Grunty, thrusty, goodness

I am fatter than gods worst case scenario of how fat, fat people would get. That’s a sad state of affairs. I say this because my weight is breaking my bodies structural integrity. I have been struggling with some lower back issues for most of the past 5 years. I have the wonderful genetic gift of carrying all of my weight between my chin and pelvis. It’s like my body is building a giant front porch but the rest of my body is about as sturdy as a mobile home.  Considering I have been over weight for all but 2 years of my life, that means I have spent 38 years smuggling a bowling ball around under my shirt. At some points in my life, I have been smuggling bowling balls. Plural. As I get older, my body is less able to carry this excess weight.

The first issues came from the fact that carrying extra weight has compressed areas of my spine. Due to this compression I have had some bulging disc problems, as well as arthritis. Arthritis? Isn’t that for old people? Apparently, if you apply years of pressure to carbon, you get a diamond. If you add years of pressure to your spine, you get a shitty spine that is 30 years older than it should be. There are days when my lower back is so swollen and sore, that you can actually feel a giant bump at the base of my spine. Wait, I can feel the swollen bulge… ME… I can. Please do not just walk up and rub the top of my butt. Fuck it, if you want to, you can too. This was almost selfish of me. You all get booty rubbing carte blanche.

Another issue with spending years overweight, is that carrying extra weight in your gut causes your spine some stress during what should be innocuous movements. Its basic anatomy. Your vertebra are designed to cover a certain distance when you bend your back. Add extra weight to your torso, extra mass, and those vertebrae have to stretch and space out further to allow you to bend over. This can lead to degenerative disc disorder, and is taxing on your musculoskeletal structure.

I have also noticed that in order to carry the extra weight, I have compensated for the added strain by adjusting my posture. I stand in a way that helps relieve the pressure on my knees, hips, and back… but  this has caused my muscles to develop different than they were intended. My posture is horrific due to the strain of carrying excess weight. When I was younger, my body could adapt to my new stance. However, years of bad posture and strain from supporting excess weight has caused so much pressure on my back that the muscles have had to “relearn” how to support my body. Our bodies do what they have to in order to adjust to injuries and ailments. Being overweight is no different. Our bodies adapt to changes, good or bad. My body has changed how it supports itself due to the excess weight I have, as well as the way I carry it. Also, grab a weight and hold it on front of you. Now start extending your arms. As you hold the weight further and further from your body, it puts more and more of a strain on your structural support. This is no different with your body weight. The more weight we carry, the more of a strain we put on our body just to hold us up.

There is good news!!! We can lose the weight that is causing us so much pain. Sure enough, as I lose weight, my back is hurting MORE and in new and fun ways. Wait. WTF!!! Thanks for nothing, body. It turns out that as my center of gravity, and weight distribution change, my body needs to readjust to how I am carrying my body weight. You know what is super motivating? Losing weight and building muscle only to find I am now having new and worse issues as I try to improve my health. My back use to have a dull ache all the time. I woke up stiff, but could do some stretching and my body would slowly loosen up and hurt less. I had adapted to the extra weight, so even though it was hard on my body, I was used to it. Now, as my body’s posture starts to change, I am starting to have spasms that cause me to stop in my tracks. I also find that I have 1-3 hours of intense pain in my back after workouts. The pain in my lower back can be so intense that it radiates down to my knees. Granted, this is going to be helpful long term.. I know this. Part of getting to the place where my body doesn’t hurt, is reshaping and repairing my body. My body is relearning how to support itself. This is a rough realization. My body weight was so out of control, that it changed my structural make up. My muscles have to adapt to me being at a healthy weight. Ugh.. that’s rough.

There are things I can do to aid this process. I have a whole routine for repairing my back. I actually sought professional opinions on this process too. I assumed that simply stretching, and doing core workouts would strengthen my back. Dead lifts, crunches, leg lifts, and planks. However, I am learning the body doesn’t really work that  way. Its not this simple.  Our entire muscular system works together to support us. I had a chiropractor, and a physical therapist both tell me, that my lower body is under developed and is causing most of my pain. My hamstrings, calves, and ass have all been neglected, which means they are insufficiently aiding in the support of my body. So along with my core work, I need to be doing squats, roman dead lifts, and hamstring curls… as well as lunges which I fucking hate.

