For as long as I can remember, I've been fat. I have no problem being called fat because it has always been more accurate than saying something asinine like "big-boned" or "husky." I have always made it a point never to put myself down for being obese. Frankly speaking, I am too awesome, droll and worth-wild of a person to let my weight bum me out. Not to say there weren't times -- many, many times -- I wished I wasn't fat. So on Nov. 30, 2010, something in my head ignited, and I decided to stop wishing and start taking action
When people began to notice my body shrinking, they would always ask what made me, after nearly 26 and a half years, decide to lose weight. Not wanting to get too personal or take up too much of anyone's time, I would always spout off something generic. "I just wanted to get healthy." "I figured the time was right." But since I feel more comfortable writing than speaking, let me tell you all why I really decided to get my shit together.
I push myself in the gym, I suck in the chilly autumn air while on my three-mile runs, and I continue to shun the foods I used to love, all because longings and desires deep in my mind, heart and gut. The vain, superficial desires to which I cling but dare tell no one because admitting I want the things losing over 100 would afford me would make me sound vulnerable.
But I can't help it if I want to go into any store and find any shirt, blazer or pair of pants in my size. I want the "Big & Tall" sign to no longer be my beacon when I enter a department store, and I want to no longer have to pay $1 or $2 more for my size.
When I'm out and about with my more active and athletic friends, I want to be be able to keep up with them. Though I scoff when they tell me about the rock walls they climb and the hard-core, nearly physically impossible obstacle course they plan to run, I secretly long to do those things with them and be able to hold my own.
When I board the plane, I don't want to be faced with the ultimatum of paying for two seats or having to leave the plane. And, not to be too demanding, I'd like to be comfortable in whatever window, middle or aisle seat I'm assigned.
Although calling Shotgun is usually a display of victory, I don't want people to let me sit in the front seat of their cars because they think I will be more comfortable and or that it will free up more room in the back seat.
When I'm at a club or bar, I want to be the man the sober women approach. I want the quirky, attractive woman in the restaurant to send smiles and batted eye lashes across the room to me. I want the ladies in the supermarket to eye-fuck the shit out of me as I reach to back of the top shelf for the last Arctic blue Gatorade or bend down to find the Lipton green tea. Vain? Yes. But women don't tend to flock to someone who can crush them. I thought my wit, humor, individuality and authenticity could over-shadow my size, but I guess I was wrong.
I find children repulsive, but if the day comes when I want to have some of my own, I don't want to decide against procreating because I'm afraid of passing along my fat gene.
Whether the remainder of my life is long or short, I want it to be as healthy as possible. Numerous people in my family have diabetes; my late grandfather even had his legs amputated because of it. I do not want to spend the last days of my life in someone's hospital bed or wheel chair. And dying from an obesity-related stroke or heart attack in my 30s is not how I envision my story ending.
Although I'm getting in shape so I can be as healthy as I can be, I can't deny my ulterior motives. Some of my motivations to shed pounds seem reasonable while others are a bit absurd. But when people ask why I always eat Subway and why I'm in the gym four to five times a week, I want to clue them in to why I'm really busting my ass to drop down to 200 pounds. But my vocabulary fails me, and all I mutter is "I want to be a little healthier."
