I need to interject that I'm not a complete ignoramus in the kitchen.  So what if boiling rice continues to defeat me?  This time, it wasn't my fault.

A couple of weeks ago, our little darling dropped my favorite thermal mug on the floor and broke the inner sleeve out of it.  I glued it back together and waited an hour or so before I put it in the dishwasher.  Apparently a pocket of glue hadn't dried, which surprised me, as it usually dries before I have a chance to get my finger off of the mug.  The dishwasher spread the glue on several items that were washing with the mug.

Some of it had gotten on our $300 Carico pot.  I soaked everything in vinegar, which seemed to do the trick.  I thought Aaron had used the pot since my little boo-boo, but he apparently hadn't.  So, in an accident worthy of a Pinky and the Brain episode, the glue reacted to the heat, somehow all of the water boiled out immediately, and smoked enough for a Cheech and Chong movie.

Actual Photo of Epic Rice Fail

Aaron:

Luckily, we didn't burn our house down, but now we had a whole house full of toxic smoke. We opened up every window in the house and grabbed a couple of fans to push the smoke out.  The smell, however, is still here.  I don't think anything is permanently smoked damaged, but the smell is going to be around for a few days. We forced our young son to stay downstairs where the smoke wasn't as thick, which really didn't make him that happy, as his Thomas choo-choos were upstairs.  And since the kitchen smelled bad and was smokey, we ordered pizza and had a makeshift picnic on the floor of our bedroom downstairs.  It turned out to be kinda fun!  And the smoke made it smell like we were camping.  Good times.

The most disturbing part about this little accident is that our smoke detectors didn't go off, both of which are brand-new and are supposed to have a ten-year battery.  I guess will be getting new detectors very soon.

So, while an exciting way to bring the year to a close, I guess the lesson to all of this is to always be careful and attentive while cooking.  Nothing really bad actually happened, but if we had waited a few minutes longer who knows what could have happened.   And, in retrospect, we probably should have left the house while it was airing out because I'm sure the smoke was toxic.  So eating healthy can kill you, if you're not careful.

You know what sucks?  I really wanted turkey wraps.  Even though I've noted in the past I love pizza.

Janet:

I know, dear.  There, there.

P.E. Has to Change, Part 1: The Problems

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Photo by uwdigitalcollections'

The following is a dramatic reenactment of a key moment in Janet's (The Editor's) P.E. experience. Names have been changed to protect the sort-of-innocent.

Teacher:  Ok, kids, today we're going to play kickball.

Class (including Janet):  Yay!

Teacher:  Let's pick teams.  Ok, Timmy, you pick team one, and Sheila, you pick team two.

Class (everybody but Janet):  OK!

Janet:  Yay!  I'm going to be picked last.  Again.

Five minutes later, Janet has been picked last, even after the kid with two broken legs.  It is now Janet's turn to kick the ball.

Teacher:  Ok, Janet!  You're up.

Janet approaches the ball with trepidation, though still filled with the heady exhilaration that affects all elementary kids when it is his or her turn.

Janet:  (To herself)  Ok, just kick the ball.  Doesn't have to be far, doesn't have to be fast.  Just kick it and don't look like a douche...just don't look like a douche...

Pitcher:  I'd better do it slow so she can see it coming!  (Snickers with glee.)

He pitches the ball at a speed that may outpace a caterpillar, but not by much.  Jeers and cheers from the other kids about Janet's remarkable lack of coordination ensue.


Teacher:  Stop it.  That's not nice.  (Other kids point and laugh mockingly behind the teacher's back.)  Janet, just kick the ball.

Janet:  (To herself)  Ok, just gotta make like the Mighty Ducks and go from zero to hero.

Janet squares up to the ball, runs to kick it, but kicks too soon, bringing her foot down on top of the ball instead of the side.  It rolls from beneath her and she falls flat on her butt.  Hard.


Pitcher:  Ha!  She looks like a douche!  Laughter from the class washes over Janet's humiliated and very sore body.


