The Sim Ru Prophecy is a fulminant climax of Peters’ Werecat series
Where to start? I think I need to go back to how I met Andy, online, on Twitter to be exact, not sure why, but there aren’t that many LGBT authors out there. We began to talk about each other’s works and before long, he offered me to read his latest one, about werecats. I’m not a big fan of paranormal and while were-animals and vampires had long served as metaphors to depict the suffering of the LGBT minority in society, I wasn’t sure if I really needed another one, particularly since these cats were all gay. But I read it, and against my ‘usual’ instinct to stay clear of a series (say it with me: I hate series!), I kept reading book two and three. I’ve reviewed one book here and interviewed Andy after the first book had come out in 2013.
Cover of Andy Peters’ The Sim Ru Prophesy
Andy’s writing is really captivating. It’s been a while since I had read book three (as many years) and I’d forgotten about how that had ended. But after a few pages, I was back in the story and The Sim Ru Prophecy doesn’t disappoint. The action is riveting, the story captivating and engaging, the characters grow and even Farzan, Jacks’ love interest becomes a full-fledged and believable human being. Yeah, one of the few non-werecats of the series.
I no longer wonder about the werecats or even question their existence. They’ve become a normal part of my imagination (contrary to my spell-checker which constantly questions my spelling of werecats, the very word.) I’ve pretty much read the entire book in two settings. That’s how engrossed I was, and how curious I was to find out how it would end. I had my reservations at the beginning of the first book, where Andy includes a sex scene while the two men are cats. Not something easily erased from my retinas. But there’s been nothing of the sort in the other installments, as he’s found his voice. The sex is no longer needed, at least not in the graphic details of book one.
Andy has a knack for historical details, for prophecies and legends (as his other series about Atlantis littered with Greek mythology proves), and this book is no different. Loads of mysticism, ancient legends of feline and human deities. Combined with a bit of bad U.S. government interference and a pinch of terrorism, Andy paints a picture that is impossible to resist and one that draws you in as a reader. A political yet also historical thriller of sorts, where the paranormal is but a superficial coat of paint (which isn’t a criticism, mind you.)
I enjoyed this series immensely, and now that you can read the entire series in one go, I highly recommend that you do. The first book is available for FREE on Amazon (right now), and the series as a whole is highly discounted. A great read for little money. I will miss my cats and Jacks and his friends. Then again, I can always go back and read it again… Got get that book today, because The Sim Ru Prophecy is a fulminant climax of a captivating story.
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Fighting for equality is tiresome, fighting feminists is exhausting, yet I have no choice
The title of the post will probably be enough to rile feminists everywhere. That’s not really my intention. But I do admit the topic is a tad controversial. I’ve had an interesting online experience on Facebook the other day, and I just couldn’t get over my own reaction to it, nor how my friends handled it. So I figured the best way forward was to broaden the discussion, and see if indeed this is an issue or not. I think it is, even more so after this incident. I’ve always been a feminist, or at least for as long as I can remember. For very good reasons, so let me explain how and why first.
Male is the norm, female the deviation
The statement above alone is enough to get a feminist’s blood boiling, including my own. But simply because we hate a statement with every fiber of our being doesn’t make it any less true or valid. Yes, it’s “wrong” and awful that societies still see things this way, but it’s where we are:
- Women make less money than man, no matter what profession
- Traditionally “female” jobs (e.g. nursing) are paid less than comparable “male” jobs (e.g. engineering)
- Medical research still has the “male” as the norm, despite wide-spread proof that women respond differently to medications than men
- I could go on… and on, and on
These days, the #MeToo hashtag is shining a light on a different aspect of the plight of women around the globe, and I’ve yet to meet a single woman who hasn’t been able to use it. And it’s not just a western phenomenon, nor is this something we can blame “immigrants” or “refugees” for, as some white men try to do. It’s a male thing. Men asserting, exercising their power using sexual overtures and unwanted advances over women, and men. Yes, gay men can be swines, too, and even though cultural norms in the gay community are different, sexual harassment is still sexual harassment, as the recent revelations about Kevin Spacey show, even worse when the victim is a minor.
No, not drag, it’s a costume, big difference. Yet even this, being labeled a “queen” is a two-edged sort, it’s as much about ruling something as it is being a drama queen, a faggot, a poof. And while we in the gay community use this term on ourselves, to hear it from someone else is like the n-word. And remember, a queen, to this day, is never quite king.
As a gay man, I am acutely aware of this male norm thing, because being gay is all about being considered a traitor to my own gender, attributed all the characteristics society deems undesirable, or less worth: emotional, wimpy, femme, weak, submissive etc. Now I know that’s far from the truth for most gay men, not even the minority, but that’s the perception in society, which is what this is about. Perception, not reality. Because the gay men we see out there, the ones that everyone easily spots a mile away are the ones who fit the pattern.
