Chasing the Ultramarathon:
Confessions from the Trail
The Ultimate Running Goal
As a normal, truly sane human being, I recognize that for most people, finishing a 5k can be an accomplishment. Many people in their life will complete a half marathon. Some people will go so far as finishing a marathon.
But only the truly insane seek to complete an ultramarathon.
After all, the first guy to run a marathon died, right? Who really wants to run until their organs shut down? Their muscles eat themselves? Their toenails fall off? Or *shudder* they have to poop on a piece of terrain suitable only for mountain goats?
Who are these crazy people and WTF is an ultramarathon?
The second question is far easier to answer than the first. An ultramarathon is any race that goes longer than the 26.1 miles prescribed by a marathon. If you go 26.1 and 1″, congratulations, technically you’ve finished an ultra. But for most ultra runners, the ultramarathon starts at 50k and goes up to 200 miles or several days.
Yes, there is no “standard” distance… hell, we don’t even specify that it has to be done by distance. It can also go by time. For example: the Leadville 100 is 100 miles, but if you can complete in 24 hours or less, you get a belt buckle. Some races are measured by distance like the Mississippi 50 (20k, 50k, and 50 miles) or the Badwater Ultra. And some are done by time like The Mass Extinction Event (read about it here, it’s bonkers). Some are done on a single mile loop until you drop or go insane. Some are done on loops and pride themselves on the fact that only 5 or 6 competitors a year finish.
Ultramarathons are different from your highly commercialized road races. There are no running tutus/costumes, cutesy shirts, medals you could use as a dinner plate, or hordes of fellow runners. You will probably get a medal. Maybe a mug. Probably a t-shirt. Maybe just the pure joy of surviving.
Ultramarathons are the stripped down, anti-social, redneck cousin of prissy road races. You will get dirty. You will get wet. You will probably poop in the woods. You may run for hours without seeing another human. Pacers have been known to tell their runner “The lead is a half hour ahead of you and third place is an hour behind. If you don’t stop to sleep, you’ve got this in the bag!”
Ultramarathon runners are crazy.
And I want to be one of them.
To fair, I’ve been chasing this goal since 2015 when I learned what an ultramarathon was from a crazy runner friend. I almost immediately signed up for the MS50. I mean, I was already training for Ironman Augusta, how hard could it be to chuck in a few more miles on my feet each week?
Impossible, it turns out. On mile 22 of a training run a few weeks from race day, I broke down into tears, called my coach and told him I was backing out of MS50. Or, rather, I was dropping down to *only* the 20k (12.4 miles on trail) so I’d still be able to finish the 70.1 miles of Ironman Augusta.
The next year I signed up for the BUTS Barely Ultra as a “Heavy” half (13.4 miles on trail) and MS50 again but only completed the 20k. In my defense, I was sick. Don’t run sick, friends!
This spring of 2020, I was smart and signed up for only the 20k of MS50. I completed in my fasted time yet, a spanking pace of just over 2 hours and 30 minutes. I was 16th… not in my age group, not by gender, I was 16th overall. And 3rd for my age group and gender. That should tell you how slow and small the races are.
“Start at an easy pace, then slow down.” – Ultramarathoner’s pacing creed
Who are these crazy people?
Ultramarathoners are a rare breed. Not everyone is willing to run more than a marathon. Hell, few people are willing to run unless chased these days. But they seem to craw a diverse crowd. Nature lovers, yuppies abandoning the norm, former military chasing old glories, vegans with something to prove, carnivores with something to prove, stay at home moms who run for their sanity and waistline, PTSD survivors who runs for their sanity. But they are all people who simply love to run and enjoy chasing a goal that few people accomplish.
So, this year, I was asked by a coworker if I would like to complete the Bataan Memorial Death March. A glorious 26.1 miles across sandy desert in late March to honor those who survived and perished on the Bataan Death March. Not one to avoid a challenge, I quickly agreed. I intended to complete it through a combination of running and walking… which got me thinking. If I can do that, how slowly could I finish MS50, only a few weeks prior, with a combination of walking and running? The answer is, I am allotted 12 hours to complete 50k. That’s only a 20 minute mile and I can hold 15 with relative comfort. So, I will be competing in not only the Bataan, but I’m chasing down the MS50 50k again. And, since it aligns so nicely with my training schedule for December, why not throw in the BUTS Heavy Half again too?
After all, ultramarathoners are crazy. Why not live up to the reputation?
Update (20 Mar 21): Guess what? I finished! It was a hell of a road to get there, including a trip to the ER, being stuck on quarantine for what should have been my last two weeks of heavy training, and a tattoo inspired by almost dying. You can read all about it here or you can read about the calamity that was my post-race here.
Happy trails!
Enjoy what you just read? Please share on social media or email utilizing the buttons below, fans like you sharing what they love are what keeps this train rolling!
Want to read more works by Author KR Paul? You can find my first novel here and it’s sequel here.
Want more than that? Follow me on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok. Stay up to date on the latest KR Paul news by joining our mailing list.
Just looking for wild stories of cave diving, ultramarathons, blacksmithing, or powerlifting. Yeah, I’ve got those too!
Born, Not Bitten (Part 2)
Hey, all! Maybe you found me by Twitter, maybe by Instagram, maybe Facebook, maybe my book on Amazon, or maybe just by accident searching the web. No matter how you got here, I’m glad you stopped by. Grab a glass of your favorite beverage, settle in, and enjoy what I have to offer.
“This isn’t possible.”
Her captor’s gun snapped up as he bolted out of his chair and trained the sight on her fuzzy head.
She tilted her head to the side as she regarded him. Sharp canine eyes saw more in the candlelight than her human eyes. They took in the sand and clay on his boots, five-o’clock shadow on his chin, and old stains on the knees of his cargo plants. His chest rose quickly as he drew in ragged, panting breaths.
“You make one move towards those bars and I’m ending you,” he growled at her. His eyes were so wide she could see white all the way around his irises.
She sat still and quiet as he regained control.
“How is this possible? How did you do that?” he finally asked when he had control of himself.
Summer looked at him, raised one paw delicately and set it back down.
“What? Oh. Yeah. Uh, turn back, I guess,” he said with a small shrug.
She cocked her head at him.
“I won’t shoot.”
She gave a little nod.
Summer hunched over, and with the same shimmer in the air, like the shimmer over asphalt in July, she changed. Summer stayed crouched on her heels, bent knees obscuring her nude body.
“I’m willing to answer your questions, but would you please turn around so I can put my clothes back on?”
“No.”
Her mouth firmed into a line. “I am a small, naked, unarmed woman against an armed man who weights, what? Two hundred pounds? And I am in a cage. What do you think I can do from here?”
He lowered the gun slightly.
“Don’t be an ass. Turn around and when I’m done, we can have a nice civil conversation.” Her voice shook with barely contained anger.
Without a word, he turned. Summer snatched her clothes, throwing them back on hastily.
“You can turn around now,” she said as she fastened the last button.
“How did you do it?” the man asked as he turned back.
“I don’t know, I just did.”
“I mean, how can you do it when it’s not a full moon.”
“I told you, I am a born werewolf, not bitten. I am in full control of myself,” she said but shivered.
It was a half-truth. She could change at will, but outside a full moon, it was exhausting. To shift twice, in under ten minutes, at a new moon would make her weary for a day or two. If she could talk him into releasing her, she would probably have to shift again and bolt for home, depleting her even further.
“And you’re in control right now?”
“Yes.”
He gave her a doubtful look. “I need more. I need more information.”
“What, so you can hunt and kill my family?” Summer huffed out a breath in irritation. “Look, I will answer your questions if you will promise to let me go.”
“You’ll take my word?”
“Are you a man of your word?” she asked and he rocked back as if slapped. Summer schooled her face to hide a quick smile. Even that small reaction from him told her something.
“Yes. I am, and have always been, a man of my word.”
There was something odd in the way he said it that confirmed a suspicion.
“Very well, then. Do I have your bound word that you will release me, not hunt me again, and not seek me out?”
The man’s jaw tightened. “You have my word that I will release you and cease my hunt. I can’t guarantee I won’t seek you out.” He swept a hand through his thick black hair. “I may have more questions.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Well, it’s not as if you don’t know where I live.” She grimaced. “Fine, you may seek me out, but you do not have permission to enter my home or place of business.”
