Weight (fat) Loss
I lost two stone in weight in the six weeks following Christmas.
Nearly, anyway. And my body fat's come down from 23% to about 15-16%, which is also rather nice.
So my weight now stands at 11st 12lbs, which is an improvement from the 13st 10lbs I was at the start of January.
You may or may not be interested in how I did this, but I'm going to give a very brief explanation here anyway.
Firstly I started by reading about the actual science of weight loss and gain. By this I don't mean ridiculous diets like Atkins or things where you only eat bloody baby food or nettles for six weeks. I mean the hard, cold facts of calorie burning and consumption.
It boils down to this:- If you burn more calories than you eat, you will lose weight. The same applies in reverse.
There are about 3500 calories in a pound of fat, which equates to 500 per day. So, if you either cut out 500 calories per day from your diet or burn an extra 500 than you usually would through physical exercise, you will lose a pound of fat per week.
Simple eh? That's why it worked.
Obviously, you don't have to burn all the calories in the gym, but I have spent every other day doing a gym routine I will type out a bit later on.
We're still on food for the minute.
This is what I would typically eat:
WEEKDAYS
Breakfast- Pro biotic yoghurt
Lunch - Wholemeal sandwich containing low-fat cheese, lettuce and cucumber. Plus half a bell pepper and a small tub of olives. I eat the sandwich at about 11am and the rest at 1pm as small, regular meals are supposed to boost the speed of your metabolism.
Dinner - Just an example but something like pasta with tomato sauce.
Also I drink copious amounts of water and took virtually no alcohol during the week.
WEEKENDS
Breakfast - Same
Lunch - Same
Dinner - This is where I would have whatever I wanted, takeaway etc. You can't stick to a regime that gives you no rewards at all. I couldn't anyway.
I would also allow myself to drink beer and wine at the weekend. Not in the same glass though. Not usually anyway.
GYM REGIME
Once every two days at the local gym
- 25 minutes running on treadmill. Working up the speed to 17kph.
- 10 weight machines. Typically three set of eight reps working all muscle groups.
- Extra five minutes of VERY hard running starting at 16kph for the first two mins and 17kph for the second two.
- One a week add a 10 length swim to this instead of the five min warm down on the treadmill.
- Warm down of five minutes brisk walking at 7.2kph.
Shower, home, pasta, sleep.
I make absolutely no claims as to the safety or suitability for this regime for others. Get yourself check out by a doctor before beginning any exercise programme or change in eating habits and see a professional at your gym for a routine.
All I'm saying is, 2 stone, six weeks. Happy days.
What next for the Burton fat levels? I want to drop even further down in body fat, to say 12% or so and get a proper flat stomach for the first time ever. There must be some terrific ab muscles hiding under that increasingly thin layer of fat now as I've been crunching 50kgs for the last God knows how long. They'll make an appearance soon enough.
When the fat levels are down to what I'm after I intend to ramp up the weights, the calories and particularly the protein and try to add some lean muscle because as pleased as I am about the fat loss, it has left me feeling a little bit scrawny. One step at a time though.
If you want to see examples of the change in me, have a look at the curry video Cooks Around Town did in Sep 2007 and then see the pasta one we did in March 2008.
http://www.worksopguardian.co.uk/food
Cheers, I'll let you know how it goes on. Feel free to leave comments about your own experiences.
Chris.
Published Date:
08/04/2008
Modified Date:
08/04/2008
Welbeck 'show'
This is the video of the event I was talking about below.
Both of us ended up at the doctor's after standing in the cold and rain all day!
http://www.worksopguardian.co.uk/worksopvideo/Cooks-Around-Town-make-venison.3593025.jpChris
Published Date:
17/12/2007
Modified Date:
17/12/2007
Welbeck 'show'
This is the video of the event I was talking about below.
Both of us ended up at the doctor's after standing in the cold and rain all day!
http://www.worksopguardian.co.uk/worksopvideo/Cooks-Around-Town-make-venison.3593025.jpChris
Published Date:
17/12/2007
Modified Date:
17/12/2007
Gig confirmed!
BREAKING NEWS BREAKING NEWS BREAKING NEWS I will be appearing at Welbeck Farm Shop at 2pm and 3pm Saturday 24th November as a celebrity chef.
Along with my fellow 'Cooks About Town' star, Tracy Powell (who may or may not be appearing following a foot injury!) I will be first making venison sausages and then cooking a venison casserole, which the public will be given to try.
This will all be filmed for
www.worksopguardian.co.uk/food so if you can't make it, check it out there.