Tinkly music brings us back to the present.  Doo-dee-doo-dooo!   Doo-dee-doo-dooo!

For those of us who were not blessed with the ability to avoid tripping over one's own feet, P.E was an hour of social mayhem.  P.E., especially in high school, taught us one thing:  that we were horrible at most organized sports.  Looking back now as an adults who have struggled with weight and fitness, we wish P.E had taught us more about how to actually succeed with physical skills and less about how to dodge bullies in the locker room.  From our perspective, the way that P.E. is traditionally structured only works for athletes, and it teaches those who aren't naturally gifted to hate, or at the least dislike, exercise.  We hate athletics, not because we're lazy or uncoordinated, but we just can't take the humiliation of failing in front of others and exposing ourselves to ridicule.

Aaron and Janet are far from the only ones who have had this sort of experience.  Rita Barry, the editor and creator of Fitblogger, says, "Oh, I don't know if there's enough words in the universe to communicate the terrible, horrible dismay that was P.E. for me.  I was heavy, uncool, tragically so, and it was really just a lesson in humiliation.  So much focus was put on sports and proficiency in them, as opposed to health and why this 'gym' thing was even important.  Gym for me became a lesson in avoidance, blending, and hiding more than it was about learning, challenging myself, or discovering a love of physical activity."  

A more subtle, but possibly even more damaging, effect of traditional P.E. instruction is the unsaid, but often implied, belief that athletics are the pinnacle of human achievement, and those who are not athletic therefore do not matter.  Think about Principal McGee's line in the movie, "Grease:"  "If you can't be an athlete, be an athletic supporter."  We believe that two problems result from this belief.  First, Janet figured if she couldn't be an athlete, then she wasn't anything, and she believed that for a very long time.  Second, in Aaron's experience, he found that that attitude turns kids off to anything physical.  With the thousands of non-physical activities available, like video games, movies, television,  Facebook, and BLOGGING, it is very easy for a kid with low self-esteem to throw themselves into activities that are unhealthy in long durations.  We should note that we, as Band Geeks, are perfectly aware of the damage this attitude can also do to our music programs, especially if it is held by those who hold the purse strings.

Many schools require health classes in addition to P.E., which we don't think is a bad thing in and of itself.  Though, in our experience, it was taught like life science.  Information was presented and tested.  You turned in your quizzes, you got your grades.  There was no teaching that pushed students to apply the information in the course.  (Janet would argue that this is the number one problem for every subject in education today.)

Both Aaron and Janet are music teachers, and we feel physical education has a whole lot more in common with music education than is apparent at first blush.  Both teach tricky and refined physical skills.  Both have social components that need to be addressed.  Both programs are being cut at many schools.  Finally, and sadly, we find that in many ways physical and music education fail us because certain factors are not being addressed en masse by educators.

A class doesn't have to involve humiliation in front of one's peers.  In music classes like choir and band, the possibility of public failure is just as high as in a P.E class, especially when we ask students to perform something in small groups or by themselves.  BUT, IT CAN BE ADDRESSED IN A POSITIVE MANNER.  By helping those students achieve and by creating a class culture of support, our students learn it's OK to take risks.  We believe that the use of Human Compatible Learning in physical education will work to everyone's benefit, including the athletes.

In our next post, we will explain how this method can be applied and its benefits.

In the comments, tell us about your experiences in P.E.  What did your teachers do that was effective for you and your health?  Or was your experience more like ours?  See what other Band Geek readers have said about theirs on another post.

Drummers National Anthem

Photo by Garrette

This post has nothing to do with weight loss,
However, since I'm a band director and have conducting this piece a zillion times, I find the following extremely funny and true.