“In return, you will answer my questions?”
“In return, I will answer three questions.” When he frowned, she added, “I’ll elaborate on an answer if you need additional information.”
Summer’s brain was on overdrive, considering her wording and if there was any way he could renege.
“You have my word.”
The was a feeling like silent thunder, a silent overpressure of air.
“You’re fae,” she told him simply.
“No.”
“Not human, certainly.”
He gave no answer.
“Fine. We’ll start with the basics. My name is–”
“Summer Dawn Jones, twenty-seven years old, and originally from Baker, Florida. But for the last five years, you have been living in Fort Walton Beach. And I have to say, that’s a powerfully strange location for a werewolf to live.”
Summer shifted her hips, settling herself and trying to play off her irritation. “You know a lot about me.” She gave him a small smile, “May I have your name?”
He gave her a wry smile. “And smart too. They did say you were smart. You may call me Chuck.”
“Chuck? Your name is Chuck?” Summer’s brows furrowed and only the fact that she was trapped in a cage kept her from howling with laughter.
“It’s what I said you could call me.” His tone was bland, but the ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth.
“Fine, Chuck, you seem to have done a lot of research already, but what do you need to know?”
“With only three questions, I guess I’d better make them good.”
Summer eyed the bars. “And hold up your end of the bargain. I’m guessing that wasn’t a normal bargain we just struck?”
Chuck shook his head. “Let me think.”
Summer watched the flow of expressions across his face. He was better looking than she had first given him credit for: dark hair, skin like pale moonlight across unrippled water, and tall. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she had assumed he was almost double her mass. He had broad shoulders that spoke of either a masochistic amount of time in a gym or a lot of manual labor. She shook her head and fidgeted, trying to get comfortable on the concrete floor. Her rear was going numb and the concrete was leeching the heat from her body. Between that and the energy spent shifting, she gave a weary shiver.
“Ok. First question: what does shifting outside of a full moon cost you?”
“Cost me?”
“Is it painful? Do you need magic?”
She was taken aback. Chuck’s expression was now earnest, he seemed to genuinely care if that transition had been painful.
“It’s not painful, per se. It’s–” she thought a moment for how to phrase it, “–intense. The change moves muscles, tendons, bones, organs, nerve endings…” she trailed off. “It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a lot of sensations all at once.”
“Magic?”
Deep blue eyes met hers and she inhaled. Sitting in a cage that he had put her in was bit of a detractor, but he was damnably good looking.
“Is it magic you’re using?” he asked again.
Summer blinked. “Yes? I mean, I guess? How the hell else would I do it?”
“Ok, fair enough. Just because you can do it doesn’t mean you’ll know everything about it.”
Summer nodded, shifting again. “What’s your second question?”
“You’re different.” It was a statement, not a question.
Summer didn’t answer, wondering where he was going.
“You live in a townhouse on a bay. A saltwater bay leading directly to the Gulf of Mexico. You live miles away from any pack, which is unusual.”
“Those are all statements,” she told him. Tension etched itself in her now rigid posture.
“When I got this assignment, I thought it would be hard. Young werewolf, prime age, peak strength.” He ticked off fingers as he spoke. “That’s a terrible target when they’re surrounded by peers and a pack. I’d be literally risking my life to end a threat like that.”
Summer couldn’t quite stop the low growl in her throat.
Chuck raised a hand. “You already acknowledged that feral, bitten werewolves are dangerous and that you take them out yourself. Don’t be mad at me for doing what you would have done.”
She drew in a deep breath but nodded, her body still rigid with tension.
“A pack gives you protection. Solidarity. From what I understand, even among the bitten,” he only hesitated slightly switching words on the fly, “it provides comfort and companionship.” He shook his head. “What I really mean to ask is, why don’t you live with a pack?”
Summer rocked back slightly. She had expected him to ask where her pack was and how he could find them. She was expecting the worst. She fully expected him to have to maim, torture or kill her go find her pack. They may have their friction, but Summer would be damned if she would give up what small bit family she had left to a Hunter.
She gave a laugh to dispel her nerves. “I guess you could say I’m a rebel? When human children rebel against their families, they dye their hair black or do drugs. They do whatever is the opposite of their family’s desires for them. I come from,” she mentally sorted what she was and wasn’t willing to say, “a very earthy community. They’re as self-sufficient as possible, as far away from humans as they can be without giving up their territory.”
He nodded once more to acknowledge he heard her than in understanding. Summer tried not to get sucked into those blue eyes.
“I didn’t dye my hair. It would have disappeared with my first change. I didn’t do drugs because, well, the Aunties and Uncles do enough pot that no one would have batted an eye. Actually,” she said with a smile, “I was the odd one because I don’t do any drugs. Just the odd glass of wine now and again.”
“So, what then?”
Summer laughed, surprisingly deep and throaty for someone as small as she. “I got a college degree. In computer programing, no less.” Her laughter cut off abruptly as another reason flitted through her mind.
When he raised an eyebrow in confusion, she went on. “We’re blue-collar people. Most of my pack is in a hands-on career field: woodworking, landscape, the forest service, florists. Anything manual, outdoors, or working with nature. The number of high school diplomas in our community couldn’t make tinder to start a fire. To get a college education? Work in a cubical in an office building behind a computer all day? It was the ultimate rebellion.”
“Why?”
“I love my pack, but my father was human. Werewolf mother and human father. I was raised by two Aunties and I wanted to know what it would have been like to have lived a human life. After a while, I wanted to get away. I wanted to mainstream.” She gave a small frown, eyes on the floor but mind elsewhere. She gave herself a shake. “I guess I just wanted to know what it would have been like if he had lived.”
“Lived?” Chuck asked, confusion evident in his voice.
“Car crash. Killed my mother and father both,” she told him quietly.
He looked at her. “No, it didn’t.”
“What?”
His brow furrowed and he frowned in confusion. “Summer, your father is alive.”
Being drugged, kidnapped, and waking in a silvered cage was a shock. Chuck’s statement was the unexpected hail storm that struck on a late night run. It was the water moccasin that dozed quietly at the water’s edge, only striking when you bumbled too close. She rocked back, arms and legs going limp. It took a moment to realize how close she had come to touching the bars of the cage. It wouldn’t have killed her right away, but she still bore burn marks from previous experiences.
“How?” She swallowed. “How do you know?”
“I researched you thoroughly before this. I don’t take assignments blindly.”
Summer blinked again, so off balance, she didn’t even know what to ask next. She shook her head.
“What’s your third question?” She realized her voice sounded faint as she looked at him.
He shook his head. “No, not now.”
“What?”
“I’m gonna let you go, but you will owe me a question.”
Summer frowned. “And if I don’t give it to you?”
He laughed. “You felt the bond of the contract you made, I wouldn’t mess with it.”
“You are fae,” she said accusingly.
“Now why would you say a thing like that?”
“The contract. You wouldn’t ‘give’ me your name. The ethereal beauty. You’re one of the fae.”
He smirked at her. “You think I’m attractive?”
She glowered.
“No, I’m not fae. Not quite.”
“Well, you aren’t human,” she huffed.
He gave her an enigmatic smile. “You gave me permission to seek you. We have an unfinished bond. I’ll find you when I’m ready for that third question.”
He rose from the chair once more in a creak of old leather.
“I’m going to let you out now,” he said, squatting at the opening of the cage. “I will remind you that fate does not smile upon oath breakers and if you attack me now, on your head, may it be.”
As his hands went to the lock, they passed a patch of thin moonlight from the waning moon. In that weak moonlight, they looked like marble, and Summer scooted back as far and fast as she could.
“Demon!”
The calm and easy demeanor that had been on his face the last few minutes dropped and his hands stopped. He met her eyes. The deep blue of his eyes now held something else, something dark.
“I told you, I’m not fae.” He looked away, shaking his head. “But, I’m not a demon either.”
“What are you?” she asked, voice harsh.
“More like you than you think.” His hands moved again. The lock fell away and the door swung open. “You owe me one final answer. I’ll contact you to collect it when I’m ready.”
He stood and backed away from the cage door. He stood straight and tall, marble skin under a plain cotton shirt and the stained cargo pants of a Hunter that he wore as well as a three-thousand-dollar suit, and Summer realized she wasn’t the only incongruous rebel in the room.
One doesn’t often see the Scion of an incubus and human. One certainly didn’t see them in as low and gritty a profession as that of a werewolf hunter.
