WARNING: This blog post is full of whining, self-loathing, and self-justification, as well as my opinion on breast implants. Also, I frequently use the words, “Skinny,” and “Fat.” Read at your own risk.
A couple of years ago, I was teaching a bunch of eight year-olds in church. I was joking with them about how I am such a skinny, fit person. One kid looked at me through squinted eyes, and said, “No you’re not. You’re fat!!” The brutal honesty of a child.
A neighbor stopped by one day to borrow something. I was riding our exercise bike. I stopped my workout and answered the door. I apologized for being sweaty and explained that I was in the middle of riding. He looked me up and down and said, “You need to keep riding.”
A while ago, my office was about as far as it could be from the printer. I was printing a lot of documents, and I was making routine trips to the printer. I told my manager that I was getting a lot of exercise going back and forth. He mumbled under his breath, “Yeah, you NEED the exercise.”
I ran into an old friend that I hadn’t seen in over twenty years. After exchanging pleasantries, he said, “You really need to do something… You’re huge!”
I have empathy for anyone who’s struggled with their weight. I’m not talking about the people who can exercise an extra minute a day to burn off those few pounds they gained over Christmas. I love you people, but you make me sick. It isn’t fair. It really isn’t. For those of you who say, “But life isn’t fair!” I say, “SHUT UP!” Life is never unfair in ways that I want it. For example, life should be unfair to celebrities, and Engineers should be Rock Stars. I should be able to demonstrate a simple asynchronous transfer protocol on stage and people should pay $200 per person to see it. I’m married, so I’d prefer if you women don’t throw underwear.
I look at photos of me when I was younger, really younger. My kindergarten photo shows this skinny kid. By my fifth grade photo, I look chubby. I slid in and out of chubby until I was twenty-nine. Then, I plunged head-first into the chubby barrel. I think it was bigger than a barrel, maybe an Olympic sized swimming pool. Through my twenties, I worked at a warehouse. I was lifting and running and eating and my body seemed to like it. I was able to maintain a reasonable weight. During the summer before my senior year in college, I got an engineering internship. It was the best thing for my career, and the worst thing for my body. I kept eating just like I did when I was running and lifting, but now I was sitting, and sitting. My weight skyrocketed over the summer. When I returned to school in the fall, my friends asked me if I’d swallowed a horse. I told them that I’d eaten it a bite at a time.
The next thing I know, it is fifteen years later, and I’m one hundred pounds heavier.
I know how I look. I know that I’m in bad shape. I know that I have diabetes and sleep apnea and high triglycerides and borderline high cholesterol. I know that I’d rather sit or lie down rather than go for a walk or play with my kids. I know that I hate going out in public because of what people think. OK, not so much what they think, but what they’ll say or how they’ll treat me. I’m not Brad. I’m not a human being. I’m the fat guy, or the very fat guy.
People will say, “What are you worried about? Nobody cares. No one notices.” Let me laugh a deep sarcastic laugh. Now I’m laughing a little more. Still laughing. Laughing. OK, I’m done. Admit it, we all do it. We judge people on their appearance. It’s wrong. We know it’s wrong. But we still do it.
I think self-esteem can be compartmentalized. I feel secure and self-assured in all aspects of my life except my appearance. I know that I can’t be myself without scaring people. I don’t have to dress up for Halloween. I open the door, and the kiddies scream and run away. I guess it doesn’t help that I’m dressed like an authentic Sumo.
I think of myself as jolly. I like to laugh. I like to make (what I think are) humorous comments about every-day situations. I’m easy-going and for the most part outgoing. I try to be the guy that introduces himself first. I worked in retail for several years, and I know how people can be rude to a waitress or a cashier or sales associate. I know that I hated being treated like that, so unless retail help is blatantly combative, I really try to be friendly to them. I generally leave good tips.
I've found that people don’t want a middle-aged fat man to be friendly with them. They want the fat man to be quiet. They want the fat man to stay out of their store. They don’t want to see the fat man. They want the fat man to stay home and order everything, including toothpaste, online. That’s why the UPS driver drops the package on the doorstep, rings the bell, and sprints to his truck. Oh, he’ll tell you it’s to keep on a tight schedule. But, I know it’s so he doesn’t run the risk of having a fat man open the door
There’s a big philosophical divide between the fats and skinnys. The skinnys think, “Why don’t you just lose weight. Go on a diet and exercise.” The fats are thinking, “Why don’t you just shut up and let me enjoy this cheesecake!”
When I attended my first seminar at RMAP, they talked about the contributing factors to overall body weight. Diet and exercise (or the lack thereof) is only one contributing factor to obesity. There are other factors such as genetics, body type, and hormone production. They’re finding that obese people produce more “hunger” hormones. Obese people are literally fighting against their body. Not only to lose weight, but to even maintain their current weight. Eventually the body wins.