Drummer National Anthem:

oooo say can you BOOM CRASH
at the dawns early BOOM CRASH
what so CRASH--CRASH-CRASH
at the CRASH-CRASH-CRASH-CRASH-CRASH
Who's broad stripes and bright BOOM CRASH
through the perilous BOOM CRASH
o'er the CRASH -- CRASH-CRASH
were so CRASH-CRASH-CRASH-CRASH-CRASH
and the rockets red 1-2-3
2-2-3
3-2-3
4-2-3
5-2-3
6-2-3
7- rolllllll-rollllll
BOOM BOOM BOOM
BOOM BOOM BOOM
BOOM BOOM BOOM
BOOM CRASH
o're the BOOM
DI-BOOM-DI-BOOM
and the BOOM of the
CRAAAAAAAAAASH

Band Geek's Guide to the Gridiron

(Please note that the following is the Editor's overly anal and fussy perspective on college football.  Aaron just wanted me to scream and flash the crowd cam.)

A few weeks ago, one of our former students, Roy McKenney, mentioned that he was the drum major for this year's marching band.  He told Aaron that they were performing at the home football game at the University of Montana in Missoula, MT.  (Roy has lost 35 pounds, by the way!  Go Roy!)  Since we, the Geeks, would be in Missoula for our education conference, we elected to stay an extra night and watch them march.  There was only one problem.

Janet had to watch a football game.  She also had to ignore Aaron's chihuahua-like leaps of joy.

I received my Master's from U of M, so I guess I'm supposed to cheer for the Griz.  I went to classes over the summer, so I never was exposed to the psychotic fan fervor that defines U of M.  I had never been to a major sporting event, and I would probably feel more comfortable getting a root canal.  During a root canal I would just have to lay there and be sedated, and I would know exactly how to to behave.  Football game?  Not so much.

I decided that I would document and study the behavior I saw at the game so I could figure out how to act at any future sporting events.  I tried to see everything from a neutral standpoint.


First, I noticed that I missed the memo on what color to wear.

Our seats were in the student section, and I soon learned that the word "seat" was a misnomer, as there wasn't enough room to sit.  We stood sandwiched in with thousands of students, most of whom were working on their own type of sedation, though the drug of choice seemed to be Everclear.

Some seemed to be channeling the spirit of the bear, a ritualistic gesture designed to incite the murderous power of the beast to said football team.

This guy seemed to be channeling the spirit of a condom.

Also present were walking, dancing avatars for the team.  As cool as it was, how a guy driving a mini fighter jet in a bear suit will make them more likely to win, I haven't a clue.

There were several of our former band geeks present.  Roy, the drum major...

Logan, Roy's little bro, playing trumpet.  (2nd from left, center row.)  Logan lost a great deal of weight, as well, though I don't know the amount.

Andrew, another former student, playing saxophone.  Andrew doesn't need to lose weight.....dammit.

Here's the most puzzling aspect of the game.  I get the basic rules.

Get the ball in the other team's end zone.
Prevent them from doing the same to yours.
Don't die.

Ok.  Got it.  But does anyone else find it even a teensy-weensy bit hypocritical to go to these games to see guys get the piss pounded out of them, and then be all concerned when they get hurt?

Then again, band geeks everywhere owe a debt of blood to the players on the field.  Few would come to see the band by itself.  Sadly, no one has figured out how to make it a contact sport.

Band Geeks Unite!

The Band Geeks, Aaron and Janet Morgenstern, are pledging to step away from their keyboards, horns, and mallets and focus on their health, with the hope of balancing Geekdom with their repressed inner Jocks.

 All are welcome, even Orc Dorks, Choir Goobs, and all others whose stereotypes include a decided lack of social skills and a fondness for fundraiser candy.

Life is not a race, it’s a journey, and for many of us, getting healthier shouldn’t be a competition.

Musicians know how to do things together.

If a foot race was run like an ensemble, we would all run across the finish line at the exact same time with our feet pounding at an identical tempo (well maybe one or two people would rush and end a bit early).

Musicians know how to build each other up.

Many band geeks rush into the arms of the music department because we feel accepted and valued, and to give us a creative outlet that we cannot find elsewhere.