She bolted through the cage door and fled the small cabin.
Like this? Love this? Leave a comment below!
As of 05 August 2023, the remainder of “Born, Not Bitten” has been taken down as it is being prepared for publication!
Thank you to all the fans who’ve shown support for this free serial fiction as I’ve rolled it out and I look forward to sharing the whole story with you soon. I’m delighted to say it will be KRP Publishing’s first published novel.
Cheers,
KR Paul
Enjoy what you just read? Please share on social media or email utilizing the buttons below, fans like you sharing what they love are what keeps this train rolling!
Want to read more works by Author KR Paul? You can find my first novel here and it’s sequel here.
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Just looking for wild stories of cave diving, ultramarathons, blacksmithing, or powerlifting. Yeah, I’ve got those too!
This is happening!
We’ve taken another huge step towards publishing, pre-sale! Ok, the Kindle version is out on Amazon. But, we’ll have other digital options available soon and the paperback will be available on 30 September which means happy (one day belated) birthday to me!
This whole process has been a learning experience. I’ve watched other authors, albeit purely digital and self-published, hit “Go!” and their book is on the streets in hours. When I posted on free sites, I’d give it a quick proofread, and then BOOM, it was up. Going through a hybrid publisher shows that this is a long process. Or, more to the point, it’s a long process when you’re committed to getting it right!
But damn if I’m not ready to start showing off my work. I’m very excited to start being able to show off turning this:
Into this:
And I hope to be able to start showing it off soon… like, before the official release. 😀
We’re nailing down details but I’m hoping to make a digital version of the first chapter available for those who’ve pre-ordered and maybe even a bit of swag if we can swing it. Yeah, that’s right, my made up team has honest to goodness patches!
Enjoy what you just read? Please share on social media or email utilizing the buttons below, fans like you sharing what they love are what keeps this train rolling!
Want to read more works by Author KR Paul? You can find my first novel here and its sequel here.
Want more than that? Follow me on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok. Stay up to date on the latest KR Paul news by joining our mailing list.
Just looking for wild stories of cave diving, ultramarathons, blacksmithing, or powerlifting. Yeah, I’ve got those too!
Born, Not Bitten (Part 1)
Or “Why I’m So Good You Should Buy My Novel”
Hey, all! Maybe you found me by Twitter, maybe by Instagram, maybe Facebook, maybe my book on Amazon, or maybe just by accident searching the web. No matter how you got here, I’m glad you stopped by. Grab a glass of your favorite beverage, settle in, and enjoy what I have to offer.
For many of you, you’ve followed a series of links to a book,. never knowing what I actually have to offer or if I’m a writer who is worth a damn. And, honestly, I can’t blame your skepticism.
We live in a world which allows any author to self-publish which means works of all skill levels can and do appear on the various publishing sources. I know, because I have been a denizen of various sites. However, as you’re seeing now, I’m moving on up! And I would like to show case my work without giving away the plot of my current book. So, if you’re interested, below is the start to a serial I may (or may not) publish later.
“No, Auntie, I won’t be home then,” Summer grunted into the phone as she juggled a phone against her ear and a paper bag overflowing with groceries while opening the door to her townhouse. After a moment of fumbling, she wrenched it open with a bang, almost dropping both phone and groceries in the process.
“Sticky bastard,” she mumbled. “Not you, Auntie. I was talking to my door.” Summer gave the offending door a shove to close it and snapped the lock in place. She smoothly juggled the grocery bags to one hand while keeping the phone to her head. “No, I’m going to run alone again. Yes, I know Auntie Dittany and Uncle Cicuta are expecting me, but I won’t be there.”
Summer set the bag down gently, pushing the phone between her ear and shoulder. “No, Auntie, I don’t want to talk to Dittany. No, no!” She groaned quietly. “Oh, hello, Auntie Dittany. No, ma’am, I’m not coming home next Friday. Yes, work is eating up my time.” She sniffed the air in her townhouse, trying to discern the source of an odd smell and hoping it wasn’t last night’s takeout, still sitting in her garbage can.
Summer rolled her eyes as she listened to her Auntie Dittany chew her ear off about the dangers of too much indoor work and not enough natural sunshine. She wove through her small townhouse as she listened to the tirade, misting plants, and lighting scented candles as she went. By the time Auntie Dittany had wound down about the evils of computer screens, Summer was ready to settle in for the evening. “Thanks, Auntie, I’ll keep that in mind. No, maybe next month. Yes, I love you all too. Pass my love to the Aunties, Uncles, and pups.”
Summer gave a quick smile as she hung up on her very nature-loving family. She sniffed once and wrinkled her nose. The scent of her plants warred with the fake lavender and vanilla of her candles and… something else. She inhaled deeply, trying to catch the curious musky scent that her plants and the candles failed to cover. It eluded her, so she shrugged it off.
Chalking the odd scent up to “just another urban smell,” she went about microwaving her dinner and firing up her gaming computer. Laying a cold beer bottle and a warm Hungry Man meal next to a multi-thousand-dollar computer caused her mouth to twitch up into a smile at the dichotomy. Summer gave one last listen, hearing Ms. Next-Door-Neighbor settle in for yet another night of trash television while Mr. Next-Door-Neighbor warming up his acoustic guitar. Cocking her head slightly, she could hear her neighbor on the other side, definitely not married, starting in loudly and enthusiastically with another customer. She slipped a pair of high-end, noise-canceling headphones over her overly sensitive ears.
Summer sighed into the apparent silence, her shoulders relaxing, and her mouth momentarily going slack at the sudden lack of auditory input combined with the smell dampening candles. Being a werewolf in an urban environment was so hard. She cherished the modern comforts that allowed her to tune out humanity and its press upon her senses.
Which is how she was caught completely unaware when the man who had been masked by the smell of plants attacked.
There was thrashing. And a howl. There might have been blood somewhere in there. Summer wasn’t sure if it belonged to her or her attacker.
She cracked her eyelids open. First one. Then the other. Then, with supreme willpower, both opened a fraction together in a woozy haze.
Bars.
Silver.
Summer let her willpower ebb out of her like the tide from a beach. Her eyes closed again and she curled tighter into herself. Dusty grit pressed into her side now that she had regained enough mental control to register feeling. Her brain felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton. Or, she felt like she was waking to an egregious hangover without the pain, just nausea, dizziness, and a foggy head.
A memory tugged at her: Something had rustled the ferns that dotted her kitchen.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the fragment of memory. I’m here, laying on a dirty, dusty concrete floor, she told herself.
A fragment of memory hit again: Summer had slumped as noise-canceling headphones blotted out the city’s cacophony, straightening quickly at the sharp pain in her well-muscled arm.
I’m laying on a concrete floor, I’m trapped in a silver cage, she told herself. There’s no use replaying how.
The memories hit her again, faster: The bottle falling to the kitchen floor, shattering on the tiles. Nausea had flared and Summer had felt a swooping dizziness hit her.
Replaying something I can’t change won’t help me, she told herself firmly as the next wave of memory hit. She curled tightly, not wanting an inch of herself singed by the bars.
She had sunk to her dining room floor, landing on the shattered bottle. Pain flared along her body, but a strange lassitude spread through her. She tried to scream, but it came out as a muffled moan. Her muscles went slack, her brain went to mush, and lethargy spread through her.
You’re fucking in for it now, she thought. Stay tight, stay off the bars, and wake the fuck up!
Anger helped to burn off more of the drug that ensnared her mind and body. Fear burned away the last of it when she realized she was well and truly caught. She was tucked inside a small cage, held by thumb thick vertical bars, coated in what she knew to be silver.
While clichéd and antiquated, silver to werewolves was as true as garlic to vampires: deadly.
Summer pushed herself up carefully. Despite the fear that made her hands shake, she carefully kept her limbs away from the bars.
Despite a part of her, a wild and furry part, telling her to bolt, flee, and run for the woods, she moved slowly so as not to spook the man who held his gun trained on her. She sat on her rear end, knees drawn up to her chest, and arms wrapped around her legs. She had two feet of clearance from the bars to all sides and it was at least three feet over her head as she sat, but she didn’t want to take any chances.