Today… today I had a minor social hiccup in my stretching routine. I spent an entire week sitting through corporate meetings in Florida. This means I also sat on airplanes for 6 hour flights to and from Orlando. By the time I got home, I could barely walk. I needed so much extra work. A big part of my pain relief process involves a thorough and extensive stretching session. I spend a significant amount of time everyday using the foam rollers and therapy balls which are meant to really work out knots and release fluids from the muscles. It’s akin to breaking down tissues, much like a massage. I have been doing these stretches and rolling out the knots at the gym in the designated stretching area, which my gym has a great stretching and muscle relief area. Anyone who has rolled out painful muscular issues knows that it hurts. You really have to concentrate on the muscles and isolate which areas need focused work. During this process, I tend to make some intense faces, and have been known to grunt. This isn’t exclusive to me. Most people who are rehabbing an injury have grunted through their exercises when they reach a painful part of the process. However, today during the foam rolling session, I got lost in my own thoughts as I really worked to release the pain in my back. I had the foam roller under my left hip/ass cheek. I had to position my legs pretty far apart before I felt the hip and back muscles start to engage. I had the bottoms of my feet planted firmly on the ground, and was slowly but powerfully driving my pelvis forward and back… and just when I got to the point where I could really feel the muscle engaging and stretching, I heard a noise. At first I was only subconsciously registering the mouse like “uhh hummm”. My eyes were mostly open, only they were slightly squinted with concentration. Teeth clenched, and brow furrowed. I softly heard it again…. “uhhh hummm”. Slowly but surely the sound started traveling from the back of my subconscious, to the forefront of my mind… louder and louder I heard it build… “UHHH  HUMMM”. Finally I came to the realization that someone was trying to get my attention. I looked up to see 4 gorgeous younger mothers standing in front of me, with less than inviting expressions on their faces. What have I done, I wondered? Do I know these women? Did steal their parking space? This is when I realized that the stretching area of my gym also happens to face the rooms where Yoga, Barre, and Spin take place. My therapeutic routine had been doubling as an unappreciated all pelvis thrusting show about 6 minutes before a yoga class was set to start. As is the norm, a group of women had gathered outside the class waiting to be let in. It hit me that I was rolling back and forth with my ass directly on top of the foam roller, my legs split apart at about a 45 degree separation, with an extremely intense look on my face, all while slowly thrusting my pelvis in the direction of these women and grunting like a perverted reimagining of Billy Bob Thorton’s character in Slingblade. It was wildly unpopular.

Long story short, I feel like I sort of assaulted these women. Do I need to take an offenders class? Do I need to notify my neighbors when I move? They absolutely weren’t happy with the show I was forcing them to watch. It was like they were forced into a sort of Clockwork Orange style viewing of my angry/grunty/thrusty stretching routine.

The best part is that my back is sore, and I need to go roll it out again. Just remember ladies, the 7 oclock show is completely different than the 3 oclock show.

Let Stephen King be your guide

Stephen King is the master of horror. I also think he may be a weight loss genius. Does anyone remember “Quitters, Inc”? “Quitters, Inc” was a short story published by Stephen King back in the late ‘70’s. Part of the "Night Shift" collection. The basic plot of the story surrounds a man who enlists a company to help him stop smoking, and then lose weight. There is some early ambiguity as to what their tactics will be, but the basic idea is that the company follows the man and spies on him, and as he acts outside the best interest of his goal they torture the people he loves. Shocking  people, cutting off peoples fingers, etc... It’s a great story. As is the case with most Stephen King stories, it slowly builds and becomes creepier and creepier. Or, at least that’s what I hear. I have never read it. I have seen the movie though. Reading is for fucking idiots. I have shit to do. If any book is worth reading, it will eventually be made into a movie anyway. Once the movie is made, only an asshole would choose the less efficient story delivery method. If you need to read this story, rent “Cats Eye”.

I need this. I have been lacking focus of late. I am super busy, and while I have been able to stay on track, I can feel some momentum slipping. Sometimes I get my priorities out of line. Today is a great example of this. I have become friends with a few of the people at the gym. By “a few” I of course mean I am friends with every dumb shit in the place. I have worked out 4 days in a row and was contemplating taking today off from my workouts. Let my body rest, eat some chicken thighs, watch college baseball, JO. Basically the high school “sick day” agenda. Instead, I decided  at the last minute, to go in and workout. I had a hard day of work and needed to decompress a little and felt that maybe getting my blood flowing would help. I intended to do some core work and concentrate on areas I have been neglecting. This is where the relationships I have developed at the gym come in to play. I ran into one of my buddies, and he was having a hard day physically. Sore, bloated, aching… I think he was menstruating. His list of ailments read like a Midol ad. He said he had intended to lift today, but decided to spend an hour walking on the treadmill instead. When I ran into him, he was adamant that I walk on the treadmills with him. The problem is, the treadmill makes my back stiffen up. It’s something about the way my feet strike the platform. It makes my lower back lock up. So what did I do? I allowed that whore monger to talk me into walking on the treadmill with him. In order to save my back, I walked at a slower pace. My friend found my pace pretty funny. He made a few snide comments about the fact that I was walking so slowly. So how did I respond…. Fuck, this is how I get in my own way… I responded to his idiocy by going even slower. It was my version of a middle finger. To answer the inevitable question that this statement created; Yes, I fully understand this only hurts me. I also understand that I have a tendency to act outside my own best interest.

