Operation Fat Bastard

I promised myself that I would devote this website exclusively to food. However, I am not a man of my word, so, here we go with Fat Bastard updates. Although, to be fair, they do kinda go hand in hand...

Further, I figure that while I am prone to running my mouth, I rarely give testimony. God has changed me, changed my life, and I don't say that often enough. I don't thank Him often enough. I am cantankerous and crotchety by nature, and I really hate it when I don't get what I want. Thus I complain endlessly, even when things are going well. But this is about rebirth, after all. And a man's nature can be changed.

So, brothers and sisters, I have come to TESTIFY! Woo hoo!

I weighed in this morning at 287.5 lbs. For the record, I started this journey at 333lbs, last recorded the last time I went to the doctor, which was around June of 2004. And it all started because of my bicycle.

Now, I have almost always been a big bubba, as they say. Since probably about the 4th grade, I have been overweight. People treat you differently when you're packing extra. And not in a good way. I have never handled that well. It, compounded by other factors that I am not willing to expose to the public eye, had made an impact on every facet of my life. Particularly in how I related to others, and how others related to me. When you are used to being scorned and mistreated, you adapt, and expect that from everyone you meet. It's ugly. And it made me as unattractive on the inside as I was on the outside, too. Even to myself.

Now, I do not know why I started riding my bike to work. I hated the thing, frankly. It was a sore reminder of a failed and painful relationship. I bought it because of her, and only used it because of her. Absent her presence, it was a pointless object. But I kept it, God only knows why.

So, long after I was kicked to the curb, having finally moved back to the fair Commonwealth of Virginia (which is not, despite the advertisement, for lovers). My new apartment was ridiculously close to work, a commute that was so much smaller than the 52 miles that I was used to that I am too embarrassed to say. OPEC's insatiable greed meant that my laziness was costing me money, though -- it was simply too expensive to drive to work. Thus a compulsion manifested that is still unexplainable. I rode my bike. My worthless, hated bike. Not for health, but for money.

Eventually, a month had passed. My eating habits had not changed, but my clothes fit better. I had energy that I had never had before. And I do mean never. I have almost always been one seriously lazy guy, trust me.

Thus, Operation Fat Bastard was born. Being something of a control freak when I am so inclined, and recognizing that such endeavors are doomed to failure when unrealistic goals are set, I divided OFB into three phases. Phase I : to get down below 300lbs by Dec 31, 2004. Phase II : I still haven't figured this one out, sorry. Phase III : Being comfortable in my own body by my birthday.

Phase III also has a requirement for a girlfriend, but I thinks its best if we leave that aspect alone.

The 300 lbs thing came about because it was my understanding that your generic bathroom scale stopped at 300 lbs. I guess Americans aren't quite as fat as the news says they are, ya know? I wanted to reach a point where I could start tracking my progress effectively and cheaply, and I was gonna give myself a good couple of months to get there.

Of course, by Sept I had found a model at Target that went up 330 lbs for cheap. Medical scales went up 500, but they cost an equal amount of money. Dollar per pound I'd guess. Bastards.

I brought the scale home, rushed to my bedroom, and weighed myself. I was expecting to maybe come in on the shy side of 329 or so. I'm new at this remember? I've had zero experience with actively trying such nonsense, ya know. I came in at 322. I was amazed. And so, having achieved such fantastic success while eating whatever the hell I wanted and drinking like a fish, imagine if I dieted? The horror.

Plus, I had a scale. And my latent obsessive compulsive behavior reared its terrifying head. I weighed myself in the morning, and in the evening. I bought a tape measure and began to track my waist and chest size.

I discovered that a pound of fat roughly equals 3,500 calories. I discovered two formulas, the BMR and the RMR, for measuring the amount of calories your body burns just to stay alive. I created a database to track weight and metabolic rate calculations. I'd enter readings every couple of weeks.

I discovered that I was losing 2 lbs a week on average. I increased my exercising. I stopped drinking so much. I took up a granola habit. My hunger decreased, my stomach shrank, I got real thirsty. I felt like I was possessed by a whirlwind. I was positively on fire.

People started treating me differently. I blamed it on weightloss, because that was the only reference I had for how people treated me. I brought this up with a friend, but I was told that my personality had changed too. And, though it pains me to admit it, it had.

Now, eventually, Dec 1 rolled around. I had moved into a new place, with roommates, and simply hadn't the time to obsess about weight. Weather had made regular exercise an obstacle, and living with two Irish-Americans meant lots of booze. So, I was anticipating only a modest loss.

But I hit 298! A month ahead of schedule! I was exhilarated!

With this in mind, I figured I'd settle down for an easy pace for December. Being Christmas time, that meant pie. The weather got worse, and my biking became a once a week at most thing, since I didn't have the proper attire.

I got cranky, and I got sick. Garr, me matie. Garr.

So, Jan 2nd, I weighed myself. 289. I had actually managed to lose weight while eating pie. Ha! Brand new metabolism, baby! HOORAH!

Yesterday, the weather was just delicious (for January). On the bike I was. Eww, it hurt. I was out of shape. Not as bad as back in July, but Lord, the pain. Plus, I was still sick. F-ing cold. But it was good to get back out there. I felt better instantly. Which was good, because New Year's wasn't all that great for me, frankly.

Today I rode into work again, even though it rained, lol. My truck is in the parking garage here, nice and lonely. And I'm on fire again.

If I maintain at least a pound and half a week, less than my present average, I'll hit the average weight zone for my height by my birthday. Plus, it'll only get warmer, so the distances will be greater. When the cold weather hit, I was up to about 15 miles on the weekends. I think I'll shoot for 30 miles by Easter.

All of this because I was compelled to do something I didn't want to do. Which, given my history with God, squares pretty consistently, I'd say. And I'm all the healthier for it, body, mind, and soul.

Needless to say, I do eat the food I write about here. Just not all of it. I stretch it out over days as lunch (which you can do when your daily calorie limit is 2000-2500 and your breakfast is granola). Though there may come a day when I'll have to give up the gumbo, I'll have to admit. I weep for the future, mon ami. I weep. But, for now, I'll just burn.