People will say, “If you’re really committed and if you really want to make a change, you can do it.” I agree. I was completely committed to several diets. I swore several blood oaths that this time; I would stick to a diet and exercise and get back in shape. So, why did I end up at 304.7 pounds before I let a doctor cut up my organs?
I relate it to being shot with an arrow, in the leg, in the middle of the wilderness. It hurts. It really, really hurts. And I can see the arrow and I think if I pull it out I will feel better. People are telling me just leave it alone and they’ll get me out of this wilderness and to a doctor. So, I know I’ll be better off waiting for the doctor to treat me, but when I look at the arrow I think, if I pull it out now I’ll be able to relieve a lot of pain.
Diet and exercise are like waiting to see the Doctor, and food is like the arrow in your leg. You can always see food. You see it on TV, on billboards, when the good-hearted office worker brings in donuts, or when you stand at the front counter of the Burger King. You want to pull the arrow out to relieve the pain. You want to eat food because a diet means physical and emotional pain. Eventually the emotional cravings and the physical hunger are so painful that you want to pull the arrow out. Pull it out RIGHT NOW! Finally you pull out the arrow, and you eat it (it tastes like chicken)!
There’s an article in the Saturday, March 13, 2010 St. Petersburg Times that states, “The latest obesity statistics tell us that more than 64 percent of Americans are overweight or obese. It's also still true that 90 percent of dieting attempts fail.” The author of the article goes on to give dieting tips. The article also gives information on how to purchase the author’s book. I’m sure she wrote the dieting article out of the goodness of her heart.
So, I’m fat. I'm a fataholic. I'm a recovering fataholic. Even though I've lost about fifty pounds, my body will always want to be fat. It is my lifelong struggle. In some ways I feel like I cheated by having bariatric surgery. I really thought this until I received the second catheter. It hasn’t been easy with the surgery. But, the emotional food cravings and the physical hunger aren’t there. I can easily control what I eat without feeling like I’m a cat desperately clinging to the greased wall of food cravings, holding on by sheer will. The difficulty is chewing each micro-morsel of food four-hundred times. It is very painful when I don’t and food gets stuck in my throat. I’m supposed to drink sixty-four ounces of water per day. It’s hard to drink that much when every swallow is a tiny sip. Too much water going down in one swallow is very painful too. There are times that I feel weak. There are times that I feel like I have a low-grade flu.
I had the surgery to help my health, to feel better, and, let’s be honest, to look better. I used to think it was silly when women would have cosmetic surgery. Now I fully understand why they do. We have a desire to look good to others. We have that emotional desire, even when we can't physically meet it.
A couple of years ago, I was teaching a bunch of eight year-olds in church. I was joking with them about how I am such a skinny, fit person. One kid looked at me through squinted eyes, and said, “No you’re not. You’re fat!!” The brutal honesty of a child.
A neighbor stopped by one day to borrow something. I was riding our exercise bike. I stopped my workout and answered the door. I apologized for being sweaty and explained that I was in the middle of riding. He looked me up and down and said, “You need to keep riding.”
A while ago, my office was about as far as it could be from the printer. I was printing a lot of documents, and I was making routine trips to the printer. I told my manager that I was getting a lot of exercise going back and forth. He mumbled under his breath, “Yeah, you NEED the exercise.”
I ran into an old friend that I hadn’t seen in over twenty years. After exchanging pleasantries, he said, “You really need to do something… You’re huge!”
I have empathy for anyone who’s struggled with their weight. I’m not talking about the people who can exercise an extra minute a day to burn off those few pounds they gained over Christmas. I love you people, but you make me sick. It isn’t fair. It really isn’t. For those of you who say, “But life isn’t fair!” I say, “SHUT UP!” Life is never unfair in ways that I want it. For example, life should be unfair to celebrities, and Engineers should be Rock Stars. I should be able to demonstrate a simple asynchronous transfer protocol on stage and people should pay $200 per person to see it. I’m married, so I’d prefer if you women don’t throw underwear.
I look at photos of me when I was younger, really younger. My kindergarten photo shows this skinny kid. By my fifth grade photo, I look chubby. I slid in and out of chubby until I was twenty-nine. Then, I plunged head-first into the chubby barrel. I think it was bigger than a barrel, maybe an Olympic sized swimming pool. Through my twenties, I worked at a warehouse. I was lifting and running and eating and my body seemed to like it. I was able to maintain a reasonable weight. During the summer before my senior year in college, I got an engineering internship. It was the best thing for my career, and the worst thing for my body. I kept eating just like I did when I was running and lifting, but now I was sitting, and sitting. My weight skyrocketed over the summer. When I returned to school in the fall, my friends asked me if I’d swallowed a horse. I told them that I’d eaten it a bite at a time.
The next thing I know, it is fifteen years later, and I’m one hundred pounds heavier.