This is where “Quitters, Inc” comes in. I need this. I need someone, or a group of people, to run surveillance on me and scare me straight. I had this happen once before. Back in my early 20’s I found it funny to disappear from parties and return missing articles of clothing. My buddies didn’t find this as funny as I did. Come to think if it, I don’t know that this was appreciated by anyone at the time. I was like the Vincent Van Gogh of unexpected ass showings. No one appreciated my art form during my time, but now it’s the stuff of legend. Jerred tried to go “Quitters, Inc” on me circa 1999. Once during a nude incident at a camping trip with my friends, Jerred sternly announced two things:

1)    If I see it, I kick you in it.

2)    If you take your pants off again, I will proactively start calling you “needle dick” in front of everyone we meet. As the night went on Jared shortened “needle dick” to “Deedle” as we discussed the impending punishment during a very professional meeting of the collective minds. 

What was the end result of this very real series of threats from my friends? Later that night my scrotum was reflecting the camp fire like a damn drive in movie screen, while Jared sang “Deedle” to the beat of every pop song in the last 20 years. I also don’t know that this new nickname of “Deedle” had the desired deterrent effect. I ordered 100 pairs of sunglasses with “Deedle” on them, and handed them out to anyone who wanted some. I quickly ran out, and have now ordered my second hundred pairs.  

This failed attempt at aversion therapy doesn’t mean the system is broken. It means I am not easily embarrassed or frightened. I do think that this aversion therapy could work for me. I am asking you all for help. How? How can you help me? If you see me acting outside my own best interest, assault me in an appropriate manner. Don’t be lazy and just default to slapping my face or kicking me in the groin. Be creative. Have some god damn ingenuity. For instance, if you see me drinking a diet soda, bat it out of my hand. If you see me eating a meatball sub, push Abram to the ground. If you see me dogging it at the gym, cut Myles pinky off. The point is, be creative… be mean spirited.. do something that you think will be in my greater good. Think Stephen King meets Saw 2.

He was the dirtiest son of a bitch anyone ever loved.

That is my dad. That’s Dave. Yes I am describing my dad with this title. He has been gone for 11 years, and I actively miss him every day. Maybe this sounds odd, but I still talk to him daily, only now the conversation is one sided. And anyone who knew Dave will tell you, no conversation with him was ever one sided. The problem is, talking to him was never a big deal to me… its his side of the conversation that was SO important to me. Its his words that I miss.

I wont lie about who Dave was. I do not speak for my brothers and sisters, or my mom, or my aunts. Dave was the god of mischief. He was too smart for his own good. But I am not one who finds value in counting a dead mans demons. 

Dave had an interesting way about him. He was the most conflicted man I ever knew. Wildly intelligent, while lacking any ability to apply it to his own best interest. He once told me that he was most proud of the fact that while he was in prison he could speak to any group, any gang, any clique.. and walk freely among the inmates without fear of being able to adapt. They called him doc… and he was so proud. It wasn’t odd to me to hear him speak so cavalier about such a personal and dark period. He spoke often about the importance of being able to relate to anyone. That was Dave. Describing him has always been hard for me. How do you summarize a man like Dave. He was a WW2 vet who was a control tower operator on the Burma hump at 18. He was a Doctor. He survived the great depression. He was an alcoholic. He was a prisoner. He was a migrant worker, with a medical degree. But for me, he was just dad.

I feel like as the youngest of his 7 children, from two marriages, I have a view of him that most don’t. Ours was the only relationship he never set on fire. He was no angel, but more of a loveable cautionary tale. By the time he got to me, he had burned through a lot of his mischievous energy. I got to see the best side of him. Sure I picked him up from jail after a DUI at 16, but even that was funny. Seeing him walk out of the holding facility with one shoe on, convinced the police “lost” the other one. As he opened the door to my car he said “keep your mouth shut and  your eyes to the lord, you insolent little shit”. I could barely speak through the laughter in my heart, as I tried to muster a straight faced response of “Well, I am not proud, Dave”.

Sure, he once grounded me for telling my youth leader a that my dad kept me home from church because we couldn’t figure out why Buffalo was laying points to Houston AT Buffalo! But he also split the winnings with me when Buffalo came back to win (it was an 80-20 split though, dick). On the other hand, I also watched this man cook breakfast for me, my brother Jef and two of our best friends every Friday from ages 18-20. Dave’s famous biscuits and gravy. We sat around and talked about life, and joked, and laughed and horked down the most delicious breakfast in town.

The things he was proud of were not things typical kids heard. While my friends were telling tales of touchdowns their dads threw back in high school, I was hearing how Dave was expelled from BYU for showing up to a campus event in nothing but six shooters. By the way, he would be red faced as he smirked his way through that story. Whether it was the first time you heard it, or the 4000^th time, he would cackle and grin the entire time. He was as proud of this story, as he was his degree.