Nobody bats an eyelash at the butch biker or garbage man because he “couldn’t be gay…” (too masculine, blah, blah, blah) Even in my own community, we discriminate against our own with BS labels such as “straight-acting” (and we all instinctively know what that means… sadly.) or asking for guys who aren’t effeminate. In Turkey, you’re not considered gay as long as you’re a top, because it’s the act of receiving which makes you a homosexual. #facepalm Do they even know that most gay couples never even have penetrative sex? Duh! But yeah, again, cultural norms. It’s the receiving, the submissive, perceived feminine aspect which is considered of a lesser value. In the broader LGBT community, there’s also this weird thing of gay men being “better” than lesbians or trans men being considered better than trans women. Makes you shake your head, but it’s all tied to the above: the male is valued higher at the stock exchange of life than the female.
No equality for me without gender equality
So why is feminism so important to me? Why do I fight so hard and incessantly for gender equality? Why am I being such a nag about women’s equal rights? I mean, I stand to lose, right? Being a man and all? To a degree, I might, although, I’m gay, remember, so I’m already at the bottom of the ladder… I firmly believe that we can’t even begin to dream of equality for the LGBT community as long as we see the male valued higher than the female. As long as me being a stay at home dad is seen as a bigger disappointment than a woman declining a promotion, as long as my nag for caring for others is valued less than a mathematical mind, as long as emotions are worth less than computations, as long as women aren’t allowed to vote everywhere on the planet, granted equal pay for equal work, naturally fill about half of every position available in parliaments, government etc., for as long as anything male is seen as better, I’ll keep struggling and fighting, and sometimes brushing even feminists against the grain. Because only when we no longer bat an eyelash at a boy’s decision to become a nurse or a girl’s decision to forego childbearing (to just take two examples of a million), that’s when we can talk about equality of the sexes, and that’s when we, the LGBT community have a shot at the same. Because when being gay, with all those “female” attributes we apparently exhibit, is no longer seen as less valuable, less desirable, we will already have become equals. There’s an interesting TED talk which discusses why straight families have gay kids, and it has to do with nurturing (a very female trait, a great human trait IMHO). Without realizing it, this champion of LGBT rights slapped a ginormous female sign on all our foreheads. I wear mine with pride, but society at large?
So what happened with that Facebook thing?
The new Kindle logo. I really like it, visually. I just wish they would’ve included a girl, too.
Last week, Amazon launched a rebranded app for the Kindle. A boy sitting under a tree, reading a book. A beautiful image, peaceful. Yet it rubbed me the wrong way. As an author, I know that eight out of ten readers are girls/women. And once again, they were left sidelined to the male dominant. I pointed out as much in my Facebook post, asking Amazon what they were thinking.
I got responses, though not from Amazon, but from my feminist friends:
- How do you know it’s a boy?
- I looked like that when I was a pre-teen…
- Why do girls still have to wear long hair and skirts?
- We need to encourage boys to read… (to just name a few)
Not a single man engaged in the discussion, interestingly. My first reaction was disbelief. Why don’t they see what I see? Why aren’t they as infuriated by this as I am? Then I realized it had to do with the fact that many of the people responding were not only emancipated women, but several also members of the LGBT community themselves, and used to bend gender on a daily basis. I’m glad they have reached a stage in their lives when they no longer see this as a problem. But to me, the problem is much larger (see above) and I got so upset that I began to take it out on my family, and needed a forceful reminder from my husband (thank you) to calm down. Yes, I am a drama queen at times. I get to say that, you don’t. I am really passionate about these things, and as tiny a detail, as this may seem, it’s just another piece to the grand puzzle of the world order of gender inequality, another reminder of how much work we still have to do.
I wonder: what if the image instead had been a girl under the tree, and a man had made a dismissive remark about it. How would they have reacted then?
Our son is constantly misgendered due to his longish hair. Mind you, we try hard to keep his options open should he at some point realize that he isn’t male. This isn’t about that though.
I think about little girls in Riyadh, dressed in pink by their moms before having to hide under the niqab or one of the girls I saw at that disgusting kids’ beauty pageant in Denver at the same hotel where GRL was hosted last week. Will they be able to see themselves in that boy under the tree? I bet you they won’t. And how do I know that a child in short hair, a t-shirt and jeans is indeed a boy and not a girl? Because that’s how society at large “paints” boys, not girls, it’s still pink for girls and blue for boys. Don’t believe me? Go to Costco or Walmart any day of the week.