She sat quietly, looking at her guard and taking in the background. He was a younger man, maybe no older than thirty. She gave his handsome, sculpted jawline one look before tuning him out to take in her surroundings. The familiar tang of salt on a cool breeze or her overly neutralized townhouse was replaced with the earthy scent of pine, clay, and mildew. Her nose twitched at the mélange of smells; they smelled so much like home and pack that it almost hurt to smell when confined to a silver cage.
She looked at him again, watching his features in the dim light of several candles, waiting for him to speak. He watched her quietly, his gun still trained on her head but clearly waiting for her to make the first move.
Spotting a bottle, she gave a quiet cough. “Could I have some water, please?”
Summer wasn’t sure how she expected him to respond. Fly into a rage and start shooting? Start screaming that she was an unholy demon, surely “having congress with The Great Beast,” as she had heard before. What she did not expect was that he would give her one stolid look, grab the water bottle, and set it just outside the cage bars. Summer looked at him once, trying to read him. His face gave no hints as to what he was thinking. She uncurled and carefully put a single finger through the bars, tapping at the lid of the bottle until it fell towards her through the bars. She snagged it and opened it with the reassuring crack of a previously unopened top. She drank deeply.
“Why am I here?” she asked when she finished the bottle and he hadn’t attacked or shot her.
He didn’t answer, simply watched her.
Summer recapped the bottle, set it by the bars, and gently pushed it back through. Maybe if she survived the next hour, he would refill it. He watched her actions without a word or change in his facial expression. She scooted back to the center of the cage, studying him.
“So, are you going to shoot me?” she finally asked.
“Is that what you expect from me?” he answered after a considering pause.
“Yes?” She thought a moment. “Why else would you kidnap me?”
He laughed, actually laughed, flashing even white teeth. “It sure isn’t for ransom.”
Summer glared at him from her place on the cold concrete floor.
“Fine. It wasn’t ransom; it was a bounty. Did you know there’s a ten-thousand-dollar bounty for werewolves?”
Summer rocked back as if slapped. It wasn’t the easy manner with which he said the words; it was the tone that implied that she wasn’t human. That taking her life was worth ten thousand dollars and that he would clearly sleep comfortably with her in the ground.
“Why do you hate me?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t. You don’t hate a rabid dog. You recognize a threat and remove it.”
Summer blinked hard and stared at him. “And what about me has said I’m a threat?”
“Do you deny you’re a werewolf?” he asked, his hand tightening slightly on the gun.
Summer sat up straight and raised her chin slightly, “No. I am.”
“Then you’re a threat. While I admit you’re better behaved than I would have anticipated, you are a monster and in two weeks, when the moon is full, you will be unable to keep the monster in check.”
Summer glanced out the single window to the cloudless sky. “Two weeks? The full moon?”
He nodded.
“And what do you know of it?”
He quirked an eyebrow as if you say, ‘you’re really making me tell you?’
Summer rolled her wrist, gesturing for him to say it.
“Werewolves, once bitten, become feral beasts. They are at the mercy of the full moon, unable to halt the shift to their wolf form. At that time, they run wild, ravaging livestock and any poor bastard who crosses their path.”
“And when the moon isn’t full?” Summer asked.
“Human. The beast within rages, but they stay human,” he said with a quiet kind of regret.
It was Summer’s turn to laugh. “Oh! ‘The beast within’? What crap,” she said with a hearty laugh. “What horrible online blog have you been reading? Oh, god, tell me you haven’t been searching Reddit for werewolf lore? Tumblr? Where do you all get this crap?”
“I–” he swallowed, clearly unsure how to deal with his quarry laughing at him. “It wasn’t an online blog, it was my Grandfather’s books.”
Summer stopped laughing, “Oh, so killing innocent people is a family business then?”
He jerked straight upright. “No,” he said coldly.
“You have a lot to learn, boy.”
“Boy? Look, bitch–”
“Can it,” she cut him off harshly. “First lesson, learn the difference between a born werewolf and a bitten werewolf. You’re right, a bitten wolf goes feral in weeks.” She closed her eyes in regret. “When we hear about them, we’re usually able to put them down before they can cause problems or be ended by a Hunter’s bullet.”
He stared at her, mouth hanging open.
“Second lesson, and you’ll need to put your gun down for this one, if you’re born, not bitten, you can change any time.”
“Liar!” he shouted. His gun snapped up as he stood.
Summer, still sitting curled around herself on the floor, regarded the man who stood towering over her.
“You need a demonstration?” She looked out at the sliver of moon that still hung in the sky. “Fine. But put the gun down and sit your ass back in that chair. Besides, I’m in a silvered cage, what are you so afraid of?” she said in a mocking tone.
He ground his perfect teeth but sat back down, ostentatiously holstering his gun.
“And turn around. I don’t need you gawking at me while I’m naked.”
He raised one eyebrow again and crossed his arms.
“Suit yourself. Dick,” she muttered quietly.
Summer briskly removed her clothes, refusing to make eye contact as she did. She folded her the business clothes she hadn’t had time to change out of, making a neat pile at the corner of her cell. Summer crouched and closed her eyes. The air around her shimmered and she heard the creak of leather as her captor leaned forward in his chair.
Smells, sounds, and vision became sharper when she sat back down on her haunches. The small woman, trapped in a silver cage, had been replaced with a brown and gray wolf. She sat quietly on her haunches, front paws tucked neatly against her rear paws, tail wound around all four paws, not wanting a single coarse hair touching the silver bars.
Her captor’s eye bulged. “How? It’s a waning moon! I wouldn’t have gone after you if I knew you could change at mid-month!”
In answer, she let her mouth open and tongue loll out in a canine grin.
Enjoy what you just read? Please share on social media or email utilizing the buttons below, fans like you sharing what they love are what keeps this train rolling!
Want to read more works by Author KR Paul? You can find my first novel here and it’s sequel here.
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Just looking for wild stories of cave diving, ultramarathons, blacksmithing, or powerlifting. Yeah, I’ve got those too!
“How I Got Published!”
(Your Mileage May Vary)
It seems like every author has their “How I Got Published” story and many try to monetize it by adding a “and you can too.” But mine is just a funny story about instant success taking over a decade. I don’t think anyone can really learn from it and I’m not dropping pearls of wisdom, but it’s a little funny, so I hope you get some giggles from it.
The struggle is real, but the struggle is different for everyone. There are points of commonality, though… like, for instance, if you were trying to become a published author before the rise of e-books, it was very difficult. Thousands of authors were vying for a few literary agents. Literary agents, in turn, vying for the attention of the Big 5 (or Big 6, depending on when you started querying). I don’t have stats, but it certainly felt like, for every person who made it, 100 were turned away without more than a cursory “no thanks email.” Of those who got a “no thanks,” another 100 never even got that much of a response. It all felt impossible.
Yes, I was one of those poor writers sending my weekends researching literary agents, how to format a query, and sending off email queries. I might have been fortunate than most because I occasionally got requests for samples of my work and had a few stories completed that I could send along as I hoped to land a home for my first novel.
And that’s when I learned a dirty secret of the publishing world: marketability was king.
You need to be a good writer. Don’t get me wrong, you need to have a good book. But you also need to be marketable. And what I got back, when I got anything at all, was a “hey, this is good, but can you produce a book every 12-18 months?” As someone with a full-time job, the answer was “absolutely not,” and that’s where the conversation ended.
Literary agents are good people and the few I’ve met all wanted to do right by their clients. But this is a business and a literary agent doesn’t get paid unless the writer gets paid. So, at a time when traditional publishing was the only way (unless you were printing them in your garage… I’ve Seen Things!), it makes sense that they wanted a reliable author who could produce regularly. I felt hurt and angry when I realized that sad truth. I felt humiliated that I could be considered a good author but not be considered marketable. In hindsight, knowing what I know now, it makes sense. As the Godfather says, “It’s not personal, it’s just business.”
So, did I lead a writer’s revolt against the evils of Big Publishing?
I’d love to say I did. But honestly? I shelved my finished works. I kept writing in my precious free time, posting those works to free hosting sites, and kept my day job. (PS – I love that day job!) And where was that free site? Well, let’s just say I went with a site I could guarantee a readership, but most of my stories were … uhm … spicier than they are now. (My apologies to my editor and one of my betas for sometimes getting a literary eyeful with my early works. To my first beta, you found me there, so you knew what you were getting into!)
What? Don’t look at me like that! Many an author wrote for Playboy and even Hef himself noted that without the Bunnies, he would have only had a literary magazine.
