Consuming Grief Beth Conklin Pdf To Jpg on this page. I've got a little round belly That shakes when I laugh, Like a bowlful of jelly. It's gotten to be a holiday tradition. Every year, around Christmas time, I go home to Michigan to visit relatives and friends.

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And every year, despite my best intentions, I come back carrying an extra five or six pounds of blubber. I half-expect the goons at the airport x-ray machines to notice the bulge in my shirt and strip-search me to expose the dynamite-packed vest I'm no doubt wearing. Since when did tempting your friends or relatives with tray after tray of lipid-laced goodies become a way of showing your affection? I don't eat crap during the year, but when I visit home, I feel like I'm in some sort of dietary cat house. Instead of being enticed by a parade of loamy-loined babes, I'm confronted by an endless stream of apple pies, Christmas tortes, cookies, brownies, and fried foods (yes, fried!), all of whom shout, 'Try me, I know how to show a sailor a good time!' Given that I'm a dietary celibate during the year, all this food is just a little too much temptation.

I nibble a bit here and a bit there, feeling a little proud that I'm able to resist doing a double half-gainer into a plate of buffalo wings and ranch dip. Trouble is, no matter how many dishes I turn down, the cumulative effect of taking about ten or eleven thousand nibbles sends my liver into overdrive, Fed-exing package after holiday package of fat over to the gut for storage. Maybe it's some sort of plot.

Maybe all the Michiganders are druids, and they're fattening me up for some pagan ritual. I should have realized it that one morning when I woke up to find my father-in-law brushing me with a honey-mustard glaze and my mother-in-law shoving an apple in my mouth. Well, just as obscuring my abs with fat has become a yearly tradition, so has the January and February fat-loss training program. It's not a New Year's resolution, mind you. I don't make resolutions.

It's just a harried response to the environmental anomaly commonly known as holiday overeating. I don't do a bunch of aerobics, either. I largely agree with Nelson Montana's views on aerobics and fat loss. In a nutshell (a candied nutshell, no doubt), traditional aerobic training interferes with strength gains. Instead, I use a modified version of something Charles Poliquin calls 'The German Body Comp Program.' The entire program can be capsulized in one sentence: keep your rep ranges high and your rest intervals short. If you ask Charles about it, he'll tell you that there's a direct relationship between lactate and growth hormone.

In other words, if you elevate your lactate levels by doing lots of work in a short amount of time, you'll cause your pituitary gland to spew GH like a lawn sprinkler. This GH will, in turn, cause an overall decrease in fat mass.

He cites researchers like Romanian exercise scientist Hala Rambie and American exercise expert William Kramer. Both conducted experiments showing that a dramatic increase in GH production occurred with sets of ten as opposed to sets of five. Furthermore, rest periods of 30 to 60 seconds were superior in this regard to longer rest periods. Sure, I'll buy all that. But do I believe that the exercise-induced elevation of GH is responsible for all of the fat loss experienced through the German Body Comp Program? Hell, you can inject pure GH into people and it won't cause all that much fat loss (unless you're grossly deficient in GH).