I wish I could say that when I went to the doctor's office in December 2012 and weighed in at 395 pounds that it was the wake up call that I needed to change my lifestyle and save my life, but it wasn't. It was a much tougher pill to swallow than the 330 pounds I saw in October 2005, though; 400 pounds was a scary, scary number at any age. I no longer truly felt like I accepted that I was just the fat guy. I now felt like I had a serious problem. My doctor did a blood test, and although I wasn't diabetic or pre-diabetic, he told me that unless I made some changes and soon, that wouldn't be the case much longer.
I can fortunately say that I never was diabetic or pre-diabetic. I'm so incredibly grateful for that. But I didn't change the way I was living. I no longer had the go-to excuse of being a commuter; I was a college graduate living in the same city that I worked in. My apartment front door to my desk chair was less than 15 minutes with driving and parking, even if I hit one of the traffic lights. My friends were now back around after we had all graduated college. We played tennis with a relatively moderate frequency when the weather allowed it, but even my competitive spirit couldn't overcome the weight. Yet I still made excuses to not eat healthy: "too difficult", "too expensive", "I don't know what I'm doing" and whatever else. This myriad of nonsense excuses left future outlooks for my health in a bleak state.
June 2013 is when I finally had the reality hit me that I was truly, truly unhappy with myself for how I was living life. I had spent a weekend down the shore with a group of friends from college. On the very first night, I had a pretty terrible anxiety attack about my weight and health. They had been hanging out earlier in the week and had a negative interaction with someone who was overweight. When rehashing the story, most of the conversation was making fun of this person's weight rather than how difficult they were to deal with. And it continued on like that for most of that first night.
I did not take it well internally. I didn't say anything to them, and I didn't join in on the commentary, but it was hitting me hard. Did they feel this way about me? Were these things said about me when I wasn't around? Did this person's weight really matter so much that it dominated the story? I began to really feel terrible about myself. I couldn't come to the conclusion about whether or not any of this was ever directed about me behind my back, but the doubt was enough to make me start to feel that way about myself.
I didn't want to be like this any more. Even if my friends didn't feel this way about me, or even if they did, I didn't want to give them the opportunity to. I hated being fat. I hated that I couldn't compete in athletic stuff. I was afraid for my general well-being. I had almost no self respect anymore. Every doubt I had about myself was being confirmed that night.
I finally realized I had to change, or things were never going to get better and I was never going to live the life I wanted to live, and I finally, truly wanted to change. I was ready.
I can fortunately say that I never was diabetic or pre-diabetic. I'm so incredibly grateful for that. But I didn't change the way I was living. I no longer had the go-to excuse of being a commuter; I was a college graduate living in the same city that I worked in. My apartment front door to my desk chair was less than 15 minutes with driving and parking, even if I hit one of the traffic lights. My friends were now back around after we had all graduated college. We played tennis with a relatively moderate frequency when the weather allowed it, but even my competitive spirit couldn't overcome the weight. Yet I still made excuses to not eat healthy: "too difficult", "too expensive", "I don't know what I'm doing" and whatever else. This myriad of nonsense excuses left future outlooks for my health in a bleak state.
June 2013 is when I finally had the reality hit me that I was truly, truly unhappy with myself for how I was living life. I had spent a weekend down the shore with a group of friends from college. On the very first night, I had a pretty terrible anxiety attack about my weight and health. They had been hanging out earlier in the week and had a negative interaction with someone who was overweight. When rehashing the story, most of the conversation was making fun of this person's weight rather than how difficult they were to deal with. And it continued on like that for most of that first night.
I did not take it well internally. I didn't say anything to them, and I didn't join in on the commentary, but it was hitting me hard. Did they feel this way about me? Were these things said about me when I wasn't around? Did this person's weight really matter so much that it dominated the story? I began to really feel terrible about myself. I couldn't come to the conclusion about whether or not any of this was ever directed about me behind my back, but the doubt was enough to make me start to feel that way about myself.
I didn't want to be like this any more. Even if my friends didn't feel this way about me, or even if they did, I didn't want to give them the opportunity to. I hated being fat. I hated that I couldn't compete in athletic stuff. I was afraid for my general well-being. I had almost no self respect anymore. Every doubt I had about myself was being confirmed that night.
I finally realized I had to change, or things were never going to get better and I was never going to live the life I wanted to live, and I finally, truly wanted to change. I was ready.
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