I don’t know if I ever met anyone as polarizing as my dad. Not “polarizing” in the traditional way, where some people loved him and some people hated him.. he was universally loved, but he left many people hating themselves for loving him. This is a man who once got tired of hearing my brother David complain while they were helping someone move buckets of river rocks, in the pouring rain in January… knee deep in water, rain pounding off their hats and my dad looked up at the belly aching son of his and told him “David, you need to take some of the faith you have in Jesus, and put into moving those rocks”… to which David responded by walking off the job and telling the homeowner, “My dad is the  dirtiest son of a bitch, anyone ever tried to work for”, before proceeding to walk 15 miles home. When my dad told me this, he could barely compose himself long enough to choke the story out. He was in tears, and so pleased with himself. Most men wouldn’t take so much joy in telling this story. But this is what was so endearing about him. And my brother David tells this story with just as much glee as my dad tells it.  

Dave was and still is a topic of conversation among my friends. We still tell stories of things he said to us, and interactions we had. Dave was shockingly quick witted in a way that I dream of being. I sometimes get depressed knowing I will never be as smart or have as sharp a whit as him. When he told a story, the audience of friends would jocky for the best position to hear him from. He had piercing blue eyes, and a devilish grin. Very handsome. Intensely intelligent. Terribly troubled. Undeniably lovable.

Having a dad who was 53 when I was born, and didn’t live.. well, a well calculated life, meant that I always knew that my kids may never get to meet my dad. I remember being in 7^th or 8^th grade and knowing that my dad may very well be dead before I have kids. Jesus, what junior high kid thinks about this?!? Regardless of any of his demons, I loved him so intensely. He had this big chair in the living room that he sat in every evening. I kissed his head good night every night I lived there, and after I moved out, I did the same when I would leave. And I kissed his head as they closed his casket. I read so many peoples social media posts about how their dads made them who they are. I read story after story of what great men they were. I am not interested in pretending my dad was anything other than what he was. He was my best friend. He was my hero.

I want this for my kids. I want to be a man they can be proud of. I want to be open and honest with them. I want them to celebrate my victories and laugh hysterically at my defeats. Last month Abe came home from school and asked me “dad, someone on the bus called another kid a dildo… what’s a dildo?”. I asked him “what do you think it is”, to which he responded “I think it’s a kind of bird”.  I easily could have said “yup, a bird.. also known as a Vagina Eagle”. But its 2018, and he isn’t a total dipshit. He absolutely would have found a way to search what a “dildo” is. So I just told him “a dildo is something a woman uses when she is craving something she would usually get from a committed partner.. do you understand where I am going with this?”.. .his wide dead eyed stare made his nodding acknowledgment unnecessary. I continued “dang, it sounds like being called a dildo is almost a good thing.. a mindless pleasurer… a pleasure bird of sorts”… I can still see that little 11 year old fucker laughing.

That’s what this is all about. This is why I am on this journey to regain my health. Not to be a pleasure bird, but to be here long enough to create a legacy for my kids. Just because I wasn’t 53 when they were born, doesn’t mean I don’t run a real risk of not living long enough to meet my grandkids. I will never be as smart, or funny, or witty, or fun as Dave, but I will live forever trying to be. I want to be my kids antihero. I need to live long enough to make this happen. I want to be open, and honest, with them. Abe and I lay in bed and discuss girls, and he asks me about stories of my life. I do not hide. I DO NOT LIE. I tell them about my insecurities. I tell them “always ask me whatever you want to know, do not google it”. I do not want google formulating their knowledge base. I am open about the role my insecurities played in formulating who I am.

On July 17, 2017, JD Taylor, Jerred Hermann and I snuck through my moms house, and stole the urn of my dads ashes. We drove them into the woods, to my dads favorite spot at Kingsley Reservoir, and sat him in the rocks with his fishing pole. It was the same place he drunkenly told a forest ranger, who had asked why Dave was illegally fishing with two poles, “well sir, I don’t think I could handle a third one”. The three of us drank ourselves stupid on gin, and listened to Jerred explain how Gordon Lightfoot effects his dogs demeanor. They retired to the tent and I sat alone and cried for a minute. This is what I want. I want my kids to smuggle my ashes somewhere for a weekend of fun. I just don’t want it to be next weekend.

Tank tops, Beyonce fights, and Cabana boy duties.. its been a big week

Perception is reality. Sort of. This phrase is over used and misunderstood.

For my entire life I projected emotions and ideas and insecurities into the minds of everyone I have met. I haven’t eaten a meal in public that I didn’t imagine the entire restaurant was critiquing. I haven’t shopped for clothes without thinking the cashier was judging me for the size of clothes I was buying. I distinctly remember shopping for jeans two years ago, and realizing I was at the bottom of the  stack… mens jeans are always displayed in a stack, with the smallest size on top, and the biggest size at the bottom… and I was buying the biggest size of pants at the store. What was next? No pants? Was I one taco bender from no longer being able to buy pants? FUCK!!! I haven’t stepped foot into a gym without being sure that everyone was judging me… questioning my right to be there among the fit.

Its an interesting juxtaposition to feel simultaneously invisible, and also like the focal point of everything strangers do.