While my writing may have languished in free site hell, there was a change coming. I offer my thanks for E L James and Jeff Bezos. They were the two driving factors in how I got published. First, Amazon was working to open the e-book market. Their start as a book distributor was morphing into more, including offering most titles as both paper books and e-book due to the availability of tablets and smartphones. Around this time, Ms. E L James turned her smutty Twilight fanfiction into a trilogy of books so naughty even I blush reading them. And it seemed like every Soccer Mom with a tablet or smartphone was reading it. E-books, unlike a physical book, meant you could read without anyone seeing the cover and therefore knowing that Karen and Jennifer were reading hardcore smut during soccer practice. Sales exploded and publishers realized the potential gold mine they were sitting on.
The market did what markets do, it adapted. There were now a greater number of avenues for e-books. Authors rejected by literary agents or the Big 5 (or 6) found they could self-publish (considered “vanity publishing”) and they didn’t have to spend precious writing hours querying literary agents.
They also rushed books out. The traditional publishing timeline became truncated when you did everything yourself, for good or for ill. Some writers found great success. Some found mediocre success. Some barely broke even. And some found they were, in fact, terrible at one aspect of publishing: writing, proofreading, or marketing.
The industry shifted again, making more room for indy and hybrid publishers who harnessed a split between physical books and e-books. Again, there were more avenues for new writers to get into the publishing world and without literary agents as indie and hybrid publishers scouted for their own niche talent.
And where was I during all of this? Still working and loving my day job. Finishing a master’s degree. Finishing a second master’s degree. Writing white papers for my day job. Writing academic papers, government and technical papers, but not putting much work into my fiction.
I was also hanging out on Twitter and meeting other authors. This is where my story seems to pick up again. I met my editor as he was finalizing his first novel. We chatted over Twitter, discussing our works. At one point, he offered to read my most recent finished novel, written in my free time while working on my master’s. On a whim, I sent it, never thinking it would be anything more than one writer offering constructive critiques of another’s work. I love constructive criticism and seek it out when I can. It makes me a better writer.
I sent the email in July of 2018, three years after I wrote the full novel, and never thought of it again.
I switched Twitter handles. Then I got an email: “Hey, checking in. Haven’t seen you on Twitter.” I explained that I had swapped handles, but no, I was still around and happy to keep chatting about writing.
And here’s where it gets fun and funny. That person I was chatting with? He was the editor of a new indy/hybrid publishing company. He liked my work. He wanted to add me as an author. Y’all he hand wrote me a note inviting me to submit my manuscript!
If this were a movie, you’d hear the record scratch and my narrator would say something like, “Without a literary agent, a querying process… what was she thinking? Did she know what was about to happen?” Then dramatic music would start playing and I would slow-motion walk away from an explosion while looking really cool.
I spent parts of my holiday break in 2019 furiously tearing through my draft, polishing it, and turning it into an acceptable manuscript to be considered by the publisher. (Yes, 1.5 years after initially sending the draft.) I didn’t have a lot of free time. I didn’t get a lot of sleep. I checked in with my girl gang, asking what pen name I should take. (For reasons, I can’t use my legal name when I publish fiction.) I only had a shred of hope this might be for real, but it was a chance I was willing to take.
I submit my completed manuscript on New Year’s Day 2020. I crossed my fingers.
I am unknown. I am a long shot. I’ve been told I’m “not marketable.”
My manuscript was accepted.
And the real work began. I worked to clean it up further. I sought other betas who provided great feedback.
Now the really funny part: my headshot and my contract.
My publisher asked for an author’s headshot, which is a totally reasonable request and part of a standard media kit. Unfortunately, when the request came, I was 4 days into a 14-day preventative quarantine for COVID-19. I was definitely not going to a studio for a professional headshot.
This picture? Not done in a studio. I did my own hair and makeup, skills I learned while competing in bodybuilding.
Where was this taken? In my bathtub. Yup, I wish my spouse had gotten a picture of me taking this picture because I had one foot in the tub, one on the lip of the tub, my butt up against the wall, and my arm resting against the other wall. It probably looked goofy AF, but it was great lighting!
Fortunately, I was COVID-19 free and was eventually released from quarantine, just when the state was shutting down. And guess what came in the mail? That’s right, my contract. The contract that was the key to my decade-old dream. The contract THAT NEEDED A NOTARY’S SIGNATURE IN THE MIDDLE OF A PANDEMIC.
But in my line of work, you find a way to get things done and I was not letting this opportunity pass simply because of a pandemic! I found the one and only notary still open, wore most of a hazmat suit to enter their building, and got it signed.
I may not have the most unconventional “How I Got Published” story, but it sure was wild and completely unexpected. I was rejected, but years of honing my writing in other ways meant that I was ready to run with it when the opportunity landed in my lap.
Even if I was running through a pandemic wearing a hazmat suit to get those papers signed.
**2022 Update: Since this was written, both Pantheon and Pantheon 2: Ares & Athena have been published. (You can read the first chapter of Pantheon 2: Ares & Athena for free!) I’ve also had a chapter in “To Boldly Go” published under my legal name with an invitation to participate in the team’s next project. It floors me that one conversation on Twitter opened the door for so much opportunity.
**2024 Update (pending): After a long and successful working relationship, my publisher and I parted ways in mid-2023. Unlike many authors who lose their contracts, I didn’t do anything naughty! Our parting was due to my publisher retiring and closing the company. I hope to have a few notes for fellow authors on how to navigate a publisher’s retirement that covers how to get your copyright back, reposting previously published works, and offer some insight into the cost of self-publishing.
What’s your “How I Got Published” story? Let me know in an email, comment below, or hit me up on Twitter.
Enjoy what you just read? Please share on social media or email utilizing the buttons below, fans like you sharing what they love are what keeps this train rolling!
Want to read more works by Author KR Paul? You can find my first novel here and its sequel here.
Want more than that? Follow me on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok. Stay up to date on the latest KR Paul news by joining our mailing list.
Just looking for wild stories of cave diving, ultramarathons, blacksmithing, or powerlifting. Yeah, I’ve got those too!
Becoming the Hero You Need: Part Three
The Mind of a Hero
“She needed a hero, so that’s what she became”
Welcome back to my three-part series on becoming the hero you need. The last two posts covered the body and heart of a hero. Today is the third of three posts and covers the mind of a hero.
The body of a hero is easy to define and there are examples everywhere: television, movies, and comic books. The heart of a hero is not as clearly defined, but if you do what you believe to be right, then you are on the correct path. But the mind of a hero is harder to define.
Are you the kind of hero who is a brilliant Brainiac? Do you let your muscles speak for themselves and make yourself the strong, quiet type? Are you the hero you need but best suited to following? Are you the hero you need and also a leader?
How you shape your heroic mind is shaped by what kind of hero you need, but it generally falls into two parts: self-education and expanding your mental horizons.
The self-education part can be broken up into steps as well. First, do you have formal education you are working on finishing? If so, keep working toward your goal. Get that diploma! And if you have free time, use some of the resources below to add to your current education.
Next is learning your own mind. When you can understand how the mind works, it helps to focus your studies as well as learning how the people around you are thinking and reacting. My two recommendations for self-study are Kahneman’s “Thinking Fast and Slow” and Cialdini’s “Influence”. Between the two, it gives a look at how the human mind works and how you can tap into some of its tricks.
Now that you have some idea how your own mind works, you can start tapping into the myriad of resources available online. With the rise of the internet, monetary means are no longer a bar to higher education. Ivy League schools are offering free courses online. Companies are pulling together the array of free courses and putting them all together. What was once the realm of the wealthy can be accessed by anyone with an internet connection. You can use these tools to grow your mind, so decide what your hero would know and seek that learning!
Finally, the mind of a hero should be open to other viewpoints. This is a touchy subject, especially in today’s current culture. We, as a society, have become more insular despite access to millions of people and their experiences. The Internet is a double edge sword, especially social media. The same tool that allows us access to the greatest libraries in the world, places to expand our understand and mindset, also allows messages of hate and exclusion to flow. How do you, as a growing hero, avoid its pitfalls?
Being open-minded, willing to hear the viewpoints of others, but wise to how the message is spread. If you did the work to understand how the mind works, then you know how people can use and manipulate it to push a message. You now have the ability to step back and examine not only the message, but it’s sender. Who are they? What is their motivation? Why are they providing this information? And finally, is this a fact or an opinion? Remember, it’s fine to state an opinion, but check their credibility to state the opinion.