The Band Geeks: Aaron and Janet, strive to create an environment in which our students feel safe to try something new, despite the risk of failure.  We would like to create that same supportive and fun culture on this blog for whomever would like to live a life long and healthy enough to gripe about one’s grandkids’ music.

Talk to us.  Tell us your stories, and join Band Geeks everywhere as we run, arm in arm, across the finish line together.

Epic Football Fail

This is why the Editor would never be a football coach, as it involves being able to tell left from right.

A Romp through Skeeterville!

A couple of weeks ago I invited a bunch of my students, both current and former ones, to a game of Ultimate Frisbee, the game traditional for band geeks, orch dorks, and choir goobers alike.  I set up a event on Facebook and got about 16 of us together.  After much debate, we decided to play at a place called the Experiment Station, which an agriculture museum and laboratory.  A lot of events are held there, and there was a nice, open grassy area on which we could play.  It was great to see some of my former students, one who just graduated from college.  That little fact is making me feel old!  The only problem was...mosquitoes!!!  LOTS of them.

We've had a wetter than normal summer and the bugs are loving it.  The moment I stepped out of my car I had at least 8 of them on my legs.  Of course these are the type of mosquitoes that laugh in the face of repellent and merely point and snigger at Skin-So-Soft.

They're all like, "Hmm what's that wonderful smell?  I know!! Human meat with a slightly tangy sauce of OFF!!"

"Watch out though," said Zippy the mosquito, "humans can pack a huge punch once in a while!"

"Naw, no worries," said Bob.  "There's only a few of them and oh, 16,000,000,000 of us.  HAHAHAHA!!!"

The game was a ton of fun, though, and I was able to keep up for the most part.  We play a non-competitive version, so we don't keep score.  Anytime one of the teams scored, we simply change sides and kept playing.  It's a great game for getting exercise because you run, and run, and run some more.  I played it a lot in college and H.S. and we introduced it to the Huntley Project kids.

Three years into my teaching career I took over the band program at my school.  We are part of an organization called the Tri-County Honor Band.  This group is basically an honors band made up of the best players from all of the small schools in the area.  It rehearses for three months and then goes on a week long tour.  The first tour we went on I found out that other students really enjoyed playing Ultimate.  This was also when I discovered how completely out of shape I was!  I played with them for an hour.  The next morning I could barely get out of bed, and my legs hurt for a week afterward.  This was when I realized I needed to change my lifestyle.  Granted, it took me another three years before I actually did anything about it, but that was the moment I knew I didn't want to be fat and out of shape the rest of my life. 

I started working out regularly on June 8th, 2010.  My starting weight at that point was 230 pounds.  YIKES!!  As of this morning I'm down to 208.  My eventual goal is 195-190.  Things are going well.  I feel great!  Except for the bug bites!

Custard's Last Stand

The Editor here.  My husband and I celebrated our 8th anniversary today, though it was really on the 3rd of August.  Aaron's sister got married that day, so we put off our dinner until today.  His mother gave us a creme brulee torch, and I just finished making chocolate pots de creme.  Aaron's on his way home to enjoy the chocolatey goodness, and as I sit and write, I reminisce about our mutual love of creme brulee.  Though it's definitely not on the Beachbody diet plan, they can sit and spin tonight for all I care because it's our ANNIVERSARY.

A few years back, I decided that I must be a bitchin' enough cook to make creme brulee and not have to buy it at fancy restaurants.  We borrowed a friend's torch the first time, and damn!  Not bad, if I say so myself. 

The second time I made it, I didn't have any of the proper (insert French accent) "accoutrements" to make it correctly, but I grew up with the Montana spirit of (insert hick accent) "jerry-rig the sumbitch."  We had just used a thousand degree heat gun to remove tile from our bathroom floor.  Janet thinks, "Hmmm....a thousand degrees should do an awesome crust."