My son is constantly misgendered as a girl due to his relatively long hair. To believe Amazon to be a feminist company that intentionally portrays a girl in a stereotypical boy look is criminally negligent to the feminist cause. Yes, I understand the question being asked, and NO, there is nothing wrong (of course) with a boy looking like a girl (or vice versa), OF COURSE NOT, duh. But that’s me, that’s feminism, that’s how the LGBT community sees the world, that’s NOT how society at large looks like. That’s NOT how most boys and girls are raised today. That’s not what they pick up in the schoolyard, that’s not what they see on TV shows, not what they hear from the current president of the United States. Sadly. And so, sadly, most boys will never see that logo, as they’ll probably never pick up a Kindle in the first place (so no encouragement), and girls seeing that logo will only be reminded of the lesser value of their sex attributed to them by society. As if such a reminder was needed.
Yes, boys need to be encouraged to read, but why, WHY does that require a boy under a tree to get there? An image they won’t even see unless the encouragement’s already paid off? Why can’t a boy get to the point where he sees himself reflected in a girl sitting under a tree reading? And before you turn tables on me, I know girls can already do that, because they’re doing it every day, 24×7. Just like I, as a gay man, have been force-fed straight relationships, romance, and dramas from my birth (it still didn’t help though, didn’t turn me). I UNDERSTAND what it means to be het, I really do. I had to work really hard to get to the point where being het was no longer the desired state. It took me ten to fifteen years to accept, for myself, that being gay is as good as being something, anything else on the sexuality spectrum. I read posts on Facebook where mothers complain about a lack of role models for their boys, now that SuperWoman (is still a woman), and the leads in the latest two StarWars movies are strong women. And I’m exploding with rage: Superman, Batman, the Flash, and just about every other fucking movie still has strong male leads. And why is it expected of girls to see themselves in male role models, but boys are somehow deemed incapable of seeing themselves in a female role model? HUH? Ladies, are you underestimating your boys? Just look to sports, where to this day it’s “soccer”, but “women’s soccer”, “tennis” and “ladies’ tennis”. And why, why do my feminist friends perpetrate such standards by playing the gender bender card, which is irrelevant to the vast majority of people, a card which loses its trump value the minute we get to the desired state of “male = female” in terms of value attribution. All of a sudden, genderqueer, trans, genderfluid, intersex, gay, bi, lesbian et al will have become variations on a scale ranging from valued (male) to valued (female), rather than what it is today, valued (male) to “less desired” (female), being less desired the more on the female side of the scale you are, where trans women are at the bottom of the scale, because they can’t even pull that (i.e. a feminine look) off properly, as if the Stepford wife look is all women have to be proud of… #facepalm It kills me when I see my friends hurt, and I’ve seen pain to last me a lifetime and then some.
So what’s wrong with a boy on the Kindle logo? Nothing really. Except for everything it says about our society, our planet and gender equality. Why not a boy and a girl sitting next to each other, both reading in harmony? I’m so tired of having to fight for this. I’m tired of having to constantly correct the horrible notions my son keeps shlepping home, wondering where he gets them from, which friends are “bad” for him, not because I would ever blame a four or five-year-old, but the parents and family members behind them, who indoctrinate their sons and daughters with such awful values. I’m tired of having to fight for people who don’t want to be fought for, for people who no longer see just how underprivileged they still are. I’m “fortunate”. I still get daily reminders of just how “worthless” I am to society, from the Kremlin, the White House to the slaughters of gay men in the Caucasus and Africa, the rounding up of my kind in Egypt or Indonesia, or the man being jailed in Dubai for accidentally touching a man’s ass with his hand in a crowded bar. I may be married, but just as easily as I got that right, it could be taken away again (as could be the case in the U.S. if the conservatives get their way on the Supreme Court). I may have a son, but society may decide at any given point that I’m not a good enough parent and take him away, just look at Russia. I can never truly relax, there are so many countries I can never visit because of the death penalty on my head, currently ten. I don’t need constant reminders of why I need to keep fighting, no matter how tired I am. I’m just sad that not all my sisters get the point or seem to have lost sight of the greater goal over their personal accomplishments (of which I’m proud of course).
Either that, or it’s me, which would be easier for everybody else, of course. LOL, I don’t know. I’m tired and while I don’t mind fighting the bad guys, being cut off at the ankles by your own hurts… So what’s your take? I’ve had time to process this and I’m ready to engage in serious debate. So feel free to comment below.