Yes, even me!
So, by now, I hope you’re asking yourself how this could be applied practically. My best example is news media. It’s no secret that news media has evolved over the last thirty years. Each brand has its own political leaning and their stories are slanted to support their stance. So, with slant and shading in a story, how do you dig out truth and facts? My suggestion is to expand your sources when considering a story. If you are a fan of FoxNews, then look for a story covering the same event on CNN, and vice versa. Seek it on BBC news and on Al Jazeera even. But recognize the bias inherent in each source. When you can look at a story through multiple viewpoints and recognize the bias each report has, then you can start circling the truth.
This type of methodology applies to the stories people tell. In Robert A. Heinlein’s “Friday,” one of the characters states, “autobiography is usually honest, but it is never truthful.” The same applies to people. We tell a story that feels honest to us, but as you have learned, the mind fills in its own gaps, and an honest statement may still not be truthful. If you keep that in your mind, you can seek how everyone’s perspective shades their understanding, even yours.
Work to expand your perspective, learn from other people’s experiences, take in many sources, and don’t let your opinion of the world become a wind tunnel of your own experience.
Enjoy what you just read? Please share on social media or email utilizing the buttons below, fans like you sharing what they love are what keeps this train rolling!
Want to read more works by Author KR Paul? You can find my first novel here and its sequel here.
Want more than that? Follow me on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok. Stay up to date on the latest KR Paul news by joining our mailing list.
Just looking for wild stories of cave diving, ultramarathons, blacksmithing, or powerlifting. Yeah, I’ve got those too!
Becoming the Hero You Need: Part Two
The Heart of a Hero
“She needed a hero, so that’s what she became”
Welcome back to my three-part series on becoming the hero you need. When I first had the idea for this series, the world was relatively normal (for whatever that’s worth). Now, there have been brave folks shining lights into the dark and ugly corners of our society, and there is outrage. The word “hero” has been tossed around on social and news media and I go back to my first post:
“Let’s face it, we all need heroes. Heroes show us the very best of humanity. They give us hope. They give us an exemplar, something to which we can aspire. There are fine examples of heroes everywhere: television, movies, even news media. People who show us what heroism means.”
“But sometimes the hero you need is you. Sometimes you need to know that you are the one who can overcome adversity. The one who can stand up when you’ve been knocked down. The one who reaches a hand out to help others. Or the one who places an ideal above their own needs.”
So today, the blog will cover the heart of a superhero and what it means to be a superhero on the inside.
Last week, I focused on the body of a superhero. I clearly pointed out that comics and movies depict musclebound folks that have unachievable bodies. Even the winners of bodybuilding competition (with the rare exceptions of the natural leagues) require chemical assistance to achieve their look. Not every person can achieve that look. Not every person has the time, money, physical ability, or super-serum to achieve that look.
And that’s ok. Because in truth, what makes a hero comes from within. It comes from the heart.
Ask anyone who knows me personally and they will tell you that I am an MCU fangirl. I love it. I love that Marvel could create a plot arc spanning ten freaking YEARS. As a writer and storyteller, that’s amazing to me. There were plot points buried in stories that wouldn’t manifest for years. I especially like that it shows the two main male protagonists, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, as more than their superhero personas, Ironman and Captain America. At various points, both accuse the other that they are nothing more than a person in a costume and subtly question what it means to be a hero in their heart.
Eventually, in End Game, we see that both protagonists were more than the suit or the shield, they had the heart of a hero. We realize that Steve Rogers could (maybe always, thank Russo Brothers!) wield Mjolnir and Tony Stark was, in fact, Ironman.
It’s great writing, its excellent storytelling, and it makes us feel good to watch. But how does it apply to us mere mortals? How do we, who live in an unscripted world, become the hero we need?
First, look at the people you admire. For the sake of keeping this apolitical, I will refrain from naming anyone and ask that you just picture in your own mind who you consider heroes today.
Next, we should examine what makes that person or those people heroes: Who do you look up to and why? What is it that they do to make you consider them a hero? Are they strong? Do they stand up what they believe in? Do they do what’s right when no one is looking? Do they do what’s right, even when it’s hard?
Those are the marks of a true hero and we see that in comics, movies, and television. These are the big, climactic events that make for fantastic entertainment. However, there is more a hero can do. The little things that don’t make for exciting fight scenes and dramatic television.
What does the hero you chose do for their community? Stopping Thanos is great for the community, without a doubt. 10/10, would like to keep my neighbors alive. That said, we mere mortals aren’t facing down Thanos on the daily. Our fights are more significant, more wide ranging than a single, angry grape man, and we too can be heroes to our community.
It can be big or small. You can volunteer your time, your money, your expertise, and your labor. You can help a friend or neighbor in need. You can stand up for your neighbor. You can raise up your neighbor. You can help build your community. You fight for what your community needs.
Because in the end, isn’t that what all superheroes do? They don’t fight for themselves. The heroes we love, the ones we truly root for, they don’t do it for themselves. They fight for their friends, family, community. They reach for an ideal beyond themselves. They don’t reach up for the stars, they reach down for the hand of those knocked down, out to embrace their neighbors, and do what they can to better the world and community around them.
Go out and be the hero you need. Reach out, embrace your community, and make it better. That, my friends, is what it takes to have the heart of a hero.
Enjoy what you just read? Please share on social media or email utilizing the buttons below, fans like you sharing what they love are what keeps this train rolling!
Want to read more works by Author KR Paul? You can find my first novel here and its sequel here.
Want more than that? Follow me on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok. Stay up to date on the latest KR Paul news by joining our mailing list.
Just looking for wild stories of cave diving, ultramarathons, blacksmithing, or powerlifting. Yeah, I’ve got those too!
Becoming the Hero You Need: Part One
Super Hero Bodies
“She needed a hero, so that’s what she became”
Let’s face it, we all need heroes. Heroes show us the very best of humanity. They give us hope. They give us an exemplar, something to which we can aspire. There are fine examples of heroes everywhere: television, movies, even news media. People who show us what heroism means.
But sometimes the hero you need is you. Sometimes you need to know that you are the one who can overcome adversity. The one who can stand up when you’ve been knocked down. The one who reaches a hand out to help others. Or the one who places an ideal above their own needs.
This is the first post in a three-part series on becoming the hero you need and will cover the body, heart/soul, and mind of a superhero.
Think of your archetypical superhero: tall, strong, and muscular. Male, female, and everything in between, you have to admit that they typical superhero is jacked. I mean, straight up yoked my friends. And while the proportions seen in television, movies, and most especially comic books are way out of proportion with what a real (read: normal, unenhanced) human being can achieve, it’s not worth giving up the goal of the superhero body.
(Note: yes, there are some *ahem* chemical enhancements that can get you looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger, Ronnie Coleman, Iris Kyle, or Angelica Teixeira we’ll leave that debate for another time.)
Now, I’m also going to assume that if you are reading this blog, you followed me for my writing, not my bodybuilding and are not an expert in the wonderful word of building that super hero body. For that reason, I’m writing this at a very basic level. Already an expert on lifting techniques and weight loss strategies? Awesome! Let me know in the comments, I’d love to hear what worked for you!
I’m guessing by this point you’re thinking, “Kay, WTF? I will *never* get a body like a superhero!” or something along those lines. “I’m too fat/thin/skinny/unmotivated!” Let me tell you a secret: I definitely didn’t start off with a super hero body!
Did I love myself? Yes! Did I feel like a loved and valued member of my community? Yes! Did I love my body? Yes! Did I like what it looked like? No. No, I did not.
So, I decided to make changes that shaped my body into what I wanted.
But how?
At its very heart, bodybuilding comes down to two things: fat loss and muscle building. Unfortunately, it’s very difficult, almost impossible to both at once. So now you have to make your first choice? Do I want to build muscle first or lose fat? That is a very personal decision and comes down to your current body composition and how you feel. If you have a lot of body fat to shed, I might recommend starting there (after a trip to your doctor for a check up and any information you need about the current state of your health.) If you don’t have a lot of body fat to lose, then start with building muscle. If you’re in the middle then I’ll give you food for thought: muscle burns more calories than fat, is more dense, and can assist in the weight loss process later. You are unlikely to get the scale moving at first, but you will see changes in your body.