In many ways, I am just like my dad.  We both love creative problem solving and ingenuity, but unfortunately, we both occasionally think our bitchin' ideas don't require the use of safety equipment or common sense.  For those of you who have never used one, a heat gun is like a blow dryer on crack.  Aaron, to his credit, had just started the sentence, "I don't think this is a very good...." but Janet didn't listen.  I sprinkled the top liberally with white granulated sugar, and grabbed my trusty heat gun.  Drooling in anticipation of carmelized awesomeness, I flipped to high. 

Did you know that really hot sugar burns and flies?  I didn't!  As soon as I turned the superheated air onto the top of the custard, flaming sugar threatened to ignite our ceiling.  It flew willy-nilly and burrowed into our skin, not badly, but it sure didn't tickle.

I've noticed that I keep getting equipment from my husband for our anniversary that involves the correct process for making creme brulee.  Coincidence?  I think not!  Tonight, we enjoyed for the first time creme brulee made properly with our own equipment.  Look out, Paris!  Here I come!

Psalm 23, Slightly Revised

I actually wrote this for my other blog, Unity, Constancy, and Peace, but it seems applicable to Band Geeks.  I have posted below my version of the psalm, slightly revised. No disrespect is intended, only good, clean fun.

1 The LORD is my shepherd, I unfortunately shall not be in want.

2 He maketh me lie down in green stretchy pants,
he leadeth me beside full buffet tables,

3 He restoreth my bowl.
He guides me in paths of plenty
for his name's sake.

4 Yeah, though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of obesity, 
I will fear no cupcakes,
for you are with me;
your fork and your spoon,
they comfort me.

5 You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with whipped cream;
my cup overflows.

6 Surely gooey goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD
forever.

I Could Get Used to This

I could definitely get used to the smell of the carpet if it meant I could splay out on the floor instead of doing more push-ups.  Push-ups and I go way back: all the way to grade school, actually.  In fourth grade, the school allowed us to do a science fair project or an invention that solved a problem.  Ta-da!  I invented the Push-Up-O-Matic, the handy-dandy workout tool that made it possible to get your drooling face off of the floor.  I borrowed my mom's upholstery tools and had my dad cut some 2X4's for me.  I upholstered the top piece of wood so it would be nice and cushy for my boobless chest and screwed in two chair springs between the two pieces of wood.  I was crushed to find out that I didn't win the Science Fair.  It probably went to some kid who made something useful to skinny people, like a mini-cold fusion reactor or something lame like that.

I'm frustrated with my lack of weight loss, but I can't blame that on Power 90 because, up until now, I couldn't do the cardio.  I'm going to try to do the Level 1 cardio tomorrow and see if I flare.  My ribs informed me tonight that I had a choice:  I could either do more back flies, or I could breathe.  You guessed it.  I chose breathing.  We'll see what tomorrow brings.

Janet's Story

"The time has come," the Walrus said, "to talk of other things...." 

Just like millions of other people, I've always been at least husky, and lately, I'm overweight.  I managed to get out of Obeseland last summer when I got all of the baby weight off, but I'd still like to get to a healthier weight.  Just warning you, I'm not making fun of fat people.  I've almost always been one, and I have to find the funny side, or else I would cry.

Even as a grade schooler, I wanted so badly to be skinny like the other little girls.  They made fun of my identical twin and I a great deal, as were not only bigger than them, but my Mom made all of our clothes and I let my dad come up with my show-and-tell items.  "This is a model of a carbon dioxide molecule," I said in a little voice.  "Notice the single bond between the carbon and oxygen atoms...."  Looking back, I was a pretty normal size, but I didn't see it that way.  I saw my grandmother and mother struggle so much with their own weight that it was constantly on my mind.

My BMI was on the high side of the normal range all through junior high and high school, but the difference between me and my peers was even more obvious.  Gym class was hell.  It always made me achy to run, and I was so tight and uncoordinated.  In no other class do the teachers demand that you fail spectacularly in front of a crowd of kids who are sharpening their wits by coming up with devilishly wicked descriptors of your ineptitude.  Did someone write The Gym Bible and I missed the memo?  “Thou shalt maketh thy fat kids, nerds, and geeks climb ropes up to the heavens, for they shall be purified by humiliation.  Woe to ye who have mercy and pickest them for kickball first.  Thou shalt humble them by picking them last, lest they grow confident and sure and no longer help thee with thy math homework out of the vain hopes of making friends.  Yeah, though you tread through the valley of the shadow of obesity, thou shalt fear no doughnuts, for they have all been devoured by thy chubby ones.”