My entire life, I have been torn as to how much of my perception was based in reality, and how much was me projecting my own insecurities. I have been trying to be cognizant of this. I have been trying to give people the benefit of the doubt, and not assume the negative perception, is their reality. This goes for everything from the looks that fly around a room, to the verbal interactions that happen day to day. Phrases can be as nebulous as a look. It is so easy to get lost in your own negativity, and paint the rest of your interactions with that tainted brush.. smear anger and sadness into your daily picture. I have had 3 interactions this week that have shown me just how much of life is influenced by our own perceptions.

-          Check in’s

I have  not been writing as much the last 3 weeks. I honestly didn’t realize I wasn’t. I work in sales and this last month was my year end. I have been dedicated to wrapping up a few deals, as well as setting up this year to start off fast with some early contracts. I am pretty good at prioritizing my life and applying time to what is most important. I haven’t slacked in my workouts… I have been hitting the gym regularly, and eating well. I just haven’t been writing about it. This being said, I don’t have the best track record of fortitude. It would be easy to see how a slide in writing, would be due to a slide in my dedication. During the past few days, I have had 41 messages/texts/emails to check in to see how things are going (yes, I really counted)… to say that they have noticed I am not writing, and ask if I was ok. This means a great deal to me. I have often felt that I fit a role in people’s lives. I am a born jester. I am a fucking good time.. but I am also the jolly fat man. I have felt that some people have rooted against me. That people need a lovable, safe, nonthreatening friend. But as my writing volume slowed, so many people reached out to check in and make sure I was still dedicated and doing ok. Some of these people are strangers… some are friends… and some are professional trainers who make no money from my journey. How rad is that. It just goes to show you how much people root for each other. My perceptions are not their reality. My perceptions are ONLY my reality.

-          The Beyonce Incident.

On Monday I was having a great lifting session. I felt like a super hero. I was repping out weights that were my PR’s just a few months ago. I could feel my blood coursing through my veins. Near the end of the workout, I could feel my body starting to give out a bit. At this point, ‘Single Ladies’ came on. Why did I never learn this dance? Why did I never learn any pop music video dances? WTF have I done with my life?!?! ‘Every little step’ by Bobby Brown… ‘Billy Jean’ by Michael Jackson… the mother fucking Dougie!!!! Why do I not now any of these dances. As I pondered this miscarriage of self-justice, I realized I was staring a murderous stare across the gym. I am 5’10”, 250, and wear an oversized baseball hat pulled down low across my face. If you didn’t know I am a passive guy, it would be easy to assume that I am an asshole. The reason I realized I was mean mugging across the gym, was because another guy was glaring back at me. He had his chest puffed out, his brow ruffled, and he kind of shrugged his shoulders at me. I realized “this guy thinks I am glaring at him… like I am posturing”… Jesus, if only he knew that I was actually deep in thought about how I am going to have to limber up my hips if I am going to pull off the single ladies dance. My very next thought was, “I wonder how many times I have seen someone looking at me sideways and felt shitty about myself, and they didn’t even know they were doing it”. The truth is, the idea that strangers are judging us is incredibly narcissistic. Not every sideways glance is based in judgement of me. 

-          Chris’s Cabana Boy

I wrote about Chris before. Chris is the embodiment of everything I hate. He is pretty, and tan, and endowed, and ripped, and handsome, and he wears tank tops, and he is so happy.

http://bigfateddie.blogspot.com/2018/03/chris-is-low-class-no-account-worthless.html

When I wrote about Chris, I did so from the angle of my own insecurities created a relationship arc that didn’t exist. How he had everything I was working to have, tank tops included (although he cant high five for shit… the last time he tried to high five me, I almost passed out from how disappointed I was in him. BE BETTER) so I projected my own jealousy on to him. In a twist of fate, Chris and I have become friends. He even read the above post, and liked it. Turns out I was right. My disdain  for him was 100% due to my unhappiness with me. Chris is actually the type of guy who is always first in line to help people. My post was accidentally about the perfect person in order to maximize the impact of my intended message. I had spent so much time venting my frustration onto him, and projecting insecurities at him, and it turns out he couldn’t be a better guy. In fact, I have met a bunch of people through my new friendship with Chris. There is a little clique of us now… Ty, Phil, Tom, Chris, Ryan… a group of guys who lift together, discuss everything from weight lifting tips… to how our aging peckers are starting to lack cooperation. That’s a real conversation we had. Jesus, I bet those 5 guys own 200 tank tops between them. Fucking tank tops. Anyway, this is a group of big strong gym guys, ages ranging from early 30’s to late 40’s, discussing how testosterone replacement has changed our lives. Hell, we also spend a lot of time at the pool, and in 2 months I went from day dreaming about watching Chris get hit by a bus, to being the one who applies sunscreen to his rippling cocoa colored back. I had labeled and judged these men as meat heads and idiots, but in fact, they are great guy... and once I let my guard down I was able to meet a group of people who have bettered my journey. 