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Seeing things through a different lens is humbling and makes you grateful for your own life
Having just come back from a convention, I spent a lot of time with people from all walks of life: rich, poor, young, old, various gender and sexualities etc. And I spent time with my friend Tracy, who’s confined to a wheelchair. It taught me a lot. I’m an empath, and I take great pride in understanding where people come from, what they feel and their emotional state of mind. Normally, I can tell someone’s mood before they do (or as they approach me, not having said a word). However, it’s a different animal to understand how someone’s life is, the obstacles they face etc. A couple of years ago I had an eye-opening experience with my friend Claudine and the shocking level of racism in the U.S. when we were on vacation together. It’s one thing to “read” about or intellectually “understand” racism, but it’s another thing entirely when you witness is face-to-face.
Tracy and I at the recent convention.
Last week, with Tracy, I faced the challenges people with disability face in our society, every day. Tracy suffers from cerebral palsy, and usually sits in a wheelchair, as walking on her own has become increasingly difficult. Through her, I experienced just how difficult it is, still, to this day, to get around and be an active part of society when you’re stuck in a chair.
One of the first things I noticed was her outlook or perspective. Literally being at the height of everyone else’s hips, Tracy sees more ass than anyone ever should. To make a conversation in a group possible, the circle needs to widen considerably to allow for a comfortable angle for everyone to see each other. Normally, when chatting in a small group, we tend to stand huddled relatively close together, but for someone in a wheelchair to fit in, that circle needs to widen, which is uncustomary for the “abled” participants. I had never really noticed this before, but as I pushed her chair toward several groups of people (I’ll get back to the reasons why I pushed the chair) I instinctively began to view the world through her eyes, and that was one of the first things I noticed. Needless to say, people also don’t see her coming, not from behind (duh…) but often not even from the front, as their eyes just aren’t focused three feet down.
A hallway from hell… Can you imagine having to push yourself up and down this corridor even once or twice? But several times per day? Yes, it makes for a more quiet environment, but for a wheelchair, this is awful. Why not use to walls to absorb sound instead? Photo: Helen Shaw
The second thing I noticed was how badly we construct things for wheelchairs. Your typical American sidewalks with those creases between concrete blocks make it difficult, almost impossible, for a chair to pass over, the small wheels in the front easily get stuck, and believe me, it’s not easy to push them forward or to do so yourself if you’re alone in the chair. And to lift the chair and push across on the back wheels? Yeah, had it not been for a person actually sitting in it, and the handles of the chair provide no leverage effect to push down, making it virtually impossible. All we could do was for Tracy to stand up, push the chair forward a few inches and try again. Imagine someone who can’t get up at all?
Carpets… Our hotel was full of carpets, everywhere. To push a wheelchair over carpets, or for Tracy to push herself? Not easy and very, very tiring. And when you have to do this ten, fifteen times a day, down long corridors? Wow. We tried to help as much as we could, but why don’t architects consider this shit?
Worst of all though were the non-accessible sidewalks in the parking lot. Yes, the hotel has handicap parking, but what if you are with someone who’s not allowed to park there? Every threshold at that parking lot was 6 inches high, and every time, Tracy had to stand up, take a couple of painful steps to make way for the chair to come up, sit down, start all over at the next threshold, up, down, up, down. All in all, we had to do that about six times. Makes you wonder how this is even possible in 2017.
Having to live like this every day? People bumping into you everywhere because they don’t expect you, don’t see you, all the obstacles, elevator doors crushing into you and what not… I appreciate the patience Tracy and others in her situation have. Yes, they have no choice, but we as a society could make things a little bit easier for them. It’s not rocket science, after all. Have you had any experiences with friends, or yourself?
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It’s release day for Disease, and I can’t wait for you to read this one…
Disease, my new novel, releases today.
“How do you explain Alzheimer’s to someone who doesn’t have it?
It’s really impossible. One moment, you’re just like everyone else—talking, having fun, being part of a conversation—and then boom! You forget something, a word, a face, a memory, something that belongs right there, in that conversation. You stand there, in that circle of people, and that which you have forgotten becomes the elephant in the room, with everyone staring at you, waiting for you to remember. And you panic, you get stressed, and yeah, at that point, you’ll never remember it anyway.
People laugh at it when they think you’re just like them. Normal. Healthy. Not so much when they know you have it. The disease.
“Don’t worry, Hunter. We all forget stuff. It’s no big deal.” But it is a big deal. It is a very big fucking deal. It’s my memory—my life literally turning to goo inside my head. This thing is going to kill me!
Not that I’d ever say anything. People get antsy around sickness, around disease. So I keep my mouth shut. I drop out of conversations. Slowly. Retreat into the safety of my thoughts. For what it’s worth. For what’s left of them. If Ethan is with me, maybe I’ll take his hand, award him a glance. He knows of my pain. He’s the only one who really understands how I feel. At least, I like to think so.
