Open letter to fat people...

I am going to vent. I am not a counselor. I am not trained in anything. I am just a guy with opinions. This IS the internet, and there is no more fertile soil for the insane ramblings of a moron than the internet, so I feel I have come to the right place.

This is sort of a wakeup call to fat people. There are many common hang ups that we need to address together. This will be a short post.  But I believe most of us who are overweight share some of these… some day to day issues that plagued me for a long time, and I know plague many of you. I didn’t always have my current “pay ‘em no mind” attitude towards the world… I spent so much of my life paralyzed by my own physical condition. “Paralyzed” may be the wrong word… “hyper aware” of the perception of my physical condition is probably a better way of putting it. Here are a list of things I want to set straight for all of you…

-          - The alternative to “being obese” isn’t “being anorexic”. So when you say, “At least I am not some skinny anorexic bitch”, what you are saying is “I prefer my way unhealthy lifestyle to some hypothetical negative alternative lifestyle. Oh, and I want to judge someone for perceived judgments they may or may not be making of me”.

-         -  Fat guy at the pool… take your shirt off when you swim. Do you really think your soaking wet, vacuumed sealed t shirt is hiding the fact that you are fat. I assure you, it is hiding nothing. In fact, it is putting a spotlight on the fact you are insecure about it. Pop your top! Get some sun. Be happy.

-         -  No one is watching you eat ice cream in public. Stop being self-conscious about it. The feeling you perceive as being judged for your quadruple scoop of chocolate fudge swirl is actually your own conscious telling you that you probably do not need to be eating this.

-         - You know that feeling when you try on nicer clothes that are marked as your size, and they are too small…. That is not an accident… many designers do not want us tarnishing their image by wearing their brands. Seems shortsighted because 97% of the public is fucking fat. You’re leaving money on the table people!

-         -  Spoiler alert: your knees hurt at night because your weight is higher than nature intended. For those of you who are religious, what I am saying is, God didn’t make our bodies strong enough to support how fat we are. Taking this a step further, this means he never fathomed we would get to this point. He’s all seeing, and he couldn’t have predicted how fat we have gotten.

-        -  You know how every time your chair squeaks and you get paranoid that everyone thinks you farted? Guess what… in this case, it is not paranoia. Everyone thinks you farted. Settle the fuck down though. We fat people usually got fat by eating bad food, and bad food is a huge factor in inadvertent farts. Also, anecdotally speaking, it probably was a fart, and no one believes that chair made a stinky squeak.

-        -  That feeling you have that you are invisible to the opposite sex… that’s kind of a shitty hypocrisy. You are making superficial judgments about how other people MAY be making superficial judgments about you. This does not mean you are wrong... just means you are a hypocrite.

I had to vent. So much of the stigma of obesity is contrived by the obese themselves. And letting other people’s opinions dictate your level of comfort wont be solved by losing weight. Fit people give the locus of control to strangers as well. Your weight isn’t why you are insecure or unhappy… being a fucking person is why you are insecure or unhappy. Just shut up and be what you want to be.

Most importantly, if anyone judges you for being fat, they can go fuck themselves. People judging you speaks more to the judge’s character, than to your character. Don't let the bastards grind you down. You are in a competition with yourself, not with every asshole with a voice. Remember… Work hard, do rad shit.

“Its so much easier to sculpt a mask than go without one…”

The best part of writing about the mental struggle and insecurities that come with being fat are the conversations that have come out of this. Well, the best part is that I get to treat this like “an evening at the Improv”… like I have a microphone and get to shout every thought at you. But the second best part, are the conversations that have been started through the process. I don’t know if all people do this, or if it’s something that only happens to the insecure, but sometimes a simple phrase will stay with me for months. Usually it’s a negative phrase. Something that someone says without thinking… or even says without intent. For some reason their words will catch you just right and sink deep inside you. When this happens to me, I will define, and redefine every word, and try to nail down the true meaning of the sentence. The funny thing is, I will spend months breaking down the statement that the deliverer of the sentence forgot saying within 2 minutes of saying it.

I believe so much of my insecurity and struggle can be boiled down to creating relationships and ordeals from innocuous statements. I can’t tell you how many times I must have applied more value to someone’s statement, than the person did who said it. This type of thing rarely happens in a positive way. At least for me. This past week, I got to experience a rare instance of this happening. A statement was sent to me, that I have been dissecting and dwelling on, that gave me a great deal of perspective.

“Its so much easier to sculpt a mask than go without one…”…

To give this statement context… I had an Instagram chat with one of those cloying over achievers (this statement will be revealed to be a shitty judgement soon… just wait, I come off as an asshole soon). If we did a plot point graph, she would be as far away from me as possible. Polar opposites. She is in amazing shape, and energetic, and beautiful and deep… and I am… hmmm… I guess I can best be described as Eyore, from Winnie the Pooh, after he eats thanksgiving dinner. For instance, if a building was on fire, she would scale a wall, dive through a window with a double front flip, and come out holding four people and two cats. I on the other hand, would lay in the lawn, look at the fire, and mutter “oh bother” as I rub my bloated tummy. However, during our conversation, I realized our plights are identical. She revealed to me that she lived her whole life as the tiny one… the weak one… someone who “couldn’t lift a suitcase if it was full”. She talked about how that made her feel. How insecure and helpless that can feel. How one day she just decided to take control, and change the aspect of her life that she didn’t care for. Her description of her struggles, and insecurities are exactly the same as mine. She felt undervalued at times. She felt that sometimes she was defined by physical traits that she didn’t care for. It made me feel so shallow and arrogant to think that because she is pretty, and in amazing shape, that somehow she didn't earn her current condition. How shitty of me to talk about hating feeling judged by my physical condition, and then turning around and judging this woman. That’s when she wrote about feeling like “Its so much easier to sculpt a mask than go without one…”… I spent a few days thinking about how true this statement is. How real change is hard. Pretending to be ok with your demons is so much easier. But is it? Is it "easier".. .

