Arctic Fat Camp

I reported to C3 Fat Camp back in July weighing in at a husky 231 pounds. Admittedly, I may have binged a bit through the spring and early summer of 2015. With a year’s employment in a brave new world looming on the horizon, I made sure to savor every last cheeseburger and sudsy beer that I could manage to throw down while still on the home front. It was easy to take a carefree attitude knowing that I’d have zero access to eating out, fast food and adult beverages while teaching in Alaska.  Besides, it was easier on Michele, the kids and I to head out to a local eatery and avoid cooking at home. So we did.

I paid for it.

I look back at some of those early August pictures from the Buckland C3 Camp and can hardly recognize the chubby, beardless man standing on the precipice of bush education. I’ve safely hovered around 220 – 225 pounds in the past but when I slip past that threshold, it’s obvious. The barrel chest that I was born with becomes less pronounced as the belly commands more attention. Unguarded by a crimson beard, my face rounds out with each French fry dipped in ranch dressing.  I’m not proud of the pudgy form I was, sitting on the front porch of our tent city. But I understand how I got there. 231 wasn’t good for me.

The Native diet here could hypothetically be considered “subsistence”. That is, if they actually foraged for their food as there ancestors once did. The truth is that commercialism and capitalism have brought the worst of the western diet and introduced it to a trapped population. The Inupiaq here like their native foods. They’re proud to eat maktuk and or tuttu and garnish it with their beloved seal oil. The late summer and fall harvesting of berries here reminded me of home. Everyone I saw had a hand in a bucket of blueberries, blackberries and akpik (Salmonberries). But a slab of whale meat and handful of berries does not make a meal you can live on daily. So the locals fill in the blanks with Cheetos, Pepsi, Ice Cream, Ramen, candy, sugar, coffee, juice concentrate and hot sauce. Now that I’ve traveled to a number of other villages, I’ve noticed that the stocked shelves all dangerously look alike – it’s a poison of poor choices. And when you couple that with excess – obesity wins. However, sporadic poverty leads to the opposite affect. Here, they’re either dangerously skinny or dangerously not. Now that I live in the Bush – I’m doing my best not to mirror those habits.

I always planned to leave Alaska having tried new cuisine while avoiding old habits. The sheer cost of buying local has helped me avoid the craving for pop and chips. Sure I get a tube of Pringles sent my way in a care package now and then but I have disciplined myself to eating them only at lunch and only in small portions. When home I was guilty of frequently trolling the pantry for a quick snack – usually a handful of potato chips. I routinely grabbed a soda from the fridge or bought a bottle in the teacher’s lounge. Here I abstain.

That has helped. I have lost weight. Here on the Blog, I have chronicled my new walking hobby. That has helped too.

As of Christmas break I was down to 211 pounds, twenty pounds lighter than the greenhorn that I was when this adventure kicked off. I am proud of those twenty pounds that I’ve shed. I am more proud though of the new eating habits I’ve learned.

Every day for breakfast I eat only a small bowl of instant oatmeal. When I want to be creative or treat myself, I dollop a spoonful of Canadian Blackberry jam in to the mix. I chase this breakfast staple with a Vitamin D supplemental tablet and a nice cold glass of water. Lunch is pretty consistent as well. I typically make myself a summer sausage sandwich on flatbread. The old me would have easily thrown down an extra slice or three of summer sausage. Here I’m able to hold off. I stick to four reasonable slices and a hint of mayo and mustard. The trick is to heat the flatbread for just a few seconds in the microwave and enjoy. I compliment my thin sandwich with some pretzel chips or cheese its, maybe a small serving of Pringles or Lays but I honestly do my best to keep the portions light. I try to throw in some canned fruit or a granola bar and of course, chase things with a cold glass of double filtered Brita water.

Supper is where I freelance. I’ve really come to enjoy caribou burger. A pound of that goes a long way. I like to use it in spaghetti but always save enough to liven up with taco seasoning and beans. The meat and beans combines nicely with some brown Uncle Ben’s rice and a spoonful of salsa to make perfect burritos. I’m embarrassed to say that I used to cringe at Michele’s black bean concoctions. Now I actually list my personal mash as one of my favorites. Bear Creek Soups, Mac & Cheese, a Tombstone pizza every once in a while…let’s just say that with dinner, I’m not left wanting more.

In a few words or less – I eat responsibly. I eat smaller portions. I eat until I’m full and save the rest for later. I also recognize that I’m not pulling extras off the plates of my wife and kids either.

Lots of water. Zero Pop.

Now that I’m on the last leg of this wild experiment and am feeling healthier than ever, I’ve decide to reach for a weight goal that I haven’t visited since college. I’m looking towards the two hundred pound mark. I wonder if I continue with the idea of eating to live and not living to eat and compliment that with a bit more exercise, that I might reach that elusive number.

So P90X it is.

Since returning to the Rock, I’ve started “pushing play” again. I come home from bball practice and quickly vent on the day’s proceedings with Wild Bill but then excuse myself to the back room for a session with Tony Horton. Without any free weights, I use the resistance bands my wife sent up. The pushups and plyometrics have me sweating again like I stole something. Travel with basketball messes with my routine a bit and saying no to extra helpings when our hosts are being so kind is hard. But I want to make all this work that I’ve committed to worth it.

I want to leave Alaska with a clearer mind and a healthier body. I owe it to Michele and the kids.

I owe it to myself.