I know how I look. I know that I’m in bad shape. I know that I have diabetes and sleep apnea and high triglycerides and borderline high cholesterol. I know that I’d rather sit or lie down rather than go for a walk or play with my kids. I know that I hate going out in public because of what people think. OK, not so much what they think, but what they’ll say or how they’ll treat me. I’m not Brad. I’m not a human being. I’m the fat guy, or the very fat guy.
People will say, “What are you worried about? Nobody cares. No one notices.” Let me laugh a deep sarcastic laugh. Now I’m laughing a little more. Still laughing. Laughing. OK, I’m done. Admit it, we all do it. We judge people on their appearance. It’s wrong. We know it’s wrong. But we still do it.
I think self-esteem can be compartmentalized. I feel secure and self-assured in all aspects of my life except my appearance. I know that I can’t be myself without scaring people. I don’t have to dress up for Halloween. I open the door, and the kiddies scream and run away. I guess it doesn’t help that I’m dressed like an authentic Sumo.
I think of myself as jolly. I like to laugh. I like to make (what I think are) humorous comments about every-day situations. I’m easy-going and for the most part outgoing. I try to be the guy that introduces himself first. I worked in retail for several years, and I know how people can be rude to a waitress or a cashier or sales associate. I know that I hated being treated like that, so unless retail help is blatantly combative, I really try to be friendly to them. I generally leave good tips.
I've found that people don’t want a middle-aged fat man to be friendly with them. They want the fat man to be quiet. They want the fat man to stay out of their store. They don’t want to see the fat man. They want the fat man to stay home and order everything, including toothpaste, online. That’s why the UPS driver drops the package on the doorstep, rings the bell, and sprints to his truck. Oh, he’ll tell you it’s to keep on a tight schedule. But, I know it’s so he doesn’t run the risk of having a fat man open the door
There’s a big philosophical divide between the fats and skinnys. The skinnys think, “Why don’t you just lose weight. Go on a diet and exercise.” The fats are thinking, “Why don’t you just shut up and let me enjoy this cheesecake!”
When I attended my first seminar at RMAP, they talked about the contributing factors to overall body weight. Diet and exercise (or the lack thereof) is only one contributing factor to obesity. There are other factors such as genetics, body type, and hormone production. They’re finding that obese people produce more “hunger” hormones. Obese people are literally fighting against their body. Not only to lose weight, but to even maintain their current weight. Eventually the body wins.
People will say, “If you’re really committed and if you really want to make a change, you can do it.” I agree. I was completely committed to several diets. I swore several blood oaths that this time; I would stick to a diet and exercise and get back in shape. So, why did I end up at 304.7 pounds before I let a doctor cut up my organs?
I relate it to being shot with an arrow, in the leg, in the middle of the wilderness. It hurts. It really, really hurts. And I can see the arrow and I think if I pull it out I will feel better. People are telling me just leave it alone and they’ll get me out of this wilderness and to a doctor. So, I know I’ll be better off waiting for the doctor to treat me, but when I look at the arrow I think, if I pull it out now I’ll be able to relieve a lot of pain.
Diet and exercise are like waiting to see the Doctor, and food is like the arrow in your leg. You can always see food. You see it on TV, on billboards, when the good-hearted office worker brings in donuts, or when you stand at the front counter of the Burger King. You want to pull the arrow out to relieve the pain. You want to eat food because a diet means physical and emotional pain. Eventually the emotional cravings and the physical hunger are so painful that you want to pull the arrow out. Pull it out RIGHT NOW! Finally you pull out the arrow, and you eat it (it tastes like chicken)!
There’s an article in the Saturday, March 13, 2010 St. Petersburg Times that states, “The latest obesity statistics tell us that more than 64 percent of Americans are overweight or obese. It's also still true that 90 percent of dieting attempts fail.” The author of the article goes on to give dieting tips. The article also gives information on how to purchase the author’s book. I’m sure she wrote the dieting article out of the goodness of her heart.
So, I’m fat. I'm a fataholic. I'm a recovering fataholic. Even though I've lost about fifty pounds, my body will always want to be fat. It is my lifelong struggle. In some ways I feel like I cheated by having bariatric surgery. I really thought this until I received the second catheter. It hasn’t been easy with the surgery. But, the emotional food cravings and the physical hunger aren’t there. I can easily control what I eat without feeling like I’m a cat desperately clinging to the greased wall of food cravings, holding on by sheer will. The difficulty is chewing each micro-morsel of food four-hundred times. It is very painful when I don’t and food gets stuck in my throat. I’m supposed to drink sixty-four ounces of water per day. It’s hard to drink that much when every swallow is a tiny sip. Too much water going down in one swallow is very painful too. There are times that I feel weak. There are times that I feel like I have a low-grade flu.
I had the surgery to help my health, to feel better, and, let’s be honest, to look better. I used to think it was silly when women would have cosmetic surgery. Now I fully understand why they do. We have a desire to look good to others. We have that emotional desire, even when we can't physically meet it.
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