Its funny how little thought I have put into “perception is reality”… my perception is only my reality. It wasn’t Chris’s reality. And conversely, other people’s perceptions aren’t my reality. In fact… I don’t know that other people have perceptions.. but if they did, I need it not to matter. My perception needs to be my only reality.

I got hate mail! I am so happy! I had Kevin Smith answer though.

I can be mean with words. Lebron can dunk, Nolan Ryan had a lightning bolt for a fastball, John Elway could throw a football through a barn door… and I can talk shit. I have had some inner turmoil based around this. I have a quick wit and I don’t know if I have ever met anyone who can tap into a steady stream of idiocy with more surgeon like precision than I can… but is this good? It has been an ongoing internal struggle. It’s a big part of why I am so self-deprecating. I like utilizing my quick wit to be funny, and I feel if I use it against myself, I am less likely to hurt someone’s feelings (although I have hurt my own feelings before, which is fucking absurd).

I default to being kind. I don’t like being hurtful or leaving people unhappy. The fact that I can be funny at other peoples expense, doesn’t mean I actually do it. I also don’t have an aversion to criticism… I welcome criticism and will discuss anything so long as the criticism is in good faith and not just an excuse to attack me. I believe that no topic should be off limits. Growth happens with the spread of information. With this in mind, I had my first piece of hate mail today. I was called a misogynist (sort of), and told that I am unkind to my fellow humans, and I have never been happier. Having this type of exchange thrust upon me, is like a present being handed to me. So the restraint I showed today, was Herculean.

From the very beginning of the exchange, I knew I wasn’t dealing with anyone who’s company I needed to keep. Had she made the comment she made in the comments section of the blog, or even posted the comment to the Instagram post publicly, I would have glossed over it and moved on… but I feel that having her actually send me a private message meant that I felt compelled to engage in a discussion. I wont lie to you.. part of me was hoping that I was opening a door to tomfoolery.. and my hopes were sort of answered. We were about to engage in a bout of idiocy. I was left feeling a bit dissatisfied because I wont fully engage with a moron. I feel guilty doing it.

I have hidden her Instagram name out of respect… we will call her Crystal (because that’s her name and I am not giving up her identity by using it)

                             Crystal: I’ve been reading your blog for a few weeks and I never should have started. Your so mean. You need to learn some kindness, and acceptance of weight issues. Maybe be kind to your fellow humans. Your so misogynist. Its people like you who create anoresics.

                             Ed: Im sorry you feel this way. I’ve never said a misogynistic word. I’m a man expressing my personal struggles. I don’t know that I’ve demeaned or belittled women… and I’m not that guy. I don’t do that. I disagree with your assessments, but that’s what’s fun about having these discussions… we can look at a situation and evaluate it from every angle. I’m sorry I come off to you as negative, but appreciate you reading along. Thanks for the input.

At this point, I could already tell that she was not interested in engaging in a meaningful conversation. I am all for people telling  me off “at me”… but not “with me”. I also understand that men have weaponized physical appearance since the beginning of time. I can see how these issues could have a certain connotation to some women. Therefore, I was thinking maybe she projected her personal bias on to what I was saying. I am not naive.. I know the depth of hurt that comes with this topic. I was hoping to defend myself as well as engage in a conversation about how these issues can effect all of us.. and it is not just a woman's issue.

Crystal: You don’t get “it”. Look up missogonistic. And I’m done reading this filth. You pick on women and heavy people. Your a bully.

            Game over. That was fast. She hit on all of my bugaboos in one misguided paragraph of idiocy. The quotes around “it”, made my blood pressure rise to heart attack levels… but then when I saw how wildly the word “misogynistic” got away from her, I instantly replaced the anger with pity. I feel like she is either a child, or she types with her elbows. Her complete disregard for “your vs you’re” is pretty humiliating as well. I decided that I didn’t want to actively engage in the discussion, so I started replying with nonsensical quotes from the movie “Clerks”.  

                             Ed: There’s a million fine looking girls in the world. But they don’t all bring you lasagna to work. Most of them just cheat on you.

                             Crystal: Thanks for reinforcing my argument. You just don’t get “it”.

                    I don’t fault her for this. She obviously hasn’t seen Clerks 4500 times like I have, and                        out of context, that does feel like a pretty wide sweeping generalization about women.                           Well played, Crystal. I literally put zero thought into that comment, but that’s the whole                       point. I just wanted to see how long I could make this woman argue with movie quotes.

Ed: I hope it feels good to be right. There’s nothing more exhilarating than pointing out the short coming of others, is there?

Crystal: You deserve this. I’m trying to help you. It is like you are proud of how you talk about women and fat people.

                     The arrogance and stupidity in this comment made me sigh. First off, bull fucking shit.                         You aren’t “trying to help”. You are trying to vent your anger. You are trying to attack. I                      feel you are being disingenuous about your intentions. Also, when telling someone they                      are mean to fat people, maybe… just maybe… avoid the term “fat people”.

