The Infinite Jest Challenge: Week 8


Eight weeks down. For newcomers to the blog, this is the ninth post in a series documenting the process of completing a challenge of reading David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest while losing the approximate weight of 3 3/4 gallons of 2% milk. My intentions are to read the entire book while on a stationary bike, and then continue with a full workout after each ride, with my eyes set on reading 1085 pages and losing 31.4 pounds in 100 days. (Well, that AND the 500 or so pages of Greg Carlisle’s Elegant Complexity, “A Study of David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest“.)

This week’s numbers (averages do not include Thursday as the YMCA was closed for Thanksgiving and I was unable to complete the day’s exercises):
  • This week I read 84 pages of main text, for an average of 14 pages per day. (Last week’s average was 11.86.) 
  • This week I biked an average of 21.89 miles per day while reading (up from 17.61 last week), for a total of 131.31 miles, and 1041.04 miles overall thus far. 
  • Last Sunday morning I weighed in at 195.8, and yesterday morning I weighed in at 197, for a gain of 1.2 pounds this week. Total weight loss thus far is 19.4 pounds. 
  • Last week I started on page 656, and this week I’m kicking things off on 740. (Also, I’m on page 374 of Elegant Complexity.) 

Stray observations from the week’s reading:
  • “Chess on the run.” Interesting way of looking at tennis. (659) 
  • “‘AIYEE!‘ cries the man, rushing at the nun, wielding a power tool.” This line came completely out of the blue. David Foster Wallace: Wildcard. (701) 
  • “For the first couple blocks the Creature had shouted for Help and to Stop The Bitch, and Poor Tony, then with a decent lead, had countered by also yelling Help! and For God’s Sake Stop Her, flummoxing any would-be citizens.” Note to self: If I ever become a professional thief and find myself being chased by someone I’ve wronged, utilize this technique in escaping, yelling Stop! as if I, too, am in pursuit of someone. (720) 
  • “Can you ever say pitted without some kind of against in there someplace later in the sentence?” Fun point, but it doesn’t make up for the seven page endnote that it was included in. I’m starting to get tired of these things. (1061) 
  • Non-reading related note: At 42:32 of my ride on Saturday my concentration nemesis reappeared at the YMCA. I don’t know this man, but I hate him. He’s a rather big guy when he rides the elliptical he starts huffing and puffing like a wild horse neighing, alternating with no consistency between what sounds like deep asthma-ridden gasps and wildly gassy, loose-cheek mouth farts. Only making matters worse, I’ve never once seen his sweaty ass wipe down a machine after he uses it. I hate this person, and even seeing him around me throws my concentration off. At 42:32 of my ride on Saturday I put my bookmark in and moved to the other side of the gym. 


Pages Read: Monday 10, Tuesday 16, Wednesday 18, Thursday -, Friday 12, Saturday 16, Sunday 12.



Miles on Bike: Monday 19.12, Tuesday 21.76, Wednesday 22.61, Thursday -, Friday 17.18, Saturday 20.68, Sunday 29.96.



Calories Burned (Reading on Bike/Other Cardio): Monday 575/450, Tuesday 662/700, Wednesday 679/1123, Thursday -/-, Friday 519/600, Saturday 644/1050, Sunday 905/573.


Weight: Monday 198.8, Tuesday 198.4, Wednesday 198.6, Thursday 197, Friday (no reading), Saturday 197.4, Sunday 197.

Party Trash "Remixes (Part One)"


There isn’t much of an expressed back-story behind Remixes from Nashville’s Party Trash… the album contains ten remixes, produced for fun, released for free. Straight-forward as the concept might be, the quality of the tracks is in no way diminished by the simplicity of the concept behind the release. In fact, the electronic dexterity on display goes far beyond the minimalist-mode showcased on last year’s full-length release, ALONE (be sure to listen to the standout “Night Flash,” by the way), with an energetic thread running throughout the compilation, stringing together Purity Ring, Destiny’s Child and Aphex Twin reinterpretations without a single beat sounding out of place.

[This article first appeared on Break on a Cloud.]

