OnePhatMan
I wasn’t always fat.
As a child I was only a little overweight—not even big enough to wear the husky size. When I first started paying attention to my size at fourteen I weighed 156, about 15 pounds too much. By the time I graduated high school three and a half years later, I was hovering at about 200 pounds.
When I graduated from college in 1990 I was up to 260 pounds, with apparently no upper limit in sight. As a desk jockey writing computer software, I blossomed to 330 pounds before I made my first serious attempt to lose weight. I lost 50 pounds in two months by starving myself on about 1000 calories a day just to impress a girl I was dating, and promptly gained it back when we broke up. Shortly afterward, I met my future wife, Robyn, and within a year my weight crept up to a looming 371 pounds.
It gets worse. Even though I was diagnosed with adult-onset diabetes in1997, I didn’t really do anything about my weight. My doctor put me on increasing amounts of medication to help my body use the insulin it produced (my diabetes was caused by a condition called insulin resistance, which means, in a nutshell, that there was so much fat in me that my body couldn’t use its own insulin to clear the glucose from my blood) but it didn’t really help me at all. Why? I loved food, plain and simple, and I especially loved sweet foods. From cookies to cakes and everything in between, I could never get enough. I’d eat things like white bread with sugar and butter on it for a snack, big spoonfuls of jam right from the jar, and in a pinch I’d even eat sugar out of the bag.
My daily eating pattern was to skip breakfast, have a big lunch from one of the numerous restaurants near my office, some kind of snack when I got home from work, then stuff myself with things like pot roast and mashed potatoes with gravy at dinnertime. The high point of the day—my favorite time—came after dinner. Snack-time, I called it.
Yeah, right. Like three or four Little Debbie snack cakes is a snack; or a whole pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream; or half a bag of Oreo cookies. And I wondered, like an idiot, why my doctor kept increasing my diabetes medicine when she would check my blood sugar.
Thank God for reality television. Breakthrough »
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