Where I Came From

One of the reasons I signed up for NaBloPoMo in the first place was so I could take some time to document the things I've gone through to lose weight. It's been a hard long slog this year, but it has absolutely been worth it.

That fact got driven home today, as a friend called for some help. He had bought himself an elliptical machine, and needed help lugging it down to his basement. I drove over to help him, because he's a good guy and if the elliptical is what gets him going, then bully for him. Thing is, though, is he's a BIG guy. Scarily so. He's maybe five foot ten, and weighs nearly 320 pounds.

Here's what's sad; last year, I made him look like a pixie.

Last year was my absolute nadir of physical condition. After Thanksgiving, I probably weighed close to 370 pounds, spread all over my six feet two. My waist was nearing fifty inches. I was relegated to 4XL shirts, and my neck was approaching 22 inches. I would huff and puff walking up fourteen steps to get from our basement to ground floor. My wife, bless her heart, didn't nag me (much), but she was secretly scared to death that I would die soon.

How did I get that way? In my case, it was simple: I would overeat uncontrollably. I would go through portions of food that would stuff a normal person, and find room for more. When my wife would gently suggest that I had eaten enough, I would eat more out of spite. There were more than a few times that I would eat until it became hard to breathe. In addition, I hardly ever moved anywhere except from the couch to the PC to the bed.

What made me change? Strangely enough, my competitive spirit. My wife called me one night, as I was out picking up groceries, and suggested that I go to the local sporting goods store and sign up for a weight-loss contest, with a sizable cash prize. Motivated by the money, as well as a nagging feeling deep down that I wasn't living right, I signed up. I was given a diet and some suggestions for exercise, then I was weighed. On that day, December 27, 2006, I weighed 355 pounds.

I looked at the diet when I got home, and almost quit right away. It looked impossible, to be honest. I decided to make a deal with myself to try it out for a week, and see how it went. I wouldn't even try to exercise, like I could have at that point anyway. (I'll get to the diet restrictions later, I promise.)

One week passed, and I weighed in. To my delight, I had lost nine pounds, and didn't feel completely ravenous with hunger. That sealed the deal; I would stick with the diet.

Where am I today? Today, I weighed in on my friend's scale, after getting the elliptical down to his basement, and weighed in at 217 pounds. That may be off, because he had just purchased the scale, and it wasn't tared properly, but I'm not much heavier than that. My size 38 jeans have to be cinched to fit properly. My size 19 dress shirts make me look like a kid wearing his dad's clothes. I've lost weight off my feet, for Pete's sake.

Visual evidence: here's me, after six weeks of diet, having already lost 27 pounds.



















Here's me, from this past December.