The Infinite Jest Challenge: Week 7


Seven weeks are behind me. For newcomers to the blog, this is the eighth post in a series documenting the process of completing a challenge of reading David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest while losing the approximate weight of an industrial-sized mayonnaise jar full of pennies. My intentions are to read the entire book while on a stationary bike, and then continue with a full workout after each ride, with my eyes set on reading 1085 pages and losing 31.4 pounds in 100 days. (Well, that AND the 500 or so pages of Greg Carlisle’s Elegant Complexity, “A Study of David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest“.)

This week’s numbers:
  • This week I read 83 pages of main text, for an average of 11.86 pages per day. (Last week’s average was 12.14.) 
  • This week I biked an average of 17.61 miles per day while reading (down from 17.86 last week), for a total of 123.26 miles, and 909.73 miles overall thus far. (I previously made an error somewhere along the way and incorrectly recorded overall miles.) 
  • Last Sunday morning I weighed in at 201.2, and yesterday morning I weighed in at 195.8, for a loss of 5.4 pounds this week. Total weight loss thus far is 20.6 pounds. 
  • Last week I started on page 573, and this week I’m kicking things off on 656. (Also, I’m on page 336 of Elegant Complexity.) 

Stray observations from the week’s reading: 
  • “Gesticulating.” Gross. (589) 
  • “He had an idea for setting up a Dial-a-Prayer telephone service for atheists in which the atheist dials the number and the line just rings and rings and no one answers. It was a joke and a good one…” Correction, it was a great joke. (592) 
  • “The newest guy’s still sitting in the linen closer claiming he’s comfortablest there with the door open and the new ‘helpless’ A. Johnson hasn’t come back yet.” My friends and I knew a girl by this name (which I abbreviated) who claimed to have slept with Eli Manning in college. While that can generally be filed under: Things that under no circumstance will ever make a difference in our lives, we’ve never looked at Eli Manning quite the same. (595) 
  • “I miss being told things were filmed before a live studio audience.” Pretty sure NBC’s recent ploy to bring this warm feeling back with shit-shows like Whitney doesn’t quite quench this sort of thirst for nostalgia. (599) 
  • Flesh-wound.” (616) 
  • “Moist noises.” Even grosser. (628) 
  • “Troeltsch’s so dumb he thinks a manila folder’s a Filipino contortionist.” Ha! (633) 
  • This week a story spread about a young girl who, much like Mario Incandenza, cannot physically feel pain


Pages Read: Monday 11, Tuesday 12, Wednesday 14, Thursday 10, Friday 12, Saturday 14, Sunday 10.



Miles on Bike: Monday 17.35, Tuesday 18.62, Wednesday 22.33, Thursday 13.35, Friday 18.34, Saturday 18.2, Sunday 15.07.



Calories Burned (Reading on Bike/Other Cardio): Monday 514/1072, Tuesday 572/500, Wednesday 689/610, Thursday 398/603, Friday 571/508, Saturday 576/1122, Sunday 461/1141.



Weight: Monday 199.4, Tuesday 195, Wednesday 199, Thursday 197.4, Friday 198.2, Saturday 195.8, Sunday 195.8.

Old White Men For Obama


I’m walking to the gym and I catch a glimpse of someone up ahead of me, standing behind an S.U.V. As I get closer I realize that it’s a woman and she’s taking a picture of something with her phone. As I get closer still, I realize that it’s a slightly-past-college-age girl taking a picture of a bumper sticker that reads “Old White Men for Obama.” Hashtag: blog-worthy.

She sees me seeing her capturing the moment, and I smile at her. Seemingly embarrassed, she smiles back while saying something and turns to head the other way — the same way I’m heading. I take my earbuds out only to catch nothing she says, and I speak up, trying my best to be spontaneous and funny, “So, who do you like more? Old white men or Obama?”

Appearing momentarily speechless, she says something quickly under her breath about men before moving on to how she does actually like Obama. It was a strange question posed to her by a strange man walking alone on a Friday night, a man who also could have been an angry Republican freshly bitter about the election, attempting to sabotage her innocent moment of Instagramming with an anti-Obama rhetoric-bomb. I didn’t realize that until I said it. I’m not sure how I would have answered my question if I was her. We walked together for somewhere between an instant and a moment before it all occurred to me.

“I didn’t realize how creepy that might have sounded — being an older white man asking you if you like old white men.” She sort of laughed and said she was thinking about what she might have looked like, her taking pictures of bumper stickers. I said I’d forget the whole thing if she would. We agreed and mentally shook on it. Nice girl.