Have you ever read The Neverending Story by Michael Ende? at is exactly how my mind is. Like Fantastica. Well, sort of. My mind was never really fantastic to begin with… But, just like the novel, Nothing is taking over, and little by little, it breaks down my mind, my Fantastica. Only there is no Bastian to rescue me. No Atreyu going off on adventures on my behalf. No Falcor to fly to my aid. Just the Nothing. Taking over, bit by bit. And you never know what’s next to go.”
Release day, and when Amazon finally opens the floodgates and sends the book to all those who pre-ordered it (thank you btw), I’ll be approaching the runway for a landing at Munich airport. So yeah, this is a pre-recorded post. Sorry. It’s my fifteenth release day since I began writing, and while I’m not feeling particularly nervous this time (I have seen so many gorgeous reviews already that I know the book will be well received), I feel a sense of accomplishment, pride. I hope you’ll forgive an old man’s indulgence. Yes, pride is a good word.
I lose my mom far too soon, yet it was still a relief for us. Why? The book will allow you to understand.
I also feel thankful to Hunter, Ethan, and Amy, for allowing me to tell their story. And I am grateful for the time I got to spend with my mother, herself a victim of the wretched disease that is Alzheimer’s, and in a way a template for Hunter’s mother. Through mom, I got to experience some of the later stage symptoms first hand, the emotional turmoil, the paranoia, and all the other symptoms that are associated with the disease, like losing your appetite, your sense of taste etc. While Hunter’s story is rooted in my own fears of having Alzheimer’s (unfoundedly as it turned out), his struggle helped me play with various scenarios of how we, as human beings, deal with a death sentence. To be handed a best before date is probably one of life’s greatest challenges, and Hunter allowed me to pitch various scenarios, different viewpoints against each other. In a way, Disease isn’t just about Alzheimer’s, but it’s a story about life, living life to the fullest, but also about our own control of our own fate, society, and our friends and families. At least philosophically.
Why read Disease? I’ve been asked this question many times. Whether you’re personally affected by Alzheimer’s (through family or loved ones) or if it’s just a theoretical concept for you at this stage, you can read the story from the above perspective, see how we rise to adversity, how we play the hand that life has dealt us. But Disease is also a love story, romantic even (yeah I know, I’m a sappy romantic even when I kill my main character in the end), showing how two people love each other, stand by each other, no matter what (and I mean this literally). Or you could read the story to understand, to fathom how and why Alzheimer’s Disease is such a wretched thing to happen. I’ve been told by many reviewers just how cathartic a read it is:
“As I medical professional, I have encountered this illness. I have been caregiver to one particular patient and it is heartwrenching and not the best feeling. It makes one exam their own mortality and question: How brave will I be if this were me?”
My gratitude to Hunter, Ethan, and Amy for sharing it with me, allowing me to tell you their story. But now it’s time for me to let them go. They are yours now, and I shed a few tears as I take my leave from them and place them in your care, and I ask you: “how brave are you?”
Hans M Hirschi
The end is the start to something new…
It’s over… I don’t think I’ve quite grasped that fact yet. Yet as much as it may be a cliché, the end is always the beginning of something new, the undiscovered country, the future. And I for one am looking forward to it. I sit here at Denver’s airport, overlooking the Rocky Mountains towering tall in the distant background, colorful planes coming and going. I’m on my way to Tucson for a couple of days, to see my dear sister, having just taken leave from my tribe, my beloved crowd of readers and authors of GRL. Four intensive days, climaxing – as always – last night – with the annual costume party. And yes, that is over, too.
A costume party and a goal
A slow but steady increase in weight around my waist had me look like this in March of 2017. Not what you want to show off in public…
The road to Denver began in early March when we were finally able to register. Just days later I learned of the theme for the costume party, and after my exploit in 2015, the pressure on me to pull another queen out of my hat has been high, from attendees as well as myself. And it’s always a tricky endeavor, as last year proved. My emperor Hadrian, champion of marriage equality, as amazing as the costume was, fell flat after the theme of the party was morphed from “over the rainbow” to a more specific “The Wizard of Oz”. Yeah, no Roman emperors in the emerald city, but I had already invested so much money in the costume design that it was too late to morph it into a munchkin or another twister. Instead, everyone marveled at a naked Tin Man, amazingly performed by vocal artist Joel Leslie Froomkin, with the body paint applied by his equally artistic husband. Hat off…
When the organizers told me that this year’s theme would revolve around the Wild West, I had a flashback to last year and Joel’s costume, and I’ll be honest (as always) and admit that I had felt a tinge of envy at Joel’s beautifully sculpted body. Yes, and my friend Meghan Maslow confirmed as much in a discussion we had, if you want to show skin, you can’t do so in a flabby dad bod. Nobody wants to see that. There is a fine line between being sexy and being embarrassing. I agreed. Yet oddly, the “wild, wild west” had me think of a slutty cowboy (because just going in chaps wasn’t very original). I have never been ashamed of my body, and I had people cat-calling and whistling after me in France way back in 1983 when I dressed up as a prostitute (female, mind you) for a costume party thrown by my language school EF. I was named Miss EF St. Malo for that mini skirt and t-shirt, wearing my madame’s bra underneath it. No shoes, because we couldn’t find any my size. Madame was petite. I was sixteen at the time, and I had the body for it: hairless, slim and no visible muscles. I had never worked out in my life.
