Keeping a promise.


A while back, I made a promise to share some details about what has finally motivated me to get off my ass and drop some pounds.

In my circle of friends, we do a fair amount of abuse to one another.  We insult, we snark, we deal with it pretty well most of the time.  Not long ago, it got ugly.  I was never particularly fond of fat jokes, but with most of my friends, whether the have spelling issues that lead me to call them “illiterate” among other names, or dance like the worst cliche of “White Man’s Disease” you’ve ever seen, or have something else going on that is “fair game” for the rest of us, I’ve learned to deal with it, and not let it bother me too much.

That all changed the day one of my friend’s kid said “Kevin, you’re fat.” and started laughing.

If this had been an adult and not a 6 year old child, I would have broken his jaw.  I was so mad, I was literally shaking.  I can’t really hold it against the kid, he’s 6.  He doesn’t know better.  I guess I could hold it against his parents, but I’m reasonably sure that they would be mortified had I decided to make an issue of it.  I let it go, figuring that I’d get over it.

I didn’t.  Every time my friends even get close to that particular topic of discussion, I went silent.  The kind of silence that screams to anyone who knows me. “Don’t go here… You really don’t want to go here.”

In fact, several months later, it makes me just as angry today as it did then.  So much so that my friendship with this little boy’s father has suffered.  So much so that I am loathe to speak to him, lest I say something unkind about a child who had no idea what he was saying, or how much it hurt.

What it has also done, is motivated me.  Not because I’m trying to impress anyone, but because 10 years ago, it would have taken a bold man, indeed, to make such a comment in my presence.  The idea that my own friends don’t respect me because of this problem is nearly unbearable.

I’m seriously pissed about it, enough that I am shutting myself away from my own friends in order to do something about it.  I guess, at the end of the day, I’m most mad at myself, and that’s as safe a target for my anger as anyone.  The hell of it is, most of my friends talk often of their own struggles with losing weight, but for some reason, I wound up as the punching bag.  I can take it, that’s not the issue.  The problem is that I have enough pride not to want to even be mentioned in such a discussion.  Anger and pride can be a powerful motivator if used correctly.

And *that’s* where the drive comes from.

It’s not always about motivation


I get a bit tired of hearing that fat people are unmotivated or lazy with respect to losing weight.  Such helpful advice as “eat less” and “exercise more” from well meaning friends or even “eat fewer carbs” from doctors who are supposed to fucking know better can drive someone over the brink.

Last night, I hit my brink, and cruised right over into the abyss.

The next person who gives me unsolicited weight management advice is going to get a punch in the fucking mouth.  The last thing I need to hear is some 185 pound gym rat give me yet another lecture on health and fitness.  I’m 6’4 and 325 pounds.  I can throw a beer keg almost 50 feet and play 3 sets of doubles tennis in 90 degree heat.  I took that “100 pushup challenge” and squeezed out 70 pushups before getting bored on my first attempt (finishing the last 30 just on general principle).  I am built like a freakin’ grizzly bear and just about as strong as one.  I’m not a couch-potato, but at 37 years of age, I’d like to be in better shape.  I don’t need to be built like a power lifter, and I’m not trying to “get huge”.  I want to lose some pounds not because I look terrible, but because I want to improve.   Yet all sorts of “educated” people look at the numbers 3-2-5 and think “raging lard ass”.  These are usually the same people who meet me in person and say “You don’t LOOK like you weigh 325.”  A couple of weeks ago, some moron started cracking fat jokes when I mentioned that I weighed 325 pounds, right before I pointed out that he and I have the same waist size.

It aggravates me to no end to hear people refer to BMI and charts that were developed 30 years ago in order to determine if someone is “fit” or not.  I am sick of hearing all about “lifestyle changes” and “new ways of living” for anyone who can’t shop off the rack at Banana Republic.

I don’t WANT to look like an Pimpercrombie & Bitch model.  I just want to make the transition into middle age in a little bit better shape.

Yet to achieve these goals, I am exposed to a constant litany of advice such as

  • Work out every day for at least an hour (Who has this kind of time?  Do you have a job?)
  • Don’t eat carbohydrates (I understand low carb dieting, and the fact that it sheds weight, but let’s face it.  Bread has been a staple of the human diet since the dawn of time.  Now you’re saying that it’s unhealthy?)
  • Don’t eat fat (Oh, explain to me how everyone else on the planet PREFERS fat in their diet as a delicacy, but the US of low fat A is getting fatter by the day?)
  • Don’t eat sugar (Which one? Sucrose, Fructose, Dextrose, Sucralose, Upyernose?  You telling me that the sugar in a piece of fruit is just as bad for you as a Twinkie?)
  • Take our magic diet pill and the pounds will just fall right off. (Along with your liver, kidneys, and maybe even heart.)
  • Try our all-natural Acai-berry-and-ant-fart smoothie… (Because if that fat bitch, Oprah, says it then it MUST be true.)

Weight Watchers, of all groups, has figured it out better than a lot of folks.  There is no magic pill.  There is no “Amazing Fat Loss Secret”.  Watch what you eat, get some exercise, and don’t expect to lose weight that took you 30 years to gain in 30 days.

The hell of it is, I’m not in terrible shape.  My most recent physical showed that my heart is healthy, my cholesterol is just slightly above normal, and my blood pressure is borderline.  In the words of my own physician, “nothing that losing a little more weight won’t cure.”

So why did I tell my wife “Fuck it, it’s easier to get fat and die” last night?

Because my doctor sent me a “diet plan” that was not much more than:

  • Don’t eat white starches (rice, pasta, potatoes, white bread)
  • Don’t eat sugar
  • Eat lots of veggies
  • Eat lean meat

No information on portion control, caloric intake, nutrient intake or even exercise.  Don’t get me wrong, I sincerely hope that it’s just this easy, but in an effort to look into “Low Carb diet” (which was the heading on the “diet plan” that the doc sent me), I ran into the biggest problem in the information age.

Too much crap, not enough useful information.

30 minutes of Google-surfing just about made me want to scream.  I saw plans that ranged from the dangerous (Eat no carbs… ever.) to the merely draconian (<40 grams of carbohydrates/day).  My wife, who was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes when she was pregnant with our daughter, went to a dietician who put her on a regimen of 6 meals per day, with no more than 30 grams of carbohydrates per meal.  It balanced out her blood sugar, and she actually dropped 30 pounds during her pregnancy. (not counting the baby, of course)  Now I’m pretty sure her situation is different than my own, but that said, her diet plan seemed to consist of

  • Don’t eat too many carbohydrates (with specifics on how much is allowed)
  • Eat as much protein as you can
  • Avoid sugar when possible

Look familiar?  Doc may be on to something here.

This week, we’re putting together the shopping list and diet plan.  I started my workout regimen this week. For those of you who are interested, take a good long look at Kettlebells.  I started with a 53-pounder, and you can get an impressively tiring workout in a short time with these. (Average workout might take 15-20 minutes/day)

That takes care of the diet and exercise plan.  Here’s the final important part.  Get a support group (again, Weight Watchers is really good at this) of people who can motivate you to keep going when your own self-discipline is flagging a bit.  If you need someone to talk you through a rough patch, drop ME a note.  I’ll help however I can.   You’ve taken your entire life to get to the point where you are today.  Don’t expect to undo all of the damage in a month or two.

We’re all gonna die.


Maybe I can’t hold off the Grim Reaper forever, but I don’t have to give him a hand. For those of you who aren’t into the self-examination of others, leave now.

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