Let’s assume you, like me, decided to lose weight first. And let’s also assume that you, like me, know nothing about healthy fat loss other than what you’ve seen on television and social media. You have to do excessive cardio, eat no carbs/fat/grains/etc, and be miserable all the time. Also, don’t forget your detox pills, skinny teas, and waist wraps… right?
WRONG!
At its very heart, the only way to lose weight is for your calories in to be less than your calories out. More accurately, you have to create a calorie deficit to ensure your body utilizes its fat stores for fuel. Weight Watchers, keto, Atkins, Primal Blueprint, Paleo, Beach Body, the Zone Diet… all the diets of the world seek to create a calorie deficit, many by reducing one type of macro nutrient to lower overall calorie intake.
Wut?
Eat less than you burn moving!
At this point, it’s time for some self-education. I recommend studying up on how many calories you personally burn. Find your average, reduce it by about 250 calories per day, and lose a half pound of fat per week. 500 calories is a pound a week… 750 is 1.5 pounds per week. I don’t recommend or advocate losing more than that per week because now you’re getting to the unhealthy range and you will start sacrificing more of that precious muscle.
There are a plethora of ways to cut calories: reduce carbs, reduce fats, cut alcohol, cut soda, cut candy out. What I don’t recommend is going on a cardio binge. Why? First off, depending on how much you weigh and your diet, it may be impossible to create the deficit you need. For instance, if you eat a fast food hamburger, 600 calories, you will have to run an hour to burn it off. When I am well trained, I can run for an hour or more… but only if I’m training for it. Trust me, it’s easier to start by trimming down the diet, then working your way up to the exercise. (AKA – “You can’t outrun the fork”)
Now, eventually, you are going to hit a plateau: a point where your weight and fat loss stalls out. Likely, what has happened is that your body has lost enough eight that the small deficit you created is now what your body needs to maintain its current weight. Sorry, but you have to trim the calories back again. As an example, during the 16 week prep for a bodybuilding show, I usually have to tweak and reduce my calorie intake 4-5 times over the 16 weeks.
While you are trimming back the calories, I recommend a moderate amount of cardio and weight lifting. Firstly, it will burn that “calories burned” number just a little higher. Not a lot, so don’t think you can lift for an hour and then go eat a whole pizza! (Ask me how I know…) It will also get you moving towards Phase Two: Build muscle!
Oh muscle! That glorious, firm, and dense fiber that makes the shoulders round, the abs and glutes pop, and gives you legs for days! But, Kay, how do I build muscle! Glad you asked!
Lift heavy shit and eat.
Yup. This is why it’s incredibly difficult to cut fat and put on muscle at the same time. Unlike weight loss, you need to create a calorie surplus to build muscle. Oh, it’s just not fair!
The same way you figure out how much to eat to lose, do that same to gain, but instead of “cut 250 calories” add 250. I like 250 calories because while I’ll gain slowly, I find that I personally don’t put on as much fat as I gain muscle. If you are a larger person, you can add more because, proportionally, you need it.
Do I need a personal trainer? Well, that really depends on you. Are you willing to research basic, simple exercises online? (I recommend ExRX.net) Are you motivated and dedicated enough to go to the gym without having to pay someone to make you accountable? If the answer is yes, then go forth an conquer, hero! If not, or if you have underlying health issues, I do recommend at least a few sessions with a personal trainer to build a routine and learn to do the exercises safely.
From here it’s all about consistency. Become a regular at your gym. Make slow but steady progress. Be accountable to yourself.
Part of being accountable to yourself is tracking your progress. Whether you choose to lose weight first or build muscle first, this next section will help you keep accountable and track the progress you make.
Progress not perfection!
Not all victories come on the scale. Some weeks the scale won’t budge, but your pants will fit better, you’ll feel more energy, and you’ll notice the little things: the first time you realize you only have one chin, the first time you start seeing the soft lines that are the precursor to abs, or the first time your put your jeans from college on without a struggle.
Some other ways to track progress:
1) Track your weight. Yes, I know, I just said the scale doesn’t show fat loss, but it does give you an idea of how weight loss looks over time. Really, pay attention to the weekly change, don’t be as wrapped up in the daily change.
2) Track your measurements. Using the same spreadsheet, you can track the circumference of your chest, waist, hips, and arms. As you lose fat, you’ll see those numbers slowly get smaller. As you gain muscle, you’ll see them get larger.
3) Weekly progress pictures. My coach was adamant that I send a photo every Thursday morning. No matter how I felt or looked. Those photos were tough to look at and I didn’t see much change at first. But after a month, I could see minute changes. After three months, I could see my waistline narrowing. After a year, I was a different person!
It doesn’t come all at once. It took me years to finally lose the weight I wanted. It took me another two years to build up the muscle I wanted and I’m still building it up. (Gods, I love bulking season!) I’m constantly learning about myself: I’m cranky and always hungry when I’m <18% bodyfat, at 21% I’m the perfect balance between “looks good” and “energy for my day”, at 23% body fat I can run for days. How your body will react is different.
Listen to it.
Learn from it.
It takes a lot of work to build that superhero body, but it’s worth it!
Enjoy what you just read? Please share on social media or email utilizing the buttons below, fans like you sharing what they love are what keeps this train rolling!
Want to read more works by Author KR Paul? You can find my first novel here and its sequel here.
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Just looking for wild stories of cave diving, ultramarathons, blacksmithing, or powerlifting. Yeah, I’ve got those too!
Memorial Day: Human and Heroic
Today is a break from the usual as we honor military service members who paid the ultimate price. Memorial Day symbolizes our dedication and willingness to honor those who were killed in service to their nation, fighting for a higher ideal.
Today, though, we see that death is not always the final cost to be paid. For many veterans, the battles fought on foreign soil are not the end, they’re the beginning. Some of us find that what happens follows us home, and we haven’t just paid with our life, but our very soul, as we battle the demons who lurk within our own minds.
More than ten years ago, I gave a speech in Parshall, ND to honor those who lost their lives serving our nation, including my own friends. I posted it on a fiction hosting site I used at the time and surprisingly, it was well received. A decade ago, it made it to the “All Time Short Classics” list and I was honored by the positive response. It gave me hope that I was a good writer and could/should continue. I’m glad I did. Because now, I face my own demons; the little gremlins of pain that find you somewhere far from home and follow you back. Fortunately, my writing (and some therapy) give me an outlet and I’ve been able to beat the little bastards into submission while writing my third novel.
Today, I ask you to raise a toast. To honor those who fought and died, to honored the 22 per day who fought and ultimately succumbed to the demons, and for those of us still fighting to keep our souls and sanity.
To the fallen, human and heroic.
Below is the full speech. It means a lot to me as it gave me the courage to keep writing. It’s early work and a little rough, but I’m posting it with only two changes: removing my name/rank/job as it was from my time on active duty and the name’s of individuals involved the ceremony.
Good morning, I’m [redacted], but I go by [redacted]. I would like to start by saying how honored I am to be able to speak to you today. When the Public Affairs shop said they were looking for volunteers to speak they were so overwhelmed that they had to turn people away so I feel lucky I got picked.
The PA shop sent out a 5 page speech for us to use today but I found it overly formal and impersonal. They wanted me to emphasize the Air Force’s role in current war-fighting which I don’t find relevant to Memorial Day. I don’t think their speech adequately expressed how I feel about this holiday. When I talked to [redacted] I asked him what he’d like me to speak about he offered a few suggestions which I think I can better work with than informal PA stuff.
So who am I? Like you I am a warrior fighting for peace. I’m [redacted] and I work as an [redacted]. I’ve been stationed in 5 states, deployed once to [redacted], dropped munitions on 4 countries, and have been a proud member of the Air Force for 5 years. I’m the first person in my family to have joined the military since WWII. I’ve wanted to serve my country since middle school and have worked hard to get where I am today. I’ve never regretted any of the work I’ve done to get here because I believe serving my nation is one of the highest callings an American can answer.
I think I represent the next generation of war fighter. Children who grew up with video games and the internet are now employing some of the most advanced weaponry in the world. We’ve come a long way from Continental soldiers facing off against the British Army but one thing remains true: American men and women love their country so much that they are willing to lay down their life to its defense. In the words of President James Garfield: “for love of country, they accepted death.”
