The Quest for Your Best: Mind, Body, Spirit

The Quest for your Best: Body, Mind & Spirit 10-week personal training program just came to a close at The Landing in Portland. Alex, Jon, Jeff and Shannon witnessed impressive transformations. Check out the slideshow and story.

From 'overfat' to WOW

The successes are revealed from 10-week Quest For Your Best

There's never a good time to be called "obese."

Or "overfat," as if that's any less caustic.

But if there were an acceptable time to be labeled in swelling terms like those, it would be the handful of days leading up to a 10-week personal training program. At least then you could push your thoughts the optimistic way and think, "well heck, I'm going to put an end to that."

I was blindsided with just such a phrase in mid-April as I readied myself for Quest For Your Best: Mind, Body & Spirit. The endeavor was the brainchild of Deanna Talarico and Alanna Peterkin, proprietors of Portland's The Landing and Head Games, respectively. The program gave five fortunate participants access to personal training, cardio classes, yoga, pilates, Reiki and life coaching at The Landing, with promises of a full makeover from Head Games and after photos by professional photographer Sharyn Peavey for those who stuck to the program.

MaineToday.com and Switch co-sponsored Quest For Your Best, helping to select the five would-be dynamos who'd take on the early morning workouts, weigh ins and muscle pain.

So we chose Jeff McAninch, a 31-year-old husband and father from Windham who hoped to get fit before his 2-year-old son was old enough to outrun him. Next was Jon Kuell, 37, also a husband and dad. Jon ran occasionally and ate respectfully, but he couldn't surmount the fitness plateau.

Rachel Flehinger, 33, is a Portlander trying to squeeze some "healthy lifestyle" into a schedule already crowded with a full-time job, teaching classes and an ample social life.

Alex Stigas represented the plight of the undergrad. The 26-year-old from Portland had a full schedule, too (including classes, papers and more classes) but lacked in the financial category.

No. 5? That'd be me.

One minute I was reclined back in my office chair, bemoaning another poor lunch decision and the restrictive nature of waistbands, and the next minute I was "Quester No. 5."

I didn't ask questions.

Instead I presented myself at The Landing doorstep to meet trainer Catherine Cofran and begin my Quest preparation. Here came the inquisition into my current consumption habits, exercise regimen and a few friendly squeezes from a well meaning, though uncomfortably forward, caliper.

I got reacquainted with my old chum the scale. The little fellow awoke with a start when I stepped on his face, blinked a few times and said - well, something profane.

The red electronic digits at my feet held steady at a number that offended my sensibilities. (For the record, the phrase "You don't look that heavy" doesn't make it better.) And my BMI? It hovered shamefully around 31. Or, in words we can all more easily comprehend: Class I obesity.

I didn't look "obese." I didn't even feel it, no matter how snug the slacks. It's a classification most people confuse with its morbid cousin. But if we're going to be technical, then "technically" I was looming.

I'M ABSOLUTELY CONFIDENT I CAN DO THIS.
SORT OF.

Having never been under the protection of the Secret Service, or knowingly stalked, I wasn't used to the 24/7 watchful eye of the BodyBugg.

The contraption, worn on the arm like a soundless iPod, measures caloric output. It was my duty to plug my food intake into the corresponding online program. Thus, the BodyBugg knew every calorie that went in, every calorie that was expended and every calorie that got comfortable and lingered.

All five of us Questers were given one. And we were each set up with a routine of group training sessions (two a week), strength and connected classes (three a week), a Sunday conference call with life coaches Paige Stapleton and Brian Stark and, of course, the Friday weigh-in.

I was mildly daunted by the schedule, as were Jon, Jeff, Alex and Rachel. Between work and a social life (for all of us), family and kids (for those that had them), extracurricular obligations and happy hour, where does wellness fit in?

But when someone starts throwing BMIs around, priorities get rearranged. Pockets of time, just enough to swing a kettlebell or lunge until near death, become available.

That, my friends, is a little thing we call motivation.

So I set to it, alongside my four Questing cohorts, with a simple goal: At the end of the 10 weeks, I would jiggle no more.

I AIN'T AFRAID OF YOU, KETTLEBELL.
OR YOUR LITTLE FRIEND YOGA.
If I had my druthers, I'd have spent the entirety of the program on a treadmill. But I'd agreed to step out of my exercise comfort zone. I'd agreed to things like kettlebell and cardio pilates.

I'd agreed to Svaroopa yoga, whatever that was.