When I started this post by talking about how I dissect messages, I wasn’t fucking around.  After dwelling on this phrase for a few days, I eventually got stuck on the word “easier”… “easy”… I guess the meaning of her statement, lays in your definition of the word “easy”…

Is it “easier” to pretend to change, than to actually change? Is it “easier” to pretend we are ok with ourselves, instead of doing the work required to improve? Is it “easier” to cohabitate with our demons, than to overcome them? Absolutely not… Maybe the action of ignoring the problem is easier in the moment.. but god damn it, living with a sense of failure is hard. Living with a prolonged sense of self marginalization. Living with an inferiority complex. These things are not “easy”. While the actual act of self-improvement is hard, nothing is harder than living your entire life feeling you aren’t good enough to overcome your faults. Nothing is harder than the feeling that comes with nurturing your own self-loathing. Easy, and hard, are given value by each and every person according to their own perspective. These words have a nebulous definition. 

This simple statement that this woman made, a woman I don’t really know, had more depth than she could have known or intended. Like I said, its rare that his type of unintended impact comes in a positive form. But this one has definitely stuck with me. I want giving up on myself to be “hard”. I want the idea of feeling marginalized to myself to be “hard”. I want the feeling of not maximizing my own potential to feel "harder"… I want feeling good about myself to be "easy"… I want the feeling of pretending to be ok with my demons to be "hard"… I want the feeling of celebrating the small victories that come on the road to success to be "easy".

During my conversation with this woman, I was watching some videos that she had posted to her instagram. In one video, i kid you not, she was doing pull ups on gymnastic rings while holding a medicine ball straight out in front of her between her feet… bent 90 degrees at the waist. It was almost like a Dr Seuss scenario… she was banging her tumtumpler and tooting her zoozooler while balancing a dish with a fish on the mop on top while she hops.  After muttering “go fuck yourself, this is dumb” under my breath.. mostly because I can’t do a single thing she was doing in her video, things she was doing all at once. I realized what a piece of shit I can be. This woman just opened up to me about how hard this journey was. She opened up about the importance she placed on finding how capable she was to do things she had always felt inferior about not being able to do. And my instinct was to shit on what she was doing. Why? Because she is better me? I guess that’s a statement of fact, and not a question. “I shit on her accomplishment because she is better than me”… what a prick. I hate that this was my instinct. ß I want that feeling to be the hardest thing of all.

At the end of the conversation this woman and I decided my motto needs to be “Work hard, get to do rad shit”

Me and Billy Ocean impregnated the whole room with sexuality

Music plays a big role in my life. Don’t read this and have a smug reaction. I know so many people who listen to music almost as religion. It is the back drop to everything they do, and the lyrics even influence their thoughts. I am not this guy. I have different music for different moods. But becoming aware of my mental barriers, also means becoming aware of my mood.

I am a naturally jovial person. I am the stereotypical jolly fat man. I should be sloshing wine around and eating a turkey leg and cracking jokes at all times. But some days I just don’t have “it”. Some days I need something extra to pull me out of a funk, or settle me in, or even bring me down if I am too high. I have created several play lists, each with a different job

Everyday gym music.. meant to help me zone out and be centered

Gym playlist 1 is  a lot of music like:

Busta Rhymes: Put your hands where my eyes can see

Tribe called quest: Electric relaxation

DJ Kool: Let me clear my throat

Missy: Get your freak on

Sir Mix A Lot: Posse on Broadway

If I am feeling sluggish and need a pick me up

Gym playlist 2 is a lot of angsty antiestablishment stuff (I fully understand the hypocrisy of a middle class white 40 year old, who works with banks, listening to music about oppression)

Tribe called Quest: We the people

Rage Against the Machine: Gorilla Radio, People of the Sun, Kick out the Jams

Public Enemy: EVERYTHING THEY DO

But today required something different. I needed something that would make me insane… make me dance around the gym. I feel amazing today, and it needed to be represented in my music.

Gym Playlist 3.. .get loose now music

Bonnie Tyler: Total Eclipse of the Heart

Erasure: Ship of Fools

Fine ass Taylor Dayne: I’ll be your shelter

On the surface, playlist 3 is fine. Its just another of some middle aged jerk off dancing around the gym while listening to ridiculous and cliché music from his childhood. However, today was accidentally different. I went too far. I don’t know at what point the situation got away from me? Or if it was just TOO perfect a playlist, but when we got to Billy Oceans, Caribbean Queen and Billy belted out about “painted on jeans” I was projecting out so much positive energy and sexuality that I feel it effecting everyone in the gym. I was like a beacon of sexual energy, projecting outward like the mother fucking sun!!! Do you know how many people are going to get laid tonight because of the pure energy I was projecting outward. You’re  welcome, everyone. December 24^th, 2018, will see a huge surge in babies born around Beaverton Oregon, and everyone has me and Billy Ocean to thank. Merry Christmas everyone!

White trash disease

I need to work on my brain. I am having odd reactions to being cheered on. I didn’t expect this. I have been incredibly outgoing my entire life. I love chatting with all people all the time. It’s one of those qualities that I must radiate out. My friends and I have long chronicled the phenomena of just how often I am stopped on the street by strangers to chat. I had to stop wearing baseball hats for a while because when I wear them, at least 1 stranger per day felt the need to stop me and comment on the team represented on my hat. The point being that I love attention, and apparently everyone can tell. Hell, at the gym I have to pull my hat down over my eyes and put on an angry face in order to be able to get through my work out without stopping to chat.. as soon as I see an opening to chat, I take it. I have to come across as totally unapproachable. Although, as angry and standoffish as I look, that would all be hollow to people if they knew I was listening to Cindi Lauper and Elton John. I feel like I am always one accidental outburst of “ROCKET MAN!!!!” away from blowing my cover.