                             Ed: I’m stuck in this pit, working for less than slave wages. Working on my               day off, the goddamn steel shutters are closed, I deal with every backward ass fuck on the           planet. I smell like shoe polish. My ex-girlfriend is catatonic after fucking a dead guy,                   and my present girlfriend has sucked 36 dicks.

                             Crystal: Your anger toward woman is embarrassing. It comes through in                    every blog write up. Missoginist!!!

                  My shock at her willingness to engage in an argument with unrelated movie quotes, is                          boggling my mind. This is the best thing that ever happened to me.. it barely squeaked                          past “birth of my first child”. I in no way expected that she would actually argue with the                    movie. In fact, she is arguing with movie quote, and ‘Clerks’ is winning the argument                          because Crystal is getting angry. The  movie is being calm and collective. I                                            was curious how far I could take this. Could I work my way through the entire script?                          Unfortunately I had to get back to the real world, so I decided to end things.  

                             Ed: A) sigh. B) I love you. C) I looked up missoginist: that act of ignoring when autocorrect tries to help you write fucking “misogynist”. 

                             Randall: You’re not allowed to rent here anymore

                             Jay: YEAHHHHHHH

At this point I blocked her and hid my profile from her. I no longer was having fun. I am proud of myself for not unloading on her and actively engaging in a war of words. I know the old adage “Never argue with a fool, onlookers may not be able to tell the difference”.. but this doesn’t apply here. Crystal was not looking to engage in a conversation, or argue a point, she was looking to brow beat me. It’s funny how someone can be so violently and aggressively stupid. This is a great life lesson about being careful about what hill you die on. She was so off base… everyone is entitled to an opinion, but her accusations and comments have very real definitions, and I do not meet them. My posts are in no way misogynistic. This could have been a great open discussion… maybe we both could have learned something, but it was obviously not her goal in messaging me.

Having an opinion is everyones god given right. I don’t get to have a say… and I don’t get to decide how my message is received when I write my blog.. but when you message it to me, and it draws definable conclusions... I will retort. And if your comments are well constructed, I will take the time to engage in a real and honest discussion. Opinions are easy, but some thought should be used in creating them. And once you make your opinion a weapon, be prepared for the fall out. I wonder what Kevin Smith movie I will use next time. I wonder if I can get someone to argue with “Mallrats”.

Negativity of Body Positive

Lets be very clear… accepting yourself is job 1. I am a firm believer of understanding who you are, and accepting that only your opinion matters.

Now that I have qualified my point with understanding, I am going to say something that may not sit well… I feel the Body Positive movement is extremely dangerous to the health of people.

I am not saying its bad… the intent is great. I am saying its dangerous. I see “body positive”being  used in a negative way too.

What Body Positive IS…

Judging yourself in regards to your personal character… and not basing your sense of self worth on your physical appearance.

What Body Positive ISN’T

An excuse to allow yourself to give up on your health.

Redefining what is beautiful and what is seen is “beautiful”… is important. There isn’t one universal standard of beauty, and trying to make one view of what is “beautiful” does harm in many ways.

1)      People outside of the societal definition of “attractive” can struggle with identity and self worth issues.

2)      People who are not attracted to the “standard” can develop complexes based around being separated from what is viewed as the “norm”.

I had this conversation with a woman at the gym yesterday, and she was part of a much bigger experimental conversation than she knew she was having. In fact, I didn’t realize what I was doing, or why I was doing it, until it was done.  This woman is by all traditional main stream standards “beautiful”. She is strong, independent, intelligent, and possesses physical features that she has worked hard to maintain and create. She is smart, attractive and hard working… she was probably the woman who ignored us at lunch in high school, but as an adult she is super fucking cool and fun to talk to. She is a better looking Mary Louise Parker. Our gym has a seating area out front with a small fire place. Both of us had a few minutes to kill after our workouts, and before returning to our day to day duties, so we took a few minutes to chat about the high school style drama that takes place with our friends at the gym.. and rehashing previous funny convos. At some point she mentioned that she wants to set one of her friends up with a guy at the gym, and she was trying to take creeper pics of him to pass along to her friend. The gentleman in question is very handsome… he is very athletic and in amazing shape. He is what I am hoping my “after” pics will be. When I told her this, she mentioned that she isn’t attracted to him… not that he isn’t attractive, but that she prefers dudes who are taller and pale and have a less chiseled body. This got us talking about the differences in what is and isn’t attractive to each person. Being the piece of shit arrogant child that I am, I decided to point at random dudes that walked in and see whether or not she found them attractive. I was purposely picking men I thought fit a standard definition of “handsome”, but did NOT match the definition she gave me of her type. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I felt she was lying to me. My instinct was to think she was skewing the truth so as not to hurt my feelings, which is a very narcissistic view of a conversation, but one I believe most of us have. How could I not compare her words to me… its human nature. I felt she was saying she didn’t find super fit men as attractive, because she didn’t want to hurt the fat kids feelings. Even though she was clearly not referencing me in anyway, and her definitions of what she found to be “beautiful” were meant for her… not me. But I would point to men that  I assumed to possess what women felt was attractive, and one by one she shot them all down. It became clear to me that my perceptions where born in my insecurities. My neurosis were monsters of my own design. Most of my issues with self esteem and appearance were born from definitions I created and then projected on to other people. At some point in my life I decided that all women wanted to be with chiseled men, all these men had to be 6’2”, and if you don’t have a gorgeous head of hair.. just kill yourself. I was projecting my preconceived notions and bias on to the women of the world, and then thinking less of them for having those opinions. My psyche is a fucked up maze of idiocy. I lost hours of my day to contemplating how, regardless of your appearance you are someones “type”, and then it hit me… IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER… My value isn’t determined by my appearance at all. I am using the wrong map to guide my journey. I need to be allowing my health and physical comfort to guide my journey. I was falling victim to the trap of the dangerous side of “body positive”… I was trying to change my definition of what is attractive, instead of working to lessen the importance I put on appearance. OK OK.. it’s a bit disingenuous to say “It hit me”… truth is, Mary Louise Parker Jr told me “its hard to tell how attractive any of these guys are until I talk to them… what if they are a moron, or a dick, or lack confidence”… this is when I had the ah ha moment usually reserved for 15-16 year olds “MAYBE WE SHOUDLNT JUDGE BOOKS BY THEIR COVERS, IS ACTUALLY A METAPHOR FOR NOT JUDGING  PEOPLE BY HOW THEY LOOK”…