My personal trainer, coach and nutrition expert, Markus Jielin from STC Training in Sweden. I got really lucky with him, and his gentle way was exactly what I needed to push myself harder and harder to reach my goal.
So being un-dressed didn’t scare me. What did scare me was my body. I had let myself go over the past twenty-five years, increasing in weight from the 75 kg (165 lbs) at my 6’1” to almost 90 kb (195 lbs), note that my skeleton only weighs 3.7 kg (8.1 lbs). The slope had been gentle and slow, but steadily downward, and while I don’t remember my clothing sizes as a kid, my upper body had always been a medium, but my jeans sizes began to increase from a 31 to a 34 two years ago. And it was a tight fit. At my age, other complications arose: I have a herniated disk in my neck, which had been giving me trouble ever since it ruptured in 2012, and I have a shot disk in my lower back which had my sciatica in turmoil for the past three years. There were many a day when I could barely get out of bed, and when my physical therapists prescribed me exercises to strengthen my core to help steady my spine, I couldn’t do them because of the pain. Or I didn’t do them because I wasn’t in pain that day, the latter a huge mental problem, more than anything else. I was badly out of shape, and mentally nowhere near ready to tackle the lapses of twenty-five years. I started gaining weight shortly after my twenty-fifth birthday. So it’s been a long time building. To be able to show off my naked torso and a six pack was a dream, a crazy, really crazy dream, but somehow it rooted itself in my mind and I decided to try and do something about it. Nothing but a challenge for me to rise to. I contacted a local gym, five tram stops from our port and hired a personal trainer.
Markus from STC probably (no, most certainly) thought I was nuts, out of my mind, when we first met for our first work-out on March 20th this year. I mean who hires a personal trainer just to get undressed at a costume party in the states, right? But I guess he thought “his money to waste…” and we began to work. One of the first things we looked at was my nutrition. I don’t use the word “diet”, because we all know that dieting doesn’t work, because the second you stop, you’ll gain that weight right back, and then some. You have to change your nutrition permanently in order to achieve results. Markus suggested going slow, making tiny changes, one at a time, not to overdo it, in order not to lose faith in the process. He was spot on. I always thought I was eating healthy. No bad fats, no cheap processed food and yada, yada. However, I quickly noticed two things: there was too much fat in my food (still), way too much sugar and, worst of all, we simply ate too much, drank too much, the casual glass of wine pretty much every evening for instance. Empty calories…
“Remember, nutrition is 80% of your success, working out only 20%”
Progress was fast, and by June, my jeans felt super loose. I had already lost two inches around my waist. Now I’m back at my 31” jeans waist.
This is Markus’s mantra, and he (and all scientific research in the area) are of course right. But we did work out, once a week together, him showing me new exercises, pushing me to lift more weight, me alone, twice every week. I remember how frustrated I was, not remembering them, not knowing what to do, how to do it, but I began to spend many hours at the gym, every week, with three hours of weightlifting and two to three hours on the treadmill, walking off calories. Progress was swift. By the end of June, that excess flab I had built up in the past four to five years was mostly gone, my body fat count had dropped from 15.6% (which is pretty average in Sweden for men my age) to 10.7%, but I had also lost muscle tissue, even though I was feeling stronger.
We increased the tempo and made more nutritional changes, which also included to pretty much forego alcohol. We increased my protein intake to help build my muscle strength, and my first real mental challenge was the cruise and vacation this summer: all this amazing food, free drinks on the ship, and I could barely partake, because I realized that every mojito meant less food left to be eaten. I could not, I would not, exceed my daily calorie targets. It paid off. By the end of the summer, my body fat count was down to 9.9% and I began to see muscles in my upper body. As a former runner, I’ve always had muscular strength in my legs, and even though I’ve increased my leg press results from 350 lbs in March to 750 lbs (!) in September, it wasn’t a priority. My arms, chest and shoulders were (re herniated disk). At the beginning, I could barely do a bench press with the 20 kg (44 lbs) empty bar. These days I press 70 kg (154 lbs) and I’m sure I have room for improvement. To do a pull-up was a dream for me, but to lift that chin and the 89 kg of my body over the bar just was not in the cards. These days I can easily do ten, and one with 30 kg (66 lbs) attached to my body, totalling 244 lbs. More than any other of Markus’s clients, and by a fifty year-old? I’m proud of myself…
I don’t care about the costume party any more…
The slutty cowboy or “unique”, as I’ve called him last night… The end of the road, or?