This being said, I have found that I am having an unpredictable response to positive attention… the positive attention is making me wildly uncomfortable. It’s almost as if I have developed an attachment to feeling unhappy with myself. My own perception of my physical health is obviously unhealthy and leading me to process peoples kind words in a negative manner... it’s not OK to be uncomfortable with people supporting me. I have built such a negative connotation around my health, that when people congratulate me on progress or try to cheer me on, my instinct is to feel they are patronizing me or lying.

I tend to live inside my own head. My own perceptions not only become my reality, but they project outward so blatantly obvious… I wear my insecurities on my sleeve so much… that I think I am unwittingly creating other peoples realities as well. This is not exclusive to me. I think most overweight people do this. No one is judging us, I feel WE are judging ourselves and then projecting our own self images onto other people. I wonder how many of our failed efforts to lose weight and get in shape were doomed by our perceptions of ourselves? Failure being a self fulfilling prophecy. My low self-esteem about my physical condition… my own feelings of  being unattractive… became so ingrained in my own mind, that I almost have made it part of my identity.

I need to get more in touch with the idea that my physical condition is not part of my identity. This also has been extremely relevant during my training sessions. Something happened that reminded me I have “white trash disease”. White trash disease is the act of meeting any perceived slight, or challenge with the reaction of “you think you are better than me”. This is helping me overcome the hindrance that comes from my own self-deprecation. But is this really a healthy alternative? Yesterday my trainers response to me cutting a set 3 reps short of goal was “good job… you got everything you could out of that set”… I instantly wanted to spit in his dumb fucking face. “You think that’s all I can do? You think you’re better than me!!!”.. and I instantly sat down and picked the weights back up and forced myself to do 5 more reps. The funny thing is, as I look back on the interaction, I feel he was genuinely happy with what I had done. My instinct was to think he was lying to me.. judging  me. While I used this feeling as a tool… it’s not ok. Had I been alone, I would have stopped my set whenever I felt I had done enough and never would push myself. I don’t expect enough from myself, because I have built in the idea that I don’t deserve to be in shape. I have turned the idea that I can get in shape into some insurmountable peak that I will never climb. I wonder if subconsciously I am afraid to lose weight? Maybe I get in my own way, because I associate so much of my identity with being overweight? 

Someone once told me "You seem scared to test yourself because you are so sure you'll fail, but I always wonder why you don't try more things, because I know you'd be successful at anything...". I wonder how many people reading  this have felt this way. How many overweight people struggle to regain their health because being unhealthy becomes part of our identity. How many people struggle because success is not their expectation. 

This is a big part of why I have decided not to weigh myself right now. The number becomes a living breathing thing. I feel it’s all I think about. I see that number shade everything I do. Instead, I am using non scale measurements of progress. Is my endurance better? Are my clothes fitting better? Am I doing the things I need to in order to be healthy (eating right and working out)? Do I have more energy? I have so far to go in terms of weight loss, that the number doesn’t hold a lot of significance today. I need to lose 657lbs, if I lose 3 lbs this week I only need to lose 654lbs, how does this help me. It just feels so daunting. (the real number of pounds I need to lose is probably closer to 60-65lbs, but I round up to the nearest 657^th place.. for accuracy).

I don’t think its healthy to allow my neurosis and self-esteem issues to be a tool. I need to overcome my mental blocks. I also need to remember not to allow my weight to have so much power in my life. I need to remember to paint, and make spicy pickles, and learn to sew jammies, or whatever I need to do allow myself to be a more well-rounded person. My weight issues need to be something to overcome, and no longer be something I associate with my character…. Or who I am as a person.

Better class of "likes to be naked guy"

I know the idea of “naked” in the title of something I am writing is nerve racking. Anyone who knows me probably opened this link with one eye closed in apprehensive dismay. But “likes to be naked guy” isn’t a reference to me. “Likes to be naked guy” is bigger than just me. He exists at every gym in the country. “Likes to be naked guy” is more of an idea, than it is a person. “Likes to be naked guy” is the guy in the locker room who lingers, chats, and frolics around the locker room completely naked from head to toe. I am no prude. Notice I didn’t even approach this topic in a negative light. Likes to be naked guy is better than you or I. Freer. To all of you judgers out there, put down your gavels. There are two types of people when it comes to locker rooms… how do I put this politely.. those who keep their animal leashed, and those who let their animal roam free. Neither are wrong.. it’s really just a personal decision based on your animal’s needs.

In my experience, most “likes to be naked guys” are between 50-75 years old. Of course some are younger, and some are more gratuitous, but for the most part “Likes to be naked guy” is just a free spirited guy who is too old to give a damn about covering up. Now, their nudity doesn’t feel like a relevant topic of conversation on the surface. It’s a damn locker room.. it’s a room full of people changing. This is different however. “Likes to be naked guy” doesn’t just modestly change his clothes at his locker. Hell, he isn’t even the guy that strips at his locker, and then struts nude to the shower. “Likes to be naked guy” takes it to a whole new level. If this was like the “Family Circus” comic strip in the Sunday funnies, and you could see a little serrated line showing his path, the path would wander in and out of every locker bay, it would show him stopping at the mirror to pick something from his teeth (with his piece resting on the edge of the sink mind you), it would show him wandering in circles over by the showers, and show where he stopped to bend over to pick things up off the floor… scraps of paper and such.. what a wonderful little helper he is.

While a nude frolicker isn’t something I generally care about, good or bad, something happened today that reminded me of the previous gym I was a member of. See, I belong to gyms that are actually health clubs. I pay a little more for my gym experience, because I care about the amenities. My current club has a hot tub, and adults only pool, and a bar, and a higher class of “likes to be naked guy”. The  difference between the “likes to be naked guy” at my club and the one at a cheaper gym is the same as the difference between a Mercedes and Honda. Both are great, but the “likes to be naked guy” at my gym is just a sleeker, sporty, maybe a few more bells and whistles.