It had been a good day prior to that moment, but the culmination of things appeared to have contributed to a timely wave of physical energy. I smiled my way through the workout. While walking home I came across a gathering of police cars not far from my apartment, blocking off one side of traffic across from the grocery store I was heading to. I purchased dinner and continued walking home before I saw a tall man overlooking what had to be seven or eight cop cars. Each of the vehicles had their lights set on strobe, and number of officers in reflective vests were assuming various form of police business across a city block. I walked up to the tall man and asked him what he thought had happened. He pointed at somewhere around ten o’clock to where there was something still in the street, broken, which I couldn’t quite make out: Wreckage of some sort that had colors I associate with children’s toys. I didn’t really want to think about it. We talked for a minute about the dangers of jaywalking before he mumbled something about making it home safe to eat his ice cream. I slapped my grocery bag and told him that’s what I was hoping to do, too.

After dinner I scooped a bowl’s worth and ate my ice cream in front of the television. In hindsight, I probably should have introduced myself.

Love and Death


Yesterday morning at 4:40 A.M. my mom’s mom passed away. She was 90 years old. I have no idea who she really was though. About two weeks ago one of my parents’ neighbors died in his sleep. He wasn’t very old. He was a nice guy, and was very kind to my folks. About seven months ago my parents put our family pet down. It was a small bichon shih tzu named Eddie. I named Eddie after a hard-partying hockey player, my childhood hero. At times Eddie could be a pretty good dog to have around.

Even considering recent events, death really hasn’t played much of a role in my life. The people who essentially served as my adopted grandparents are both gone, but while I cared for them it wasn’t exactly foundation-shaking news when word came of their passing. Never having been close to my real grandparents, the three that died during the last decade or so had no real impact on me. My dad’s dad died long ago. As for my immediate family members and relatively close relatives: some are more alive than others, but they’re all still here.

When my parents’ neighbor passed I received an email around midnight letting me know what happened. That night I sat awake awhile, thinking about death. In elementary school one of my best friends died in a car accident. It had been a while since I’d actually thought about him. He, his brother, his sister, and his mother, all died driving home from visiting family for Easter in Saskatchewan. Sadly, the father, who had stayed behind in Calgary (I can’t remember if he had to work, or what it was) survived them all. All three were in separate grades in our elementary school, and I remember how everyone came together for a terribly emotional assembly in the wake of the accident. There were a lot of people — both big people and little people — who were very confused about things when that happened. I was one of them.

I don’t really remember much else about that time aside from a couple of strange moments. For instance, I vaguely recall the outline of a ridiculous lie I told a grief counselor in class, about how I had seen the crash in a magazine and something-or-other about seat-belt safety. For whatever reason, that memory still leaves me feeling guilty and embarrassed. Then there was a girl in the grade’s other class of students (her name was Trista — no idea how I remember that) who asked me if I was friends with the boy (his name was Greg, and yes, I was). I also have this weird out-of-body type memory — the kind where you can see the whole wide-angle scene, as if watching it in a movie — where I was walking home with a neighborhood girl who didn’t go to my school, telling her that I wished I had a punching bag full of chains to hit, because that’s how angry I was. Even as a kid I was typically full of shit.

Last week a friend and I were going back and forth, talking about how people come and go in our lives. The conversation wasn’t about death though, but about love. Either way, loss feels its worse when those lost are those we love.

When I think of love I remember the first elementary school girlfriend, innocent junior high flirtations, a solid high school crush, the first “real” love, and later a woman who challenged my views on fatherhood, and whether or not I could see myself picking up such a position. But love has always been a weird thing for me. Love is a weird thing for most people, I think. And that sort of love isn’t even what love’s always been for me. I loved Greg just like I’ve loved a lot of people, and even right now I love a number of friends. Sitting here, it just sort of struck me how fortunate I am that I even have friends who mean enough to me that I’d actually care if they died. It’s a wild ride, love and death.

The shifting personal definition of what love is often presents itself as a difficult terrain to navigate in terms of how we reconcile its meaning with our actions toward those who we express the feeling for. And when that person is gone, whether they die or the relationship merely stops existing, it’s strange how some feelings linger while others become Photoshopped in our minds, taking on new lives of their own post-mortem. This afternoon a small group of family members will bury my mom’s mom. What happened with the neighbor, I’m not sure. As for Eddie, her ashes now sit in a small nondescript box. Someone at some point in time loved each of them though, and that love will continue to linger, sometimes lost or misplaced, sometimes positioned as firmly as it ever was. Of course, in the end we’ll all die. I guess the hope is, though, that when we die we do so as one of the loving and one of the loved.