I think of this holiday as both sad and joyful. Sad in that we tearfully remember the people we know who’ve died in service but joyful for the freedoms we can continue to enjoy: Freedom of religion, freedom of speech, freedom of press, and freedom of assembly. I find this year’s Memorial Day particularly painful. On July 20th, 2008 the B-52 community lost its first aircraft in almost 15 years. This was a crash that killed everyone aboard including a classmate of mine from Barksdale as well as a friend who I’d been training and working with since the beginning of my Air Force career. The 6 men on board were honorable Americans: family men, fighting men, whose job was not just to fight our nation’s wars but to deter and dissuade foreign leaders from starting more.
Memorial Day is not just a day off from work. It’s not just a day for picnics, ballgames, family vacations, and relaxation. Memorial Day is a time for us to gratefully remember these heroes and honor the sacrifice they’ve made for us. Today should be a day to remember deployments with our friends, think back fondly to family barbeques shared together, or jokes told over a beer. Today I will remember my friends killed last year. I remember Bobby not only for being a hero to this nation but for being human. I will remember swing dancing with him in a dive bar in Texas and I will remember his love of America. I will remember Bull for giving me relationship advice after a fight with my boyfriend that helped us stay together, and last August, get married. I will also remember how his face would light up when he told me about past deployments and how much he loved his job. They, like every fallen soldier, are not just heroes but brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, and friends.
When I think about the men and women we’re honoring today I feel humbled. The accomplishments they’ve achieved are the cement and mortar of American history. The images that come to mind when thinking of Memorial Day are of the iconic photograph at Iwo Jima, Army helicopters swarming a Viet Cong camp near Cambodia, and Gunnery Sgt Michael Burghardt of the Iraq War defiantly flipping off the IED maker who had tried to end his life. Every one of these images show people who were everyday Americans but who chose to be more. Men who fought because they believed in America and know that war, while not good, is sometimes necessary. They came from different towns, different backgrounds, different generations but were united by duty and sacrifice.
So today, we honor my friends and yours as we do the more than 650,000 other soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines who’ve given their lives. With solemn ceremony and honest remembrance as who they were: honored heroes and friends whom we call brothers. Today we celebrate openly the emotions we carry daily in our hearts: humility in the face of their sacrifice, pride, and the fortitude to carry on despite friends lost.
What does Memorial Day mean to you? Who do you honor today? Let me know in an email, comment below, or hit me up on Twitter.
Enjoy what you just read? Please share on social media or email utilizing the buttons below, fans like you sharing what they love are what keeps this train rolling!
Want to read more works by Author KR Paul? You can find my first novel here and its sequel here.
Want more than that? Follow me on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok. Stay up to date on the latest KR Paul news by joining our mailing list.
Just looking for wild stories of cave diving, ultramarathons, blacksmithing, or powerlifting. Yeah, I’ve got those too!
Brick by brick:
Success from failure – luck, timing, and hard work
Anyone who knows me in person knows I’ve been struggling to become a published novelist for well over a decade.
That, my friends, is a big fat lie.
Actually, until this last month, there were perhaps five people who knew me in person who knew that. I never spoke of it as a dream because, like many of my dreams, it was so far fetched, it seemed impossible. Unlike many of my dreams, I had seemed to hit a wall.
I’ll admit I have shot for the moon more times than I can count in my life. I’ve applied for schools I didn’t think I had a chance of attending. I’ve tackled an Ironman 70.3 having never run longer than a 5k or bikes more than a few laps around my neighborhood. At 175lbs and 38% body fat, I decided I was going to become a competitive bodybuilder. I’ve free-climbed rockfaces that should have killed me. I’ve jumped out of airplanes. I’ve flown on combat aircraft. I sent dozens of solicitations and manuscripts hoping to find a literary agent willing to represent me.
Friends, let me be the first to tell you, I’m the best kind of crazy.
I trained for the Ironman 70.3 and finished just over my goal time of 8 hours. I buckled down over the next five years, completed another four Ironman races, and whittled my time down to 6:39. Not podium worthy, but a solid time.
I cleaned up my diet, started lifting weights, shed almost 50lbs, and stepped on stage in that sparkling bikini at a very lean 16% body fat and with the most confidence I’d had in years.
I applied to two schools I never thought I would be accepted into and by the end, many years and papers later, some of the papers I had written were required reading at Cornell, published by CSIS, and governmental agencies.
But a decade ago, I just couldn’t crack that novelist nut.
I finished my first novel. I edited it. I pour my heart into it. And every single literary agent I queried turned me down. Some simply never responded. Some wrote terse responses, politely saying “no.” Three were kind enough to say I had potential and ask for more info. I was so hopeful when I was finally able to start a dialogue, but I learned a hard truth: publishers at the time wanted authors from whom they could reliably get a book a year. Since I have the same job now that I had then, you can guess that I was not able to commit to that kind of schedule.
I forced myself to do some introspection then. Why did I write? What drove me to create these fantastical worlds? Characters that loved and fought and tore themselves apart only to pull themselves together to defeat The Greater Evil? Did I want fame? Money? Prestige? And the answer came down to two things: I love the craft. I love the world and character building. I love the weave and flow of a story. But, being frank, I’m also driven by prestige. I don’t think you apply for the schools I’ve attended, completed the races I’ve done, or step onto a bodybuilding stage without some hope for prestige.
To me, prestige was tied to the title “Author” or “Novelist.” But the crafting I could continue with even if, at the time, no publisher would take me. I did what many have done, I did a form of self-publishing.
I learned a lot. First, I’m not as careful an editor as I should be. But along the way, I’ve found fantastic betas readers who tell me what I need to hear, not just what I want to hear. And I grew from it.
I learned more about reading my audience and giving them the stories they craved while keeping them true to the stories I wanted to read and write.
A fistful of master’s degrees, three theses, infinity class papers, and a peer-reviewed journal article taught me more about the technical, grammatical aspects of writing as well. (All apologies to my classmate who labored through what they called a “passive split infinitive unicorn”!)
A decade’s passage also saw a paradigm shift in the publishing industry with the ride of the now ubiquitous e-reader. Authors no longer were tied to The Big Five, slogging through lists of literary agents and vying for representation. They could, for minimal effort and a modest payment, publish their own works directly. Some were successful, others were not, and in a free(er) market, the quality of writing was paramount.
Through all of this, I had kept up with my writing. I wrote for school. I wrote for my job. I wrote for fun: fantasy, science fiction, and… err – spicier… topics. 😉 But I realized that the same approach I had taken with triathlons and bodybuilding was paying off here. The changes you want to see don’t come overnight. Triathletes talk “brick by brick”: building your stamina and endurance one workout at a time. Bodybuilders talk “progress, not perfection”: your physique changes are slow and you are never “perfect,” you simply strive to improve what you have. And it was working for writing as well.
I kept writing and building up the number of fully-fledged novels. I even gained a small level of the prestige (maybe notoriety…) I sought. One of my short stories has been on the top ten list on one site for over a decade. My writing style bled into a modest Twitter following (on a now deleted account). Which led me to where luck and time sometimes collide with preparation to build success. I met DCR via Twitter, under my old handle. He found me again on my next one and we talked about writing. Finally, in a moment of pure fancy, I shot him a sample of my work and crossed my fingers that I wasn’t making a fool of myself.
I told ya’ll, I’m the best kind of crazy. But apparently, my luck (and a decade of building my writing skills) paid off. I’m pleased to announce that my first novel is being published this fall!
At some point in the future, I’ll post about the absolute sh*t show that was getting everything together while on quarantine from COVID-19 and trying to find the only notary open in my state during the lockdown.
But for now, my take away from this is that lessons from hobbies overlap. Build your skills and power brick by brick. Seek progress, not perfection. After all, perfection is the enemy of good enough!
What do you think? Is progress enough or should we seek perfection in our writing? Let me know in an email, comment below, or hit me up on Twitter.
Enjoy what you just read? Please share on social media or email utilizing the buttons below, fans like you sharing what they love are what keeps this train rolling!
Want to read more works by Author KR Paul? You can find my first novel here and it’s sequel here.
Want more than that? Follow me on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok. Stay up to date on the latest KR Paul news by joining our mailing list.
Just looking for wild stories of cave diving, ultramarathons, blacksmithing, or powerlifting. Yeah, I’ve got those too!