So flash back to 3-4 years ago, at my past club. At every club I go to, I like to choose a locker near the seating area in the locker room. I like to listen to whatever sporting event is on the locker room TV while I get dressed. This particular day.. damn, I remember it like it was yesterday.. I was listening to the Masters. I love golf, but not enough to skip activities I love in order to watch, just enough that when its on I like to look and see how its going. I wasn’t able to get in a locker bay where I could see the TV, but I could hear it from where I was. I don’t remember who was setting up to putt, but I distinctly remember leaning over to hear the crowd’s reaction as the putt was being struck, and just then the TV channel started flipping. I was a bit annoyed, but no big deal… until I heard the channel come to rest on Saturday morning Sports Center… whoa whoa whoa, did someone really just flip the channel from live sports to sports highlights? WTF! Besides, it was 2013 or 2014… pick up your phone and google the score you want to see.

At this point I was wrapping up my routine, and getting ready to leave, and I decided to look and see who was flipping channels. Just curious. When I walked around the corner, there holding the remote was a completely nude man. “Likes to be naked guy” had officially toed the line between adorable scamp and borderline creeper. I cant even watch TV nude in my own home, let alone stand naked nonchalantly flipping channels. I take it back... nothing done while holding community property (the remote) with your hog out is “nonchalant”… its chalanter than a mother fucker. This was an unsettling feeling to me. I have a pretty strict “don’t put your dong on things I like to use” policy (I say “pretty strict” because no policy can be a complete blanket statement). But I am not an aggressive asshole. I am a passive aggressive coward. I would never confront someone to their face and judge their behavior… I would just anonymously blow them up on the internet 4 years later, like a man. But it gets worse. Before I left, I had to use the restroom. As I was preparing to leave after peeing, I had to walk back past the sitting area, and “likes to be naked guy” was now sitting bare assed on a soft cloth covered arm chair. That’s right, he had his bare testicles, and bhole on a soft cloth chair that he didn’t own. Although as far as I am concerned, that is now his chair. Forever. His chair. To make it worse, the remote was also resting in his lap. And to make it yet even MORE awful… he was wearing flip flops. That’s right, he was more concerned with peoples germs getting on his feet, than he was about smearing his penis on things we all use.

Fast forward back to today. My current gym has a few “Likes to be named guys”… all of which are nice guys. Totally respectful and polite. However, I have slowly but surely alienated myself with all of them. My PTSD over testicle-gate has created a scenario where I feel compelled to watch every move they make. I don’t want to reach over to grab a Q-tip only to find out later it had balls on it. But while “likes to be naked guy” tends toward the aloof side, they usually notice the giant dude following them around the locker room closely examining their every move. Its only a matter of time until one of the women in the front office of the club have to pull me aside to lecture me about harassing naked dudes in the locker room. 

I guess I should probably workout and eat right. Dumb

Now that I have the journal aspect of this process down, I guess it is time to start actually working out and eating better. Dumb. This goes against my nature. Remember when you were young, and you and your friends would talk about who you were in a past life? Everyone says things like… “I was a knight, because I am can beat up anyone”, or “I was a princess, because I like pretty things”, or “I was a 1920’s era gangster, because I don’t take shit from anyone”…

You know what I would say? “I was a minstrel who wore green tights and dumb fucking green slippers with a red feather on the heel and skipped from town to town telling tales and drinking wine from a dried bull scrotum that I use as a wine decanter”. I was born to eat drink and be merry. Its in my blood. 

This being said, I am pretty tired of the way my body feels. New injuries spring up all the time, for absolutely no reason. Its funny, I was at the gym today and ran into one of my trainers I work out with sometimes. She runs a weight lifting club at the gym. The weight lifting club happens to be 90% women. All 90% of these women are 100% bad ass. I don’t personally have that gene that makes me care when a woman out lifts me. I am not a goon. Bad ass is bad ass, and these women are all bad ass. But at some point, when I am laying on the floor purple faced and audibly moaning for god to kill me, a touch of misplaced pride kicks in and I start throwing injuries at the wall to see what sticks. When I saw the trainer from the class walk in today, she asked my how my back was feeling and my first thought was “Damn it, what injury did I make up for her… what was I trying to get out of doing”… but in this case it was a real injury… this made the conversation less awkward. Although I did tune her out half way through what we both were saying. She is one of those super in shape people who knows when fat people are lying to her. She pretends she doesn’t know, but it is kind of belittling to everyone. She knows we are lying, we know she knows, and yet we all just go along with it. She is too nice to just say “Shut the fuck up dude… you aren’t injured, you are out of shape and don’t want to do what it takes to get in shape”. I blame her… its rude to just let me stand there and lie to her. I kind of wanted to push her down. But she is way more bad ass that me, and I am sure the gym frowns on members getting their asses kicked by the trainers. By the way, they frown on fights but some dip shit was working out in jeans today and no one said a word. Jeans? Have some respect for yourself, sir. 

But I digress. Back to the point. As I lose weight, the real injuries have started to subside, and my need for the fake injuries has subsided too. The whole point of working out is to become healthier. That doesn’t just mean live longer… it means muscular skeletal health too. This has been a huge factor in what diet plan I wanted to pick. I want to lose weight, retain muscle, and fucking feel better. I have spent the last few months speaking to; 2 doctors, 3 dietitians, 2 trainers, and doing tons of reading, and I have found that I see pros and cons to several diet plans, and no one can agree on any one way to skin the cat. Or in this case, skin the fat man.

Keto, vegan, lean and green, Atkins, meal replacement, Jenny Craig… But out of all I read, I have decided on Ketosis. The basic, dumbed down starter kit science behind Ketosis is…

The body uses sugar for energy. When you eat carbohydrates (grains, sugars, etc…) your body converts the sugars into energy and stores the excess energy as fat. When you strip your blood stream of these sugars, your body starts converting excess proteins into energy… but when you starve your body of carbs, and limit the proteins you eat, your liver starts creating ketones which are kind of fat seeking missiles. In order to get your body into this process, you need to eat a diet made up of 75% fats, 20% proteins, and 5% carbs (from veggies, not sugar or grain). When your body creates ketones, the ketones go and collect stored fat to convert into energy. It takes a few weeks of carb starving to get your body to start creating ketones and efficiently start burning body fat… but once the changeover happened, I have felt like this diet has started to be as advertised. I am starting ot lose weight, and I feel good being off sugar. I don’t have the high energy highs and low energy lows. I feel more level throughout the day. I also don’t feel I crave food as bad. During this I have also noticed that dairy does bad things to me. Makes feel like garbage… so out it goes.