Not entirely true, but as I learned about my body, my nutrition, and when I saw the changes in my physical appearance, I also began noticing the effects of it on my general health: I began to sleep better, my bathroom visits less complicated (no need for details), my mood improved, there was a ‘spring’ in my walk and my mood. It’s really hard to explain, but I began to feel happier, and proud of what I had achieved, the fact that I had achieved it. But I wasn’t quite there yet. Not for Denver, not for GRL, not for that six pack. For many men, body fat first gathers around the belly, and I quickly learned how hard it is to realize that “the first place you gain it will be the last place you lose it…” After the weigh-in in August, I realized that if I really wanted for people (and myself) to see the growing six pack, I needed to push myself even harder and decrease the fat content of my body even further.
Last Monday, the day before I flew to Denver, at my final weigh-in, I had it pushed all the way down to 6.4%, lower than Markus’s own, and he’s been working out regularly for decades, a former elite athlete. Mission accomplished. But that wasn’t important any more, as much as it was a mile stone worth celebrating. I am healthy as a horse, and while my sciatica still hurts regularly, it’s not debilitating. I’m not having trouble getting out of bed, I move freely. I am happy.
And as weird as this may sound, at the age of 50, I look better than I ever have in my entire life, sexy – if I may say so – not embarrassing, beach 2018, where art thou?. The six kilo that I’m heavier than I was when I was sixteen are all muscle, and these days, my t-shirts aren’t tight around the waist, they’re tight around the shoulders. An amazing feeling. I’m healthy (as certified by two doctors), I’m happy, and I’m stronger than ever before.
The statistics behind my physical change. We never did a weigh in at the start so those figures aren’t complete. I guess Markus didn’t really believe I would stick to it in the beginning… I’m surprised myself that I did. Then again not. I tend to rise to a challenge, particularly when people say “you can’t” or “you won’t”…
So when I finally got ready for the party last night, having duped people for over seven months, wearing a fake santa belly for the entire conference, I was ready to show off my new body. Oddly, I wasn’t excited though, or nervous. Had I not spent so much time, I might as well have just attending in jeans and a t-shirt. It was almost anti-climactic, because I had already reached my real goal. The goal that had begun to take over as I began to enjoy the endorphin kick of a good work-out, as I was able to walk and hike again without being out of breath after a half-hour, as I was able to admire myself in the mirror after the shower every morning…
I did dress up (or down), and I did go to the party. I did have a great time, and nobody recognized me, some not even after I’d removed the mask, which had been a sort of sub-goal of the whole process with the little white lies (of not even going to the party) and the santa belly I’d worn all week (which was hellish btw, killing my posture and impeding my mobility, which was an odd reminder of what it meant when I was carrying around the worthless weight of the 8.8 kg (19.4 lbs) fat I’ve lost.
The end of the road?
In order to maximize the “look” of my muscles, Markus set up a brutal body-builder competition regimen, something I don’t care to repeat, but yeah, one of those things you do for maximum results. I wasn’t allowed to work out the last three days before the costume party. I couldn’t abstain entirely, and did walk quite a bit, even sneaking into the gym at the hotel in the middle of the night for a walk on the treadmill. This morning, when I woke up, my body ached to work out and break out a sweat. 45′ in the gym did the trick. Some arms, legs and stomach exercises and a few minutes on the treadmill were exactly what the doctor prescribed. Weird, because I had never had that urge before. I do now, and I can’t wait to see Markus again and discuss new goals, to further strengthen my back, to alleviate my back pain some more, and to continue to work on my upper body strength and particularly my shoulders. But I’ll be honest and I can’t wait to actually drink the champagne on my flight home, not just sip it, and to drink a good glass of wine with a great dinner again, not that I’ve felt the urge to drink alcohol tbh. But to be able to…
I’ve changed my entire life-style to a healthier one, both for me and my family, and the only way to keep this body is to keep working out, because I know what happens when you stop, and I don’t want to lose that amazing feeling of feeling great.
How to read this post and what it isn’t…
This week I’ve also come to accept that I’ll never be able to repeat San Diego. Her Majesty is a GRL legend, and no other costume idea will ever top her accomplishment. What I did this year may be amazing for me on a personal level, but in terms of costume, it was nothing out of the ordinary. That is quite alright.
