You bastard...who is fat

I experienced something this weekend that I never want to go through again. Before I talk about that though, I need to provide a backstory. Here it is, for your reading pleasure (or displeasure, I'm not here to tell you how to feel as you read).

Just about all my life, I've been the proper weight. Not skinny or anything, but the right weight for my height (I'm about 5' 6"). However, within the last three years, a certain life circumstance has caused me to gain quite a bit of weight. I don't want to get too personal here, mostly because I don't think other people care about my problems (they have their own to worry about after all) and partly because it would take a little while to explain, but I had (and still have, to a certain degree) a severe case of depression, along with a few other problems. I've always had these problems, off and on, for as far back as I can remember. A work related stress escalated these problems into full gear though, about three years ago, and that's when the weight gain began.

When I was skinnier, I weighed about 150 pounds. I never really paid much attention to my weight back then, so I don't know for sure, but it was around 150 pounds or so. About six months ago, I weighted as much as 195 pounds. In less than a three year period, I gained 45 pounds (that's roughly 15 pounds a year, for those of you who are mathematically challenged). Part of the reason I gained so much weight was a certain depression medication I was on (it caused me to feel hungry all of the time). I don't blame the medication solely, it was mostly my fault. I didn't show any self restraint and I didn't exercise at all, so I was more to blame than the medication.

It doesn't really matter how I got fat though. What matters is, I was a fat bastard, and there was someone I had to get in touch with and forgive...myself. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and start doing something about it. So, last December, I decided to run on the treadmill once a day. I started off slow and worked my way up. I missed four of five days of the treadmill around Christmas, but I didn't let that discourage me (like I normally would). In January, I gave up drinking pop and kept running on the treadmill, even though I missed a week of it because I was sick. In February, I started to run on the treadmill twice a day. In March, I started weightlifting with my dad, along with running on the treadmill twice a day on most of the days I didn't lift weights. In April, I got one of those exercise balls and I do that on occasion. May just started and I plan on swimming in the pool once it gets nicer. On most days, I feel like nothing will stop me from getting back to a more proper weight (I still have plenty of self doubting days though).

As of right now, I am down to 172 pounds. Somehow, I fit into most of my old pants, even though I'm probably 20 pounds heavier than when I last wore them. Everyone tells me that muscle weighs more than fat, but that sounds like one of those cliches to me. It's like that trick question, what weighs more, a pound of feathers or a pound of steel? The answer is, of course, they both weigh the same. In any event, I still have a bit of a gut, so I still want to lose more weight. My goal is to get down to 155 by the end of the summer. I don't know if it's realistic or not, but I'll be happy if I can get close.

Anyway, enough of the backstory. What I really wanted to talk about is this. On Saturday (yesterday), my mom and dad celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary. We threw a party for them, at a hall, and about 70 people showed up. I knew most of the people who came and they knew me. Not all of them knew me in both weight classes of my life, but some of them did. Most of the ones who did commented on how much weight I've lost. The first few who made these comments didn't bother me that much, but as the night went on, I got more and more annoyed. It became awkward for me. It was kind of like that Big Boy commercial, where the fat guy tickles Big Boy, and then Big Boy tells him he's not ticklish, but the guy keeps tickling him anyway. That's what it was like for me, I was tired of people pointing out my weight loss, even though most of them weren't rude about it (although some were). And I'm sure most of the people were just trying to make conversation, not trying to annoy me. By the end of the night though, I was tired of being tickled.

After last night, I've come to the realization that I never want to go through that again. I'm going to turn that negative experience into a positive and use it to motivate me to lose more weight. When I was younger, I never had to work at staying the proper weight. I ate whatever I wanted and rarely exercised. Now, I have to work at it, so I need all the motivation I can get. I'm going to think back to that night every day and use it to keep me going. When I wake up in the morning, and don't feel like exercising, I'm going to think back to that night. When I get a craving for something I shouldn't eat, I'm going to remember that night. Any time that I feel like I can't do it anymore, I'm going to recall that night. That night will be my rallying cry, from now until forevermore (I always wanted to use forevermore in a sentence).

Well, that's all I've got to say about that. If you made it this far, thanks for reading. And until next time, you stay classy, San Diego.