The Infinite Jest Challenge: Week 6


Six weeks of reading have come and gone. For newcomers to the blog, this is the seventh post in a series documenting the process of completing a challenge of reading David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jestwhile losing the approximate weight of a 32 inch flat screen television. My intentions are to read the entire book while on a stationary bike, and then continue with a full workout after each ride, with my eyes set on reading 1085 pages and losing 31.4 pounds in 100 days. (Well, that AND the 500 or so pages of Greg Carlisle’s Elegant Complexity, “A Study of David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest“.)

This week’s numbers:
  • This week I read 85 pages of main text, for an average of 12.14 pages per day. (Last week’s average was 14.29.) 
  • This week I biked an average of 17.86 miles per day while reading (down from 18.3 last week), for a total of 125 miles, and 754.46 miles overall thus far. 
  • Last Sunday morning I weighed in at 201, and yesterday morning I weighed in at 201.2, for a gain of 0.2 pounds this week. Total weight loss thus far is 15.2 pounds. 
  • Last week I started on page 488, and this week I’m kicking things off on 573. (Also, I’m on page 308 of Elegant Complexity.) 

Stray observations from the week’s reading:
  • “And lead us not into Penn Station.” I really like the idea of some crotchety old A.A. member changing the words to the Lord’s Prayer out of sheer boredom. (504) 
  • “Tavis had been the one to take the lion’s share of the heat when it turned out the Blue Jays’ spectators in the stands, many of them innocent children wearing caps and pounding their little fists into the gloves they’d brought with hopes of nothing more exotic than a speared foul ball, that spectators at a distressing number of different points all along both foul-lines could see right into the windows of guests having various and sometimes exotic sex in hotel bedrooms over the center-field wall.” This really happens. (516) 
  • I don’t know if this is a printing error or if this is intentional, but due to choppy ink “too risky” resembles “t()() ‘`isky.” (547) 
  • When C.T.’s StairBlaster is compared to a “Satanishly-possessed Filene’s escalator” I initially read it as a “feline escalator.” Equally hellish. (552) 
  • The six-page endnote that captures “transcript-fragments” from Orin’s interview with Steeply touches on O.C.D., which at times sounded quite a bit like A.A. to me: “He was in this sort of paralysis of compulsive motions that didn’t serve any kind of function.” (1040) 
  • In the same endnote Orin says, “It’s March and it’s co-wold.” From the time I entered the seventh grade until slightly after graduating from high school my family lived next to another family that had three kids, including a boy named Cole and a girl named Dani (Danny?). They would play out in their back yard quite frequently and it became sort of a joke between us how Dani, when she’d get mad at Cole, would always yell at him as “Co-woll!” This brought back a funny memory. (1041) 



Pages Read: Monday 18, Tuesday 12, Wednesday 14, Thursday 14, Friday 12, Saturday 8, Sunday 7.


Miles on Bike: Monday 20.53, Tuesday 17.9, Wednesday 18.61, Thursday 19.41, Friday 18.22, Saturday 19.73, Sunday 10.6.



Calories Burned (Reading on Bike/Other Cardio): Monday 602/404, Tuesday 543/403, Wednesday 586/500, Thursday 590/305, Friday 551/151, Saturday 582/370, Sunday 326/1065.



Weight: Monday 201.8, Tuesday 199.4, Wednesday 203, Thursday 198, Friday 197.2, Saturday 198.4, Sunday 201.2.

Wells Fargo and Perceived Convenience

When my family moved to the States in 2001 we landed in Minnesota and opened bank accounts with Wells Fargo. Banks didn’t matter to me — I was 18 — so I just went with what everybody else was doing. For roughly a year I held a personal line of credit with Wells Fargo, paying the associated fees, of course, and have also had a credit card with the company for nearly as long as I’ve had my checking account.