Little did I know that, while cardio pilates instructor Zach was a jovial and friendly young fellow, he was also a punisher of the most physical kind.

I was introduced to burpies (which I found to be a sadistic lot) and planks (which were similarly hurtful but easier to bear) and the military pushup (reason #743 why I would never survive enlistment). Zach welcomed us into the cardio pilates world with an hour's worth of quad-abusing lunges and bear crawls. He had us do pikes in between standard sit-ups because, hey, they hurt more. My muscles shrieked "Uncle!" but Zach would not relent.

And I loved it.

I took on kettlebell with instructor John - that goateed, tattooed, motorcycle driving, heavy-metal blaring instructor who defies the Richard Simmons stereotype. I swung a 10-pound ball of weight, pressed it high over my head and clenched it during squats. I tortured myself with planks because John told me to. "Squeeze your gluts and your abs and your biceps and your quads. Tighten every muscle," he said. And I did.

I was sore for three days. And I loved it.

There were yoga learnings too.

Pardon me for saying it, but yoga always seemed to me a lazy venture. Like, yoga is to exercise as a book on tape is to literacy. I learned my error in a painful warrior stance way. For the less flexible among us, yoga requires solid effort. Serious, sweating effort. There was nothing calming about it during the first go-around. But that, I'm sure, comes with practice.

I DARE SAY, I DO LOOK RIPPED.
By week five we'd all found a rhythm.

I felt stronger and would catch a hint of muscle tone in my arms when I walked by a reflective shop window. My biceps weren't exactly ripping the sleeves of my shirt, but I flexed regularly just to make sure.

I managed to ditch a handful of pounds - Frito weight, I guessed. But the scale wasn't reflecting the work I thought I'd done. Where, I wondered, were the results? The fruits of my planks? The six-pack abs of my destiny?

Hidden under a layer of indulgence, I figured. Those sweet potato fries always did have the look of a saboteur. And that kindly, granular sugar was too eager to please. My grub-related habits needed an overhaul.

So I kept the sugar from my coffee (and came to realize that the only reason I used those heaping spoonfuls of sweetener was because I drank terrible coffee. It's something I'm working on). I swapped potato products with veggies (and no, mashed cauliflower does not taste like mashed potatoes, but it's a decent alternative).

I picked up peculiar new vegetables at the grocery store - things like squash and zucchini and spinach - and had to ask people how in folate's name I cook such things.

And then it happened.

All those nutritional tidbits we'd heard, all those form corrections from Catherine and "you can do one more" encouragements from instructors culminated into visible change.

The gentleman at the coffee stand where I get my morning refill remarked, "Have you been working out? You look good these days." My BMI dropped happily to 28.

Alex and Jon were noticeably slender and Jeff started showing up in sleeveless muscle shirts - complete with muscles.

Rachel had an unruly back issue that unfortunately left her sidelined for the remainder of the program.

LEFT TO MY OWN DEVICES (AND VICES).
The scary thing about a 10-week program is that it ends. Inevitably the guidance falls away. The accountability factor, that friend and foe that kept you steady, comes to rest in one place: You. The same you who 10 weeks ago believed that the 7-minute walk to work was ample daily exercise and that a chicken salad sandwich was a reputable, life-prolonging lunch.

But Jeff, Jon, Alex and I aren't those same people. There's noticeably less of us, to start with. But beyond Jeff's 40-pound weight loss (which he started working on prior to the program), there's a kindled motivation for permanent change that his son will one day admire him for.

Jon's extended his goals beyond the realm of The Landing - into the land of 26.2. He'll be running like a well-oiled machine this October during the Maine Marathon.

Aside from Alex's killer new 'do and trimmer figure, she's got quite the personality to show off these days. That shyness of 10 weeks ago has fallen away to reveal a sardonic and lively sense of humor.

As for me, I don't miss the inches off my thighs and waist or the afternoon carbohydrate bloat. Instead I'm feeling pretty damn good. As in Let-My-Awesomeness-Shine good. As in Humility-Be-Damned good.

And one day soon, Michelle Obama's going to want "Shannon Bryan arms."

- Shannon Bryan

Completely You package

So what if you don't win the Quest for your Best package? Will you then be destined to continue on in the same unfit, monotonous way?

Not at all. You can pay for the same program mentioned here, called "Completely You." It's offered year-round at Head Games/The Landing.

FMI or pricing, contact Deanna: 207-400-7111 or deanna@thelandingcenter.com