The only down side I have noticed to this diet, is I tend to burn through energy pretty quick during my workout. Apparently my body will become more and more efficient, and it needs to happen. The first half of my workout has been drastically different than the second half. But I have now been to the gym 9 days in a row, and my body is feeling noticeably better. Removing sugar has been huge for me.

Chris is a low class, no account, worthless piece of s***, and I have never even met him

When I close my eyes, I can see his smug face. That shit eating grin. It is almost impossible to clear it from my mind. For the purposes of this post, we will call this foolish asshole ‘Chris’ (because that’s totally his name and I am NOT going to pay him the respect of anonymity.. this probably isn’t at all cool of me to be doing).

What has this clown done to make me curse his name? Probably nothing

I hate this man, and I don’t even know him. Part of being overweight is that every interaction we have, and don’t have, is shrouded in the insecurity of perceived judgement. I know I am not alone in this. Whether it’s at the grocery store, visiting your kids school, or anywhere that is made up of meeting new people, every time an overweight person meets a new person, the interaction is polluted with the insecurity and fear of judgement.

I was first able to quantify this when I was a young man. I could be at the grocery store and reach for an apple at the same time as a beautiful woman. Our hands would bump, just for a second, just enough to feel the chilliness of her fingertips as we both picked up the produce. Our heads would turn and our eyes would lock like a living flesh version of lady and the tramp. At that moment, with both of us holding the same piece of fruit, our entire lives would flash through my mind:

I could see the entire trajectory of our relationship. Her apprehension with my appearance slowly fading away as she gets to know the real me. Her eventual and inevitable ascension into an almost unhealthy obsession with my incredible mind. We would buy a house with a white picket fence, and have 3 kids (Edward Jr, Samantha who we will call Sam, and Linus)… but one day I will come home to find her in bed with an absolutely beautiful Puerto Rican man, ironically named Eduardo, who while she is not emotionally involved with, she does sleep with him daily as a replacement for the physical desire that is missing form her life. Fuck this. Is this how I want to live? I cannot believe how betrayed I feel. The incredible level of marginalization and rejection she made me feel. I can’t believe I drove her to this by not taking care of myself. But I can’t blame me…

Fast forward to the end of my wildly upsetting fabricated reality. I come back to reality to find myself slamming the apple on the floor and screaming “NO ONE GETS THE APPLE, YOU CHEATING WHORE”. *side note… its not lost on me that I boiled her worth down to her physical appearance while standing in judgement of her perceived judgement of my physical appearance. Insecurity and anxiety are not born in logic, or fairness. If I was putting the proper thought into any of this, with a healthy brain, I doubt the interaction would even be an interaction and instead would just have been a thing that happened and I never thought of again.

These wildly unfair and completely fictionalized relationship arcs aren’t exclusive to attractive members of the opposite sex. This is where that piece of shit Chris comes in.

Chris has been a member of the same gym as me for 3 years. It’s more of a health club than a gym, and it is my favorite place. Chris appears to love it as much as I do and also appears to be on the same workout schedule as me. I have seen his dumb fucking face 4-5 days a week for 3 years. In the beginning we were both overweight dudes just trying to get healthier. But slowly he evolved into a macho bastard that is out to get me. If I set a PR in a workout, he inevitably will doing a similar workout, and he will be doing it just a little better than me. If I lose 1 lb, Chris loses 2. He follows me around the gym one upping me at every turn. He is so nonchalant about it to. He chats people up… he laughs with his friends… it’s almost as if he doesn’t even know hes ruining my life. But trust me, that son of a bitch knows. Over the past 3 years he has become absolutely shredded. He has like 10% body fat now, and looks amazing. He basically has set out on a mission to break my will by doing everything I am trying to do, but do it just a little better. I hate him so much that I am getting pissed just writing this. Worst of all, he does it all while acting as if he doesn’t even know me or that he is ruining my life.

This summer at the pool, same fucking story. I would be sitting out in the sun drinking my gin and tonic… I mean water… and surfing through the internet on my phone trying to decide which charitable organization I should be philanthropicizing the shit out of, all while making my tummy a delicious cocoa tan. And sure enough, this no account penis monger comes strolling out and gets in the pool and starts  walking around in the water. He appears to be stretching out, but ohhhh what a show he puts on. Strutting back and forth like a cocky peacock. We get it… you worked out soooo hard and need to stretch out your rippling muscles. GO FUCK YOURSELF. Thanks for ruining my pool time too.

It all reached a head this week. My trainer has been working me pretty hard. He has me doing workouts I enjoy and that keep me motivated. The best part is, because I enjoy the workouts he has me on, I find that I can’t wait to push myself on days that I am not with dreamboat Bryan. I want every workout to be harder, so that every day I feel a little better than I was before. Each workout is filled with me pushing myself harder and harder. Then on Thursday, 3/15/2018, at 11:35 am pacific standard time, it happened. I was mid-way through a set of bench press, and it approached me. That steaming pile of horse crap walked up behind the bench and spotted me. I finished my set and slowly sat up… it felt like it took me an hour to get on my feet and turn around. Like a scene from a Michael Bay movie… Chris’s shirt was slowly blowing in the wind, doves flew out from behind me. It spoke. “Dude, bro (he didn’t actually say dude or bro, but he feels like the type of dumb shit that would say dude and bro a lot, so I added them in because he must just be too dumb to have remembered. Besides, I am telling the story so fuck you, he said whatever I wanted him to say)… Dude, bro, I see you in here a lot. I love it. You are strong too. We probably should have started chatting earlier. It would be fun to be able to hold each other accountable and maybe have someone to spot each other now and then. Besides, I am friends with Bryan (my trainer) and I like having other cool guys to talk to when we come in.”

CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE THE BALLS ON THIS GUY!!!!!! Its not bad enough that he has been slowly breaking me down over the past 3 years. Now he has put me in  a place where I obviously have to fire the trainer I like. So I harkened my inner John Bender, from Breakfast club and I said:

Don’t you ever talk about my friends. You don’t know any of my friends. You don’t look at any of my friends. And you certainly wouldn’t condescend to speak to any of my friends. So you just stick to the things you know: Shopping, too small t shirts, and your fucking BMW. And as far as being concerned about whats gonna happen when you and I walk down the hallways of the gym together, you can forget it ‘cuz it’s never gonna’ happen. Just bury your head in the sand and wait for your fuckin’ prom.

Now, while proof reading this, I am sure it appears I just told you a story of two dudes who live completely separate lives which ended in me screaming at some poor dude who was trying to help me. But that’s… that isn’t… that’s not what happened. I haven’t been terrified to go to the gym in fear of judgement that wasn’t happening. I haven’t lived my whole life under a shroud of judgement that was actually born in my own illogical insecurity. I am not a narcissist who thinks people are hyper aware of my every perceived fault. I am a victim here people. I am the victim of a very well orchestrated attack on my ability to better myself. People obviously judge me at every turn, and want me to fail. Otherwise, if this wasn’t true, I have wasted so many hours of my life in competition with people who didn’t know they were part of a competition. I haven’t hypocritically been judging people on their appearance or out of jealousy of their accomplishments as a way to deflect the embracement of a perceived judgement I have unfairly projected onto them. That would be dumb

Remember:

             the devil doesn't come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns. He comes as everything you've ever wished for ... and sometimes he comes dressed as the guy at the gym who has accomplished all the things you have failed to accomplish and now makes you feel like the soft pink fuck up at the middle school nerd table at lunch.

It’s time to admit, I don’t know s***

So, I have completed the first step in changing my life. I have admitted that I have a problem. The problem is I have too much fat where I would like to have less fat. I have set up a healthy venting outlet and created this blog, as well as an accompanying Instagram. I guess all I have left to do is work really hard and eat better and stop being fat? Fuck.

Maybe my least favorite thing in life is “know it all-ism”. Anecdotally speaking, I find that there is a direct relationship between how authoritative anyone acts on any given topic, and just how ignorant he or she are on the issue at hand. Everyone has an opinion, and I find that usually that opinion is rooted in nonsense, bias, or jealousy. This goes double for fatties, not because we are double your size, but because of the stigma and self-doubt that go with being out of shape. Nothing hurts more than watching others succeed where we have failed. I am not a hypocrite. I am just as guilty of this as everyone else is. Being drastically overweight carries a social stigma, as well as a sense of desperation.

This being said, maybe it is time for fat people to stop acting as if we have all the answers. HEY… DUMMIE… IF WE HAD ALL THE ANSWERS, MAYBE WE WOULDN’T STILL BE FAT!!!! When having indepth discussions, I have spent a vast majority of my life wanting to “look right”, more than actually “be right”. I believe this goes for most of us. I don’t know that I have ever been a part of a discussion on weight loss that didn’t end with a thousand negative or defeatist side conversations.

“they’ll never keep it off”

“That diet is unhealthy”

“That’s a gimmick, it will never work”

Do the people saying these things, me included, not know that everyone hears what we are really saying. “I hope that person fails. I don’t want to be the only person who is fat.” No one is fooled into thinking that the fat guy is an authority on proper nutrition or fitness.

The truth is I do know enough about health and fitness to be in shape. It is my fault I am fat. My calories in to calories out ratio is bad. I am consuming too many amazingly delicious fucking calories, and not getting my ass to work out enough. However, in a moment of intellectual honesty I realized, maybe its time to seek help. Maybe the first step in this process is humility. This will be hard. Nobody loves me as much as I love me. I am confident to a fault. No one loves anything as much as I love me. But maybe it’s time I shut the hell up, and let other people help me.

As for diet plans:

1)      Does Jenny Craig work? Probably

2)      Does the Atkins diet work? Probably

3)      Does calorie counting work? Probably

4)      Does Keto work? Probably

5)      Does Paleo work? Probably

6)      Does a plant based diet work? Probably

7)      Do the meal replacement shakes you see on Facebook work? Probably (I actually know a guy who lost 100lbs on one of these and has kept it off for a year now)

As for Workouts:

1)      Does the gym work? Probably

2)      Does Crossfit work? Probably

3)      Does a running regimen work? Probably

4)      Do fitness class work? Probably

The fact is, eating right and exercising probably will make you in better shape than you are now. I personally hired a dreamboat trainer named Brian. He appears carved from stone and has eyes that are bright like the sun. Our first visit together was a consultation. It was during this consultation that I realized I am a fucking idiot, and kind of a dick. I am paying this man a substantial fee every week to get me in shape, and I spent half the meeting acting as if I already knew everything he said and the other half of the time poo-pooing the other what he said. Why? Why would I do this? I did this because I was being defensive. I did not want to look fat AND stupid, so I overplayed how smart I am, to compensate for how fat I felt. This also applies to why we like to downplay other people’s plans for improving their health. Does it matter if they fail? Does it affect us if they gain the weight back? NO! Cynicism is easy and lazy. Hope and honest discussion are hard.

My current theory on all of this… move more, eat better. Talk less, listen more. Maybe the key isn’t which program you pick, but that you pick a program. That you stick with a program. For now, I am choosing the gym because I like the gym. Maybe, just maybe, the method for improving my life, should be chosen by what I see as “improving my life”. The journey is part of it. And improving my life includes being a better guy, being less of a cynical ass hole, and burning energy in a way I feel is fulfilling. Something I can stick with. Its time for trial and error, and speak to what is best for me, as if its best for me… and not some all-knowing edict passed from god, to the world, through me.