Chris.
Published Date:
19/11/2007
Modified Date:
19/11/2007
Where Am I Now?
I know, I know. I haven't done a blog on Pranks I Have Played yet.
It's coming soon. Formulating in my head like an evil, barbed joke. It'll be worth the wait.
For now, I thought you might like to see how my cooking has progressed from the days of cauliflower cheese and beefburgers (See blogs number 1 and 2 below - right down below).
Allow me to show you through the medium of video (oh yeah).
Click the following links
http://www.worksopguardian.co.uk/food/Chicken-curry-technique--VIDEO.3390611.jphttp://www.worksopguardian.co.uk/worksopvideo/Cooking-in-Clumber--Rabbit.3463144.jp http://www.worksopguardian.co.uk/food/Sausage-making-at-Welbeck-.3243775.jpWhat d'y reckon?
Scarily enough, I've been booked (provisionally) to appear with my co-cook Tracy Powell as a celebrity chef (!!!!!) at the Welbeck Farm Shop on the prestigious Welbeck Estate in Notts! This is due to be on the 23rd November and will mark a ridiculous rise through the cooking ranks from someone who produced "the worst meal in history" to a celebrated cook prancing around posh environs making things with venison and rabbit.
You see kids, anything is possible. Next stop Channel M!
Yours in grub,
Chris.
Published Date:
15/11/2007
Modified Date:
15/11/2007
The Grand National - Part Two
The Grand National - Part Two
(Part one of this article is below - read it first if you haven't already.)
So. Here we are again.
I apologise for having taken so long to get round to this sequel but I'm genuinely touched to see how many people have asked me when it's coming out - thanks.
My worry now is that after a Stone Roses second album-like delay in publishing this, there will be a Second Coming-like disappointment in the story.
And, to be fair, the main laughter bit is the hair-dying incident in the previous article. This is like trying to follow She Bangs The Drums with Love Spreads. But I will try.
We had to report to the university building very early in the morning in order to get the coach over to Liverpool for the Grand National at Aintree.
So bleary-eyed we travelled north west in our uniforms (which I have already described).
You may remember that a large part of the previous article refers to the hillarious hair-dying incident, which had left me with very long, bright orange hair.
This was only a few hours in the past at this stage and I was still going through the mental anguish it had caused. Funnily enough it had never occured to me to give the National a miss. Maybe it should have done.
Part of the uniform was an officious-looking peaked cap such as the kind a member of the California Highway Patrol or, say, a milkman might wear.
I was extremley grateful for this small mercy as the hat covered up most of my Fraggle Rock hair. I say most, because I still had charming long bits that curled down in tendrils under each ear like cascading Iron Brew.
When we arrived at the Grand National it started to become apparent that this was not going to be 'a bit of a laugh' and easy money. It would instead turn out be one of the longest days of any of our lives and a soul-destroyingly hellish experience. And I'm not just talking about being in Liverpool.
We were met by the boss man - big Mick. I'd describe him as looking very much like actor Warren Clarke from the detective series Dalziel and Pascoe but twice as phsically imposing and not as cheerful.
I had thought to myself on the way up to Liverpool that the hair-dying experience could not get any worse. But it was about to.
Probably it's about time to explain that I was a bit of a prankster, I liked playing silly little jokes on people. Nothing nasty, just funny. Funny to me.
I have already decided that at a later stage (probably much later if this one's anything to go by) I will do an article entitled Pranks I have Played. There have been some absolute belters along the way. There will even be diagrams drawn in pencil.
The shower prank is the best. Or the death prank - the police still don't know about that one. That's a joke, officer.
But the two pranks I played in the run-up to the Grand National were not particularly clever, and one of them backfired upon me like a D-reg Astra.
The first of the jokes I played that day was to tell John we were not allowed to take any food or money to the event for 'security reasons'.
This meant he wouldn't be able to eat for the fifteen or so hours we were out of Sheffield.
You know, I've just read that last sentence back and, even though I really did laugh quite hard at the memory, I have stopped laughing now and concluded that it wasn't funny. It was just mean. Sorry John.
Just before I move on from that prank, the funniest bit was when he came over to me during the day and, in conspiritorial tones, whispered: "I've sneaked these in" as he showed me a crushed pack of Polo mints with about two-and-a-half Polos left in it. He'd beaten the system!
I kept a straight face and then went off and bought myself a burger while almost laughing myself sick.
It wasn't long before John would have his revenge - and it was boss man Mick that would dish it out.