Maybe our self worth shouldn’t be wrapped up in how we look, but in who we are. Our physical presence should be defined by “physical health” and not “physical appearance”. Being fat is ok… allowing yourself to be unhealthy to avoid the work involved in improving your health isn’t. Feeling attractive regardless of shape, and loving yourself, is absolutely necessary. However, using this to excuse poor health is NOT OK. Allowing yourself to be unhealthy because you are comfortable with how you look, is still defining your self worth by your appearance. Just because your definition of “beautiful” is more inclusive and realistic, doesn’t mean it should be used to validate your value. Its still a superficial value system.

If I couldn’t read, I wouldn’t just change the value I hold on reading and claim that I am “illiterate positive” and scold people for “idiot shaming” me.

If I had cancer, I wouldn’t claim I am “malignant positive” and scold people for “tumor shame”…

So being obese shouldn’t be rebranded as “body positive” so we can stay in our unhealthy comfort zones and fail to progress our health. It needs to be part of a bigger journey of self acceptance.

Obesity is killing you. Killing me. Associating weight to physical appearance is missing the point of why we should have an emphasis on getting in shape.

There is no question that people are developing unhealthy obsessions around eating. Depression is very real and can absolutely be triggered by a lack of feeling value due to not fitting in to the standards of beauty. But the answer isn’t just to change the definition of “beauty”, the answer is to change the importance we place on the definition… and who we allow to define us. I think “body positive” is a dangerous, and important idea. Over simplifying “body positive” to just cover physical appearance is every bit as harmful as allowing narrow definitions of what is beautiful.

My new definition of body positive is:

Accepting who you are, and removing the value we put on physical beauty, while we work to meet our own personal standards of worth.

              Step 1: Acknowledge that your self worth is not defined by your appearance

              Step 2: Decide the values and measures that you want to use to judge your worth against (morals, values, strength of character)

              Step 3: Work to be the person you want to be, and be the healthiest you possible

(notice that at no point did I include allowing other peoples definitions or opinions dictate your value)

If you can’t read, learn. If you have cancer, seek medical help. If you are obese, fight to improve your health. And do all of this with the knowledge that you can be an amazing person while still working to improve yourself.

Medical, mental, and physical issues play no part in defining us… the way in which we work to overcome these issues does. It isn’t just about redefining what is “beautiful”… its also about disconnecting our self worth from our physical appearance. And people judging your based on your appearance, says more about them than it does you. But using the fact that you are comfortable in your own skin, to not remedy the fact that you’re obese, is missing the whole point. Obesity leads to heart disease, diabetes, structural support issues, some forms of cancer. It is hard to be change the current course your body is on, and to repair your health, but it is necessary. The removing of the stigma of being overweight can not become something you use to allow yourself to continue being unhealthy. I so often confuse the message in my own brain. I dwell in what is attractive, and trying to feel value in spite of my own perceived inadequacies, but I lose sight of the two main points of why I am doing this… regain my health, live up to the definitions of what I want to be. Allowing “beauty” or “appearance” to be a major factor in this journey is shallow and vapid, regardless of my definitions of what is “attractive”. This is about my physical and mental health… I define every aspect of this process, and my opinion is the only one that matters. I am not living the life I intended. I am not fulfilling my potential as I see it.

“Definitions belong to the definers, not the defined” – Toni Morrison