The pain that had been irksome in gym class began to spread and intensify in college.  First I lost the ability to tilt my head back.  Then my wrists and hands were painful.  I had sciatic nerve pain racing down my legs.  The muscles between my ribs would spasm so hard I couldn't breathe.  All this began while I was still a healthy weight, though, so I couldn't figure out what was going on.  I had tons of diagnoses:  TMJ, malformation of the spine, depression, anxiety, tendonitis, etc.  I was seeing a chiropractor, which helped, but the relief never lasted very long.  I was plagued by poor memory.

A few years and another surgery later, I'd had enough and went to see a spinal surgeon.  He said I was indeed deformed with a minor type of spina bifida, but I shouldn't even notice it.  He sent me to a rheumatologist.  Finally, I had a diagnosis that explained everything:  fibromyalgia. 

What's fibromyalgia?  It changes depending on who you ask.  Remember how achy and stiff your muscles felt when you had a very high fever?  That's how I always feel.  Medication helps, but doesn't keep me symptom-free.  I've been doing exercise programs for the last few years.  It's incredibly difficult.  If I do too much, I don't feel it for several hours, so I have no way of knowing at the time that I need to slow down or stop.  If I do too much for too long, I have what's called a flare, when the symptoms are so out of control that I can barely move.  Flares typically last a week or so, and it makes working as a general music teacher hell, especially since I have to travel to all of the teachers' rooms to have my classes.

I am able to do the Sculpt circuit on Power 90 without much difficulty because it is low or no impact.  I just have to be very careful with pushups to keep from flaring my shoulders.  The Cardio circuit is another thing all together.  Bouncing, especially side to side, sucks, so I ride a bike or go swimming on the cardio days.

It's hard, but it's worth it.  I'm not getting a dramatic transformation like Aaron, but I do feel better.  I'm so impatient to transform into the woman I want to be, and it can be very discouraging to make no progress.  So, if you're out there and struggling, I feel your pain.  I hope you can reach your goals, just like I hope to reach mine.

Can't See the Goosebumps for the Sweat Bubbles

Gross!  The Editor here.  Last night the Band Geeks, Aaron and Janet, had a gig.  Our Celtic band played for a kid's concert series that supports funding for kids with devastating brain injuries.  It was a hoot, but it was 106 degrees while we played, though it slowly cooled to 92 by the end of our set.

After we were done, the organizer shook my hand.  He said he had goosebumps, but I couldn't see them.  Curious, I asked why.  He ran his hand across his arm, and the sweat turned to WHITE FOAM!  NASTY!  Though understandable, considering the heat.

Slight Change of Lingo

The Editor now controls the keyboard....BWAA-HAAA-HAAAAAA!

If you haven't already extrapolated it, the Editor is Janet, sometimes known as Mrs. Morgenstern, Mrs. M., or the Bringer of Anality.  Like Aaron, I'll be posting my story soon, but I had a quick, random thought while doing the Sculpting Circuit of Power 90.

I've been a lifelong recluse, book nerd, and annoying provider of random facts you'll never need, but I have never, not once, been a jock.  I've always been larger than the other girls my age, though not obese until I had my little boy, and the only thing I was good at in gym was body-checking the popular girls into the cinder block walls.  (Our gym teacher's motto was, "Make it bleed, Cupcake.")

After starting Power 90, terms like, "Bring it, foo!" "Boo-ya!" and "That's the way I roll," have been slipping into my vocabulary.  Is there something innate in exercise that makes those particular idioms make sense?  Who knows?  I hope I don't sound as stupid saying those things as I feel after the momentary rush of having cool lingo passes.