As I've said Neil, John and I had picked up our uniforms from Uni and taken them back to the house. But when they were not looking I switched them around.
John was a fair bit taller than me and I thought it would be funny if I changed them so his was too small and he had to have his trousers at half-mast.
I thought having my uniform slightly too big was more than acceptable for this jape - it was something I was willing to live with in return for John's being too small. (I actually remember having that thought process - I'm much more grown-up now.)
So you have to picture me now: I have on a security jacket that has sleeves coming down way over my hands, bright orange Ronald Mcdonald hair (long enough for me to chew the fringe) stuffed into a Salvation Army cap, and a deathly white palour caused by a three-hour coach trip and the diet described in the first of these 'amusing' articles.
Yup, pretty cool.
So what would be the worst thing that could happen? Well, in my opinion it was this...
Sergeant Mick suddenly bellowed: "Right you 'orrible shower" (or something like that) "Line up for an inspection."
An inspection?
"Line up along here and I'm going to see if you're smart enough to go out."
So we did.
Mick started to walk along the line fastening peoples' top buttons and removing fluff from their shoulders.
Then he reached me. And stopped.
At this point the phrase 'self-concious' could never have been more pitifully inadequate to describe one's feelings. I remember thinking 'just don't take my hat off. Please don't take my hat off'.
He took my hat off.
My hair sprung out to its full glory, a foot-high tangerine afro, a Carlos Valderama of a do.
I would have prefered it if the other people in the line (who I didn't know, obviously) had just burst out laughing. At least that would have been honest.
There was a stifled 'trying not to laugh' all along the line as Mick, with lovely comic timing I have to admit, said nothing and just looked at me and took in the sight before him.
I'm going to remove the expetives from what he said and replace them with *******. But just fill it in yourself - you will get it right.
"What's this then? Let's have a look at you" .
"You've got an ear-ring" (true I'm afraid - Ian Brown had one, and Damon Albarn, so I got one.)
"You've got no ******* hands." (I did have hands, obviously. They were under my big coat.)
"Long ******* hair." (this was being a little kind, I thank him for that.)
"You, son," he bellowed, warming to the task and the audience, "are to uniforms what I am to ******* hang-gliding." (he was refering to his large frame.)
"Don't take offence, I know you all call me a fat ****** when my back's turned." (as if that made it better).
At this point the parade did laugh properly. Fair enough too.
I could tell you more about the Grand National: about being called a 'jobsworth' all day by toffs for asking them not to walk over the grass in a task that was about as thankless as it gets, or about standing with our backs to the course just feet away from the racing horses. Hearing the thunderous hooves of the mighty beasts as they stormed past in one of the world's greatest sporting events - but not being able to see them.
I could tell you about all that but, really, standing in line looking like marmalade flavoured candy floss was the stand-out memory of the day.
Cheers.
NEXT TIME - Pranks I Have Played.
Published Date:
20/09/2007
Modified Date:
20/09/2007
The Grand National (part one)
People who know me now, but did not know me then, may find the fact that my hair used to frequently change colour with often disastrous and hilarious results surprising. But it's true.
One of these occasions is part of a story that I'm asked to re-tell so often, I thought I would write it down here for posterity.
The year was 1996 and myself and my two housemates (not the communal cooks, these were from the first year) John and Neil had gone down to the university building in Sheffield to hear a presentation from a security company who were looking to recruit students to help out as security guards for the forthcoming Grand National at Aintree.
We listened to the presentation and decided to sign up - a bit of extra cash and a wizard wheeze to boot, we thought. (Remind me to tell you about The Rolling Stones 'roadie' job one day too..sheesh.)
So we toddled off home with our exciting uniforms in black bin liners. Navy blue puffa jackets, black kecks and a cap a bit like Blakey's off On the Buses. We were the law.
My hair at that time was pretty long, very much like this...
...although this is not me, it is fairly similar to my barnet of the time.
On the way home I was walking with John through Sharrow and I saw a billboard advertising Wispa bars. It had this bloke with blond hair on it. I said to John 'I'm going to dye my hair that colour'.
He didn't believe me, so I stopped at the chemist, bought some peroxide and we went home. It was the start of a vicious circle that I wish I had never been sucked into.
Despite immediately having second thoughts about the colouring, I didn't want to give John the satisfaction of thinking I'd bottled it. So I went to the bathroom and smeared on this foul-smelling concoction that made my eyes feel as though they were bleeding.
After that I had to pack my flowing locks under a kind of plastic bag and wait for...20 minutes? Something like that.