My doctor needs a sense of humor

Part of getting in shape should include doctor visits. God damn does this last statement make me feel old. No person under 35 has ever started a process like this with that statement. You know who visits a doctor just because they have decided to start a physically exerting training process? Your dad’s friend who always wears white tennis shoes with tucked in polos… that’s who decides to go to the doctor before a workout program. I need to start calling my kid’s friends “champ” and drinking Folgers crystals. But I am 40. 40 year old dudes die for no reason. Fat 40 year old dudes are basically playing on borrowed time. Plus, I have a new doctor, so I may be in line for an extra prostate exam… fingers crossed!!

All kidding aside. I have had the hunch that something is wrong with me for some time. I think all fat people secretly want something to be wrong. A reason for being fat. I should sell t shirts that say “I have a thyroid issue”.. or “its glandular”.. most the time, when you hear someone say this, they are full of crap. Your thyroid issue didn't require you to eat 1000 CC’s of donut hole. Your glandular issue didn’t cause you to eat a large pizza as a snack. In my experience, most of us have weight issues because of behaviors. But as we get old, I see that more and more often, these physical issues really are the cause of weight issues. Some of my best friends have thyroid issues. Absolutely, all people should get checked out and make sure their bodies are working fine. I get the oil changed in my car every 3 months, and have a mechanic look over my belts and hoses.. why do I only get my belts and hose checked in an emergency. Living with a thyroid issue, or some correctable imbalance is unnecessary, and drastically effects your quality of life.

My favorite part of any new doctor visit is when they inevitably try to “scare me straight”. It never fails, they love to take my blood, and run tests. The idea being that when my cholesterol, blood sugar, liver enzyme, and other scores come back, they will be awful. The doctor can then use these scores as my own personal call to action. “Ed, you’re going to die if you don’t lose weight”. However, I do work out a ton. I do eat well for the most part. My current condition has not made sense to me. But because I do have good behaviors, my scores are always amazing (I included a pic of my stats to this post). So I love the look on my doctors face when I can see that their plan backfired. The look of “your scores are good, but I assure you, you are still too fat. There needs to be less people where you are obviously way to much people” (I believe when your weight passes certain points, you become plural. I am not a person. I am a people).

This time when I received my scores, I stopped and thought, “wait, if my behaviors have led to good vital stats, why do I struggle so much to lose weight”. My doctor actually agreed. He didn’t play me off as another doughy bastard grasping at any cause of my weight issues that could deflect responsibility from my own behaviors. My doctor felt something wasn’t adding up, and he ordered tests on my thyroid, and hormone levels. Sure enough, while my thyroid was fine… my testosterone was at ¼ of what is considered normal. Let’s be clear, I need to do an inventory of my diet and exercise programs as well. The low T alone probably hasn’t led to all of my issues. But there is no question that low T, this low, has most likely played a big role. We will soon find out how big a role.

So now, I am happy to say, I am a steroid user. Technically speaking, I am on testosterone replacement therapy. I am supplementing my diminishing testosterone levels, which is akin to someone taking meds to regulate their thyroid issues, or any other imbalance.

Side effects of low T include:

-          Decreased energy

-          Depression

-          Increased body fat reserves

-          Decreased libido

-          Significantly Increased risk for heart disease, some forms of cancer, osteoporosis, and even diabetes.

So it was a no brainer. I need testosterone, and I need the juice, NOW. Shoot me up, bitch (helpful hint, saying this to a doctor may cause them to decide to lecture you on “responsible medicine usage”)

Then my doctor read me the possible side effects of testosterone replacement therapy.

-          Oily skin

-          Stimulated prostate

-          Gynecomastia (boobs)

-          Prolonged erections.

-          Testicular atrophy

This created a ton of questions I needed to ask my doctor

1)      Will I get ‘roid rage?

2)      Will I just get super buff?

3)      Do I get backne?

My doctor stopped me here and said quietly, as he dropped his head in disgust, “I don’t think you understand what is happening here”.

But I ABSOLUTELY understood… “I am going to be running around town, super trim, oiled up skin, fully aroused for long periods of time for absolutely no reason, screaming at innocent bystanders, all while sporting the most glorious full perky breasts in town. I can’t fucking wait!!!! I am euphoric.”

He didn’t seem to enjoy this response. I give him a world of credit though. He simply went on to explain that if I am the small percent of people who grow cans (I can’t remember what he called them.. breasts, cans, boobs…), we have ways of correcting that with minor tweaks to your prescription. Whatever. Fat dudes have boobs too. I am sure we can fix this, I won’t worry about it. At this point I decided I needed to play ball and act right.. my doctor had no time for my nonsense. He said the most likely side effect was that I will find I get unexplained, and poorly timed erections. Side effect? Doctor, you have a wild misconception of who I am. Sounds more like my bday wish came true, and less like a side effect. Is there a “poorly timed erection”.. spoiler alert: Nope! He said “there are also ways of correcting this”. Settle down Doc, I experienced 7^th grade.. the answer for handling “poorly timed erections”, awkwardly strategically placed trapper keepers.

As for testicular atrophy… good! I am over having those things. I sit on them at least once a day. Even a minor graze hurts worse than a gunshot wound. I hope they do shrink. Good riddance to bad rubbish. These things are a nightmare. 

I began my injections following some more tests to make sure I was healthy enough to begin testosterone replacement. I am now 1 month into therapy, and no change yet. Apparently it takes 6-12 weeks before the benefits start to kick in. My doctor said, “this may feel like a long wait for the meds to start working for you, but this issue didn’t happen overnight. You have probably been dealing with low T for years. Instead of thinking about this as you waiting 6-12 weeks for your meds to take effect, just be happy you won’t spend another 5-10 years spinning your wheels fighting a battle that may have been unwinnable”. He’s right. Thank god I decided to start this process with a doctor’s visit. I have no idea how much of my struggle can be attributed to low T… but my doctor is confident I will see major changes with testosterone replacement.

Day 1… again… I am back baby!!!!!!

