Tales of an American Fat Ass

Yeah, I'll admit it, I have my own zip code. My ass has so much gravitational pull that NASA must include me in it's orbital calculations for the International Space Station. My last pair of pajamas were made from a disused circus tent.... you get the idea.

All self-deflating jokes aside, I've long had a weight problem, and I've long known about it. I knew I was overweight twenty years ago. Yet for all my self-declared "intelligence" and self-awareness, I've done little to stem the tide until very recently. I suppose, deep down, my brain was addicted to the satisfied feeling of a full stomach.... hmmm... I had to sit there for a moment and think about what I just wrote. It's hard to follow up on that.

I also need to lay some partial blame on my addiction to games. Since at least the age of six, I've had some form of video game entertainment at my disposal. Not long after, at nine, I got my first computer, a Commodore 64, and I learned that playing games is fun, but making your own is even better! Of course, my having grown up around computers has lead me to have some form of a career, so there are positive aspects, but I almost shudder to think back on other aspects of my life I've denied myself because of it. I was less interested in human interaction than I should have been, which was reinforced by my unspoken embarrassment over my growing waistline. Well, at least eating made me feel better. *cough*

So, now at 30, with almost half my life over, I've had what recovering alcoholics call a moment of clarity. I see all the plans and dreams I had begun to lay out as early as five years old, and I see none of them advancing beyond the narrow compound of my skull. Hell, if nothing else it'd be nice to be able to ask someone out without feeling like a complete ass for putting the poor girl on the spot. Why should I force her to fabricate some excuse to keep from hurting my feelings? I know I'm a fatass. Let's cut the middleman and declare my invitation a failure. There, better for everyone.

Well, anyway, I think I may finally have enough willpower to make it all go away, and perhaps enough to recover some of my childhood dreams too. Four years ago I managed to quit smoking two and a half packs a day, after seven years, and I haven't looked back. It was simple now that I think back on it: I had only to reinforce the idea that cigarettes were not my friend. They were f'ing up my life, killing me with every drag, and I was just sitting there taking it. I had to get myself angry! I needed to hate my cigarettes to keep them away, and you know what? It worked.

Why is food any different? Sure I need food to survive, but that's no excuse. People around the world survive on less than a hamburger a day, so why should I need so much more? The strategy: eat only enough to make hunger pain go away. If I don't feel physical pain, then I don't need to eat. Pain is, after all, your body's way of telling you that your stomach is empty. So why eat if it's not empty?

Okay, so step one is out of the way. What's step two? Get off my ass and move! Losing weight is going to be a slow process with diet alone. It took me three decades to put this weight on. By God I'm not waiting another three to take it off. So, instead of sitting in from of the latest shoot-em up all night, I've installed an old exercise bike in my room. I also have about 50lb of free weights I can lift around.

This is actually what made me decide to write this little self-rant tonight. I was on my exercise bike earlier, and I wasn't feeling very good. In fact, I actually have a bit of a cold. I was tired, cranky, and unenthusiastic. "I rode my bike for the last few nights, so shouldn't I be okay to take a night off?" I asked myself. As I rode along, weighing the pros and cons of my argument, it dawned on me that I really did need to continue tonight, even if I felt bad. I couldn't think of all the reasons at the time, so I figured writing them all down was the best way to reason with myself. And, quite frankly, I can't imagine how public disclosure and humiliation could be anything but more motivation. Hell, maybe I can score some sweet marketing gig off of it, like Jared from Subway or something. That would rule.