A couple of years ago I went a few minutes out of my way to read about how Wells Fargo had become one of the key benefactors of the government bailout. Wells Fargo received some $25 billion (which it repaid) and the news surrounding how the company utilized regulation in order to capitalize on the bailout was unsettling. I thought about closing my account. In Minnesota Wells Fargo branches are everywhere though. If you need quick cash, ATMs are also in all Super America gas stations which, themselves, dominate the consumer landscape. Despite a distaste for the methods Wells Fargo was exploiting to expand its business, for the sake of convenience I kept my accounts open.

In 2010 I moved up to Canada. Recognizing the potential impermanence of the relocation though, I kept my Wells Fargo account open. Later that year I returned to the States, landing in Nashville. And while Wells Fargo has a small thumbprint within the city, I kept my account open.
I don’t drive and Wells Fargo branches and ATMs are sparse, so I became quite familiar with how non-native ATM fees were charged: $2.50 seems the standard from the machine’s servicer, compiled by another $2.50 from Wells Fargo as a convenience fee. Some generic ATMs I found, particularly around Vanderbilt University, have special mechanisms in place to benefit students, reducing any associated fees. Cafe Coco, for example, has an ATM that charges no fee if you only take out $10. In such situations Wells Fargo still charges $2.50 though. Recognizing that convenience isn’t free I kept my Wells Fargo account open.

I later moved to Iowa for a few months and remembering the bailout drama I looked into joining a local credit union. There was still a lot of hassle associated with it though so I balked at the option. While the nearest branch was a mile and a half away and nearly impossible to access without a car (given its placement across frozen freeways and such), the office I worked at had a Wells Fargo ATM directly in the lunch room. I kept my Wells Fargo account open.

Earlier this year I returned to Nashville, and when I was applying for my apartment I had to show proof of any bank accounts (I live in an income restricted residence). I don’t have a printer so I stopped in the local Wells Fargo branch and asked that my statements be printed off from the previous few months. No problem, I was told, but where the statements were once free, there was now a $2 fee per monthly statement. I needed it done. I paid the fee. I kept my Wells Fargo account open.

This month however, I saw for the first time a “monthly service charge” debited from my account without warning and without my permission. Not being a complete bonehead, I figured that my balance had slipped below some threshold which changed the account’s fee structure. That’s precisely what happened. I was now being charged $13 a month for the privilege of banking with Wells Fargo.
When I went in to ask about what could be done to avoid the fee I was told that if I opened a savings account and used my Wells Fargo debit card 10 times every month that my fees would be waived. However, I don’t use my debit card except in rare instances when I absolutely have to withdraw cash (typically from non-Wells Fargo ATMs, again given their relative scarcity), I use my Amazon Chase credit card for nearly all purchases because I really enjoy the FREE rewards program (a similar program to that of Wells Fargo’s, which I had been enrolled in previously, happily paying the $25 annual fee to participate in). Given that my current employment status — which could sexily be referred to as “freelance” — is uncertain though, I had an issue with opening a savings account because I don’t have what one might consider to be “savings.” Yet even though I’d dropped below this balance threshold, I was still willing to make adjustments in my spending and saving habits to make things work. What happened if I didn’t maintain the balance, I asked, figuring that I could probably use the debit card 10 times in a month if I really really had to. No fees, I was told, so long as I kept a slightly smaller minimum balance.

I immediately withdrew my money (via cashier’s check, which they kindly waived the fee for), closed my Wells Fargo bank account, canceled my Wells Fargo credit card, and walked from one side of downtown Nashville to the other, opening a new account with a local bank that a friend had recommended to me ages ago.

I’m not a lazy guy, which makes my decision to stay with Wells Fargo for as long as I did that much more embarrassing. Maybe it was a comfort thing. As life changed it was a constant: I was a Wells Fargo customer (emphasis on customer) because I’d always been a Wells Fargo customer, and I’d always been a Wells Fargo customer because that’s just the way things were.

Going through life and taking a beating because that’s just the way things are doesn’t cut it though. And this week I finally looked at the situation objectively, after a decade of taking my financial lumps, and decided that enough was enough, and it was time to move on. As for the inconvenience that I was dreading, that I couldn’t bear to face, of finding a new bank (let alone a bank that reimburses all ATM fees, offers free checking accounts, free everything-I-actually-need, only to be topped off by a tastefully accessorized branch office which just happens to be ripe with free soda and snacks)? The whole process took about an hour.

How convenient.

[Featured by: The Consumerist.]