We talk a lot about fat shaming in my community and amongst my friends, and I do have friends society would consider “obese”, and who are called “fat”. Some even call themselves those words. There are a gazillion reasons why people’s bodies act and react differently to things. And we, as a society, tend to go for the physical look and judge a book by the cover. Trust me, as an author, I know that to be true. I didn’t talk to many people, and particularly avoided friends who feel self-conscious about their bodies. Progress for me, as hard as it was (in terms of labor), was easy. I have a lean physique, genetically, and I had the means, in terms of finance and time, to spend up to eight hours per week at the gym, slaving with weights, treadmills and bikes. Many do not. No blame, no finger pointing. We are all very different, and while it took a silly costume party to finally get my butt out of the house, someone else’s motivation may be different. I don’t want to hand out advice. Medical science knows exactly what can be done and how in order to achieve a healthier life-style. Yes, perseverance and hard-work, alongside lasting, permanent changes to your nutrition are at the core. No free lunch, no quick fixes. I need to remind myself that while I may have lost a lot of fat in my body, the fat cells remain, ever ready to be re-filled.
But as I enjoy my now regular breakfast with eggs, quark, fresh fruit and berries, I also realize and smile at the fact that eating well and healthy can actually mean to eat more, and tastier. I do hope that my journey might show that it’s never too late to aspire to change, that a 50-year old can have a ship-shape body, and if you do want to change, I hope you find the motivation, that first goal, you need to get started, as well as the help of someone like Markus to guide you professionally. I wish you the best of luck on those first baby steps (no leaps!) into your undiscovered country, your future. I see a lot of very old people at the gym, and I’ve met some amazing and strong people, whose much bigger muscles aren’t visible, so just because you have a roundish figure doesn’t mean you can’t be super healthy and strong. The two just aren’t totally correlated. Will I stay as lean as I am now? Probably for a while, but it’s not even healthy in the long run. There is a biological need for fat to e.g. grease joints, so I’ll try to gently increase to a more sustainable level, with Markus’s help. I’m not getting younger and over time, as my skeleton weakens and the clock ticks, my body will change naturally. I’ll need to adapt. And that is fine. The one thing I want to retain though is my happiness, and that spring in my walk. It’s made me a better person.
Denver, October 22nd, 2017
Hans M Hirschi
author and 7 month fitness convert
PS: I know that I’ve been consciously telling a ton of little white lies to a bunch of people over the past seven months, about me never working out, about not knowing what to do for the costume party, not going etc., culminating with the Santa belly this entire past week. If anyone has taken offense, please accept my sincere apologies. I never meant to hurt anyone, and I doubt I did, but these days you never know what people are hurt by, so better sorry and safe, to paraphrase the old saying. I’m not a liar, and it wasn’t easy to keep the charade alive for such a long time, particularly not around some of my closest friends.
Sex and literature, the age old question
I was not going to write about this. Not today. I just ‘really’ wanted to write about how great things are here in Denver, the atmosphere and everything, but as we are about to kick off the second day of GRL, drama is once again knocking on our door. At the core? Sex, objectification and the portrayal of gay men (and LGBT people as a whole) in the industry we call LGBT fiction.
The presence of one of the hippest gay porn studios had hearts flutter and nose wings fluster alike. I just had a very long conversation with one of my best friends about this, and there are many sides to this issue, and I won’t try again, to explain the complexity of a minority group being center stage of a majority group’s pleasure and how that ‘might’ – if done badly – cause harm and pain, or – if done well – aid it’s development and strive for equality. It’s been at the core of this debate for years, and I doubt things will change any time soon. Some people, most of them are here, understand, those who don’t, never will.
But, and this is really the important message today: without the “romance genre”, without sex or erotica, the number of books that young LGBT kids can read (yeah, kids read) and enjoy as they grow up and shape their own identities, would be a lot smaller, a LOT. And without all those peachy HEAs and all the positive stories, gay characters would still be reduced to villains or miserable psychotic destined for an early demise, often violent. Matthew Shepard anyone?
So, before we all explode in rage and at each other’s throats over this, let’s take a deep breath and talk, in quiet voices. It’s just not worth it otherwise. Life is complex and these issues are not easily resolved through shouting and yelling, nor four-letter words.
I had my first reading from Disease yesterday, and in less than two hours I’m hosting my second one, and I’m still not quite sure which chapters from Last Winter’s Snow to read. I forgot (too tired) to prepare last night, so I better make the most of it. So I’ll leave it at that. My post today is short (what was I even thinking, I’d have time to blog at GRL, huh?)
Y’all be good, have a great weekend. Talk soon.
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