Anyway, I can never seem to err on the cautious side with these sort of things. I'd paid £2.40 for that bleach, I'd be damned if I was going to take the shower cap off and see nothing had happened.
I left it on a bit longer than the instructions said.
About two hours longer.
It'd be alright.
It wasn't alright.
I went back into the bathroom and removed the hat. Tears started to slowly well in my eyes. I was the most stupid person in the world.
My hair was 100 per cent white and had almost literally the texture of mid-summer straw. It stood out at a crazy angle (remember my fringe was long enough for me to chew.)
It was something like this...
...although I dearly wish I had a real photo of it to show you.
Suddenly, it dawned on me that tomorrow was the grand national. I was going to have to try keeping people off the grass looking like Doc Brown from Back to the Future.
"JOHN!" I shouted down the stairs. "JOHN! Come up here and help me!"
John arrived and, predictably, started laughing as though he was about to die. He was rolling around on the floor incapable and obviously found it reasonably amusing. I didn't.
I begged him to go over Lloyds Chemist on London Road to get me some brown dye, so that I could return to my former self.
And, to be fair to him, he did go. But it was shut.
John somehow persuaded me to go with him to Safeways to find some dye by telling me that nobody was really going to notice and that I looked a bit like Kurt Cobain. I really, really didn't.
So I shuffled out to Safeway with him underneath my shock of luminous white pampas grass. Everybody was looking at me. I saw a kid do that thing where they pull on their parents' sleeve whiles keeping their eyes fixed directly on my 'do'.
Nevertheless, we got the dye and returned home to the hovel. I repeated the process with the brown dye and rinsed off.
Problems solved, right? Not on your Nelly I'm afraid.
The hair was no longer white, but it was...orange.
I now looked like this...
. It was nearly midnight and we had to report to the city centre for the Grand National bus at 5am.
To be continued...
If you have enjoyed reading the first half of this blog, please thank me by having an ever so quick squiz at all these websites (if you do I'll tell you what happened at the Grand National and be your best mate).
Yours in sport
Chriz
Published Date:
08/08/2007
Modified Date:
08/08/2007
Best I ever saw
Once upon a time, in a foreign land known as the past, my friends and I went to see a stand-up comic in Sheffield.
But while the past is indeed a foreign land, plane travel is so much cheaper these days.
And one of the most popular destinations for me...is the 1990s - come fly with me now, as we go back to 1998.
The comedian had a little skit about students' washing-up habits which described how, as the dirty dishes piled ever higher, increasingly creative solutions needed to be found.
He went through a routine about how students would use alternative things in which to serve or cook their food.
He wound up his act by inviting us to picture a student slurping soup from a ladle because he had neither a clean plate or a clean spoon.
He was not a particularly funny comedian.
But what struck me about this act was that it really didn't go far enough and paled into insignificance at some of the things I had seen.
Guy (of the communal cooking fame - see previous blog entries below) had a washed-out Patak's curry paste jar, which he kept under the kitchen sink - where the bleach would have been in a clean house.
He used this jar to drink tea from. Yes tea. His thinking was that when all the cups were dirty and he couldn't be bothered to wash one up for one of his 'uniquely made' cups of tea, he would always have access to the clean curry jar because nobody else would think of using it to drink out of.
While I'm on the subject of Guy's tea - it merits more of a mention.
He would save money by using tea bags twice, or even three times. I've never seen anyone do this before or since.
If you can picture the scene, he would lay out these spent tea bags on the grubby stainless steel sink draining board and reuse them when they were cardboard-stiff by dipping them momentarily into a Patak's curry jar to create a cup of absolutely minging grey 'tea'.
By the way, when I'm writing this blog, I feel a bit like this fella...(but not nearly as wholesome)
Anyway, back to the unusual uses for utensils. The best I ever saw, I believe, cannot be bettered for sheer student squalidness.
I came downstairs one morning to find the living room (as always) completed covered in beer cans, chip papers, ripped up Yellow Pages, half-eaten pizzas, aluminium takeaway curry dishes and no sign of a carpet whatsoever.
My friend Mason was sitting in his underpants on the sofa.
On his lap was an upturned acoustic guitar, (string sides down, obviously) and he was using it as a kind of table/plate.
He was spreading butter on to a piece of bread and what was he using to spread the butter?
A dirty wooden clothes peg from the garden.
I just stood in the doorway and stared at him. After a moment he looked up, made eye contact and simply said..."what?"
I'll never forget it.
Until next time (and thanks for all the comments)
Chris.
Published Date:
06/07/2007
Modified Date:
06/07/2007