My Obesity

My weight has fluctuated more than any other person I've ever known.

In my adult life, I once weighed as little as 188, which believe it or not actually put my BMI at the lowest end of my ideal weight, and at my porkiest I weighed 331 pounds, which put my BMI a double digit figure of points above the highest category of morbidly obese. Check photos of me at Dean's wedding if you want to see the horror at its worst. I was at a Bruce Springsteen concert around that time when a guy looked at me and started screaming at me to move up against the rail and "STOP THIS LINE", I had no idea what he was talking about and then it hit me, I was so fat that he assumed I was one of the security guys who check tickets, not a mere Springsteen fan.

Being six foot three, and big boned with some muscle, I can carry way more weight than most people would believe. I once had a guy at the LA County Fair guess that I weighed 205, only to shock him when I stepped on the scale and tipped in at 250. His jaw dropped, and I won a giant rubber snake. But I ask you who, who was the real loser?

Bottom line is, from my peak of 330+, which may have been higher because I was petrified of scales at that point, (and also found out, to my horror, that most scales couldn't even weigh me) so it's possible I hit 335 or greater. I became disgusted with myself and went on a giant diet and got all the way down to 220, then hovered between 220 and 240 for about four or five years, and basically looked and felt fine at that weight.

For some annoying reason, about two and a half years ago I began spiraling out of control again. Mexican food is my weakness. And pizza. I eat entire pizzas and dip the slices in ranch if it's nearby. Two apple fritters for breakfast and McDonalds for lunch. My dad eats quite a bit, but I easily eat what my mom and dad eat combined, and then some, with a good eight or ten beers per week mixed in, at 120 calories a pop. I hit 250, 260, 270, and all the while I reminded myself I was still sixty or seventy pounds lighter than my peak, so it was fine right? Right?

Over the holidays, I hit rock bottom. Or rock porky. Giant dinners, asinine snacks, whole packs of cookie dough, endless chips and cookies at work, etc. I'm not talking a bag of chips and one cookie, I assure you. I'm talking about something far darker than that.

My gut was sticking out so far, it was literally starting to hurt my back. I usually wear 42 inch pants, and most of those were now snug. Even XXL shirts were starting to feel liked nipped napkins. Shirts that Melody could wear as a large nightgown could barely fit around my elephantine upper body. I was practically at Big and Tall store proportions.

On January 1st, I came home and stepped on the scale after a gigantic IHOP breakfast, complete with three or four Cokes. Then I saw the number.

301. Three. Oh. One.

I was horrified, and decided it had to stop. I went on a diet, and a few twists and turns aside, I've been fairly decent about it all year so far.

As of this morning I was down to a svelte 287, for a loss so far of 14 pounds. Not a bad start, but I want to get all the way back down to like 245 ish, so I've got a solid forty pounds to go.

I've pretty much made the decision that if I can't get down to 245 by summer time, I'm going to have some kind of surgury on my gut. Or perhaps have my lips stitched shut and be fed through an IV. In all seriousness, hopefully it won't come to surgery, but if I can't get to my goal by beach time, it's an idea officially on the table. Last summer I actually avoided the beach, which I love more than anything, because at 280 with my shirt off I look like Chris Farley. Believe it or not at 245 ish I look bone fine.

So anyway, I thought if I put this out there, then people will know I'm trying to lose weight and it might motivate me to follow through. Forty lousy pounds. It should be doable.