Weight has been an issue for me all of my life. A theme. Everything I have ever done has been set against a back drop of insecurity. In school I was always one of the overweight... no... FAT kids. Anxiety has forever been associated with what should be innocuous activities. As a kid, there was always the fear of being picked last, even though I never was. My anxiety is rarely cloaked in reality. It is born and thrives in my own perceptions of how my fatness was… fuck, “is”… perceived. I have NEVER sat on a piece of lawn furniture without the overwhelming fear that those tiny plastic legs would EXPLODE under my weight. This has never happened (oh, this is absolutely a lie… but I don’t have it in me to admit I once had the frame of an old metal lawn chair crumble up like a wet towel under me). Truth is, 99% of my lawn furniture experiences have been uneventful, but I still sit down at the speed of 1 inch per minute as I test the structural integrity. Even when it appears I am sitting, I am actually holding myself up with my legs for the first few minutes. Literally everything I do or say is effected by my current feelings about my physical condition.

I don’t think being fat has ever really held me back, and I wasn't morbidly obese, I was just fat. After I finished high school I became determined to lose weight, and get in shape. I don’t know what happened. I just woke up and said, “here we go”, and corrected all of my unhealthy behaviors. I started working out, eating healthy, and the weight disappeared. Just randomly, when I was 18 I set out on a one year journey, which ended with me losing close to 100 lbs, and finally I was one of the physically fit. ß I totally just lied here too. It was 110 lbs. Admitting this shit is hard. Admitting I even needed to lose over 100lbs is hard. The problem was, once I reached a weight I was happy with, I treated my weight loss as the end of a journey. My dedication to eating right and exercising gave way to my old habits. I found out the hard way, that there is no end to the journey. The journey just changes, the old goals  need to morph into new goals. From 19-20 years old, I weighed in at a dream boatish 170 lbs. I went from being addicted to food, to being addicted to mirrors. Then when I was 21, I was overweight again. Now I am 40 years old, and once again, I am the fat kid.

Am I as big as the people on TV weight loss shows? No! Few of us are. Biggest Loser, My 600lb life, 1 ton family. I watch these shows, not because I can relate to what they are going through. It’s a fish bowl viewing. I hate myself for watching these shows, but I can’t stop. I am a fat, fattist. These shows are not educational. I can’t relate my struggles to the struggles of someone who can’t stand up on their own. I am not 400 lbs +. I am one of the unfortunate majority who fall into the overweight category. However, “unfortunate” may be the wrong term. I did this to myself. I am not a victim. No one stuffed pizza into my mouth against my will (god, that would be awesome though). Lack of knowledge, and societal pressures did not lead to this. I eat a lot of deliciously bad food, and I love my sofa. That is why I am fat. I am the funnest guy in the room. I live to eat drink and be merry. But inside, I am sad that I have failed to be better. That I have allowed myself to be unhealthy or less attractive than I believe I could be. I feel a lot of people can relate to this. By the way, the fact that so many fat people are funny, or fun, isn’t an accident. Becoming funny is a mask for our insecurity. Its either learn to be funny or feel invisible to the opposite sex forever (a feeling born from reality). Teenage mental issues don’t magically disappear when you hit your 20’s. In fact, the mental aspect of being fat is much more of a factor than anything physical. My body works pretty damn good. I am not physically unable to work out or eat right. My brain gets in the way. I find that intellectual dishonesty and depressed thoughts are the biggest road blocks to my physical health. I allow other people’s perceptions of me, and semantics to define me. “Fat”, “obese”, “overweight”, “plump”, “porky”… these are all just words. Words are such unnecessary things to worry about. They only define me if I give them value by allowing them to define me. The worst feeling in the world, for me, is to be marginalized. Someone dumbing down their terminology to make me feel better, makes me irate. It tells me that you stopped believing in me. I am not overweight… I am fat. Who fucking cares?! I guess I do. We all do, but we shouldn't. It’s time to start taking back the power to define ourselves. Remove the value of the words we believe others may be currently using to define us, by not giving a damn. That’s why I will never use sunny, sugar coated words to describe myself or what upsets me. I don’t see feeling marginalized and allowing myself to remain overweight and unhealthy, as being easy on myself. I see it as giving up on myself. When people use "sugary words" there was a process they went through mentally to get to those words: 1) see the overweight person, 2) have a judgement about their physical condition, 3) decide the proper terminology as to soften the blow. This hurts way more to me, than had someone used a throw away term. The language we use, and definitions that others use to define us do not create reality. The facts do not change with the words we use. The reality is that there are some very dangerous health risks that come with being fat. Instead of spending my time fighting the terminology, I would rather spend my time repairing my physical and mental health.

I have attempted this journey so many times. I have failed every time. I almost always lose significant weight, and then gain it back. I have dress shirts in so many sizes (this really only is noteworthy because I love great dress shirts, and I hate that I can’t wear some of them). The continual ups and downs of trying and failing, and losing and gaining is fucking humiliating. I believe most people in my situation face sooooo many mental blocks at the start of a life change; Intellectual dishonesty, humiliation from the “here we go again” feeling, the sea of misinformation, the feeling of desperation, and most of all the lack of belief that this can be done. In fact, this isn’t even the first rendition of this blog. The mental blocks have had a hold of me for 20 years now. For me, writing about this process was the most cathartic thing I have ever done. I had so many people message me that they felt exactly the same things I was expressing. Solidarity in numbers.

Over the next year, or 18 months, or however long it takes me to lose 75-100lbs, I am going to document my journey. This time the journey won’t end when I reach my goal... it will just change slightly. And unlike the "reality weight loss shows" I don't have 5 hours a day to dedicate to training, or a nutritionist making all of my meals. I have a life. I have responsibilities, stress, and real world idiocy to deal with. I am taking a strategic approach to this process:

1)     Consult a Dr and make sure my body is working correctly.

2)     Consult a nutritionist

3)     Consult hot dudes at the gym to see what makes them so dream boaty

4)     Fix my brain, which is what is broken

5)     At some point I will probably have to work out and eat well… fuck