The Infinite Jest Challenge: Week 5


Five. Weeks. Down. For newcomers to the blog, this is the sixth post in a series documenting the process of completing a challenge of reading David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest while losing the approximate weight of a chubby two-year-old. My intentions are to read the entire book while on a stationary bike, and then continue with a full workout after each ride, with my eyes set on reading 1085 pages and losing 31.4 pounds in 100 days. (Well, that AND the 500 or so pages of Greg Carlisle’s Elegant Complexity, “A Study of David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest“.)

This week’s numbers:
  • This week I read 100 pages of main text, for an average of 14.29 pages per day. (Last week’s average was 11.) 
  • This week I biked an average of 18.3 miles per day while reading (down from 19.53 last week), for a total of 128.09 miles, and 629.46 miles overall thus far. 
  • Last Sunday morning I weighed in at 204.6, and yesterday morning I weighed in at 201, for a loss of 4.6 pounds this week. Total weight loss thus far is 15.4 pounds. 
  • Last week I started on page 388, and this week I’m kicking things off on 488. (Also, I’m on page 274 of Elegant Complexity.) 

Stray observations from the week’s reading:
  • The story about Eric Clipperton, holding the other tennis players hostage by making his intentions clear that he would “blow his own brains out publicly” if he were to ever lose a match was interesting, but it seemed sort of silly. Despite his mysterious entries into various tournaments, no one at any point in time jumped on the kid’s back and wrestled his Glock 17 away from him? No one put in a call to a local mental health institution, seeking assistance in assembling a corrective course of action? C’mon, man. 
  • The various vile commercials installed as the Big Four Networks were collapsing sound rather interesting. I used to have a tongue-scraper, and used it regularly, so I can attest to how gross the slimy grey-white goo is that comes off the tongue, like that used in the NoCoat tongue-scraper campaign. (414) 
  • The depiction of “poor old” Henry Winkler as a fat and sad has-been, crawling into his twilight as “hairless and sugar-addicted,” is kind of funny considering the reality that he’s made a sort of niche-humor comeback with roles on shows like Arrested Development and Children’s Hospital. (415) 
  • Wallace’s foresight to predict how video would best be served through high-bandwidth streaming services is remarkable. “What if a viewer could more or less 100% choose what’s on at any given time? Choose and rent, over PC and modem and fiber-optic line, from tens of thousands of second-run films, documentaries, the occasional sport, old beloved non-’Happy Days’ programs, wholly new programs, cultural stuff…” (416) 
  • “No more Network reluctance to make a program too entertaining for fear its commercials would pale in comparison.” (417) As time rolls on commercials have seemingly pushed creativity with more enthusiasm than the bulk of network programming has. Entire programs — however cheesy and forgettable they might be — are dedicated to the best commercials. Seems odd. 
  • The telling of the “How’s the water?” A.A. fish story is recycled, albeit with slightly different language, in Wallace’s infamous 2005 Kenyon College commencement address. (445) 
  • Greg Carlisle points out a continuity issue that exists with President Gentle’s witnessing of Orin’s bowl game, and where it fits into the reconfiguration of Subsidized Time. Reading along and not even bothering to recognize it myself — which, considering the non-linear format of the book, isn’t too hard to do — has me thinking about how much of this stuff is going way over my head, even with a 500-page study guide in hand. 
  • Another personal connection to the story: Gately accepts a cake for his one-year sober anniversary on my birthday. 
  • (Speaking of the Quebecois Wheelchair Assassins) “The ones who come always in twilight, implacably squeaking, and cannot be reasoned with or bargained with, feel no pity or remorse, or fear (except a rumored fear of steep hills).” Love that (485) 


Pages Read: Monday 16, Tuesday 16, Wednesday 14, Thursday 16, Friday 12, Saturday 16, Sunday 10.



Miles on Bike: Monday 17.91, Tuesday 21.18, Wednesday 16.78, Thursday 18.26, Friday 17.26, Saturday 21.17, Sunday 15.53.



Calories Burned (Reading on Bike/Other Cardio): Monday 542/1183, Tuesday 655/1356, Wednesday 519/200, Thursday 570/1178, Friday 524/604, Saturday 666/775, Sunday 509/658.



Weight: Monday 204, Tuesday 202.4, Wednesday 201.8, Thursday 203.6, Friday 204, Saturday 201.6, Sunday 201.