Archive for weightloss

Planning concluded

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on July 3, 2013 by Johnny Broken

So there I was, nice and thin with a girlfriend. And then I went through that Satanist phase. Which lead to a stay in the mental ward, and a school transfer, and a couple months of eating nothing but a fruit pie for lunch at school. Before I knew it, I wasn’t so thin anymore. Drastic action needed to be taken. Sadly, what caught my eye this time was a commercial for a particular brand of diet pills. I saw no evidence at the time that you couldn’t substitute those for half the day’s meals, so I figured what the hell. I was sort of getting results, what’s the worst that could happen? (And yeah, now I know that the “worst” is basically everything, but I digress.) After around 3 months of taking the diet pills on and off, I got my first maybe-I-should-stop-taking these scare, and that was the end of that. But I was still like 145 pounds.

Skip ahead a while to a local concert I went to during winter when it was like 15 degrees outside. In the club, the people I was with wanted to be as close to the band as possible. So when the headlining act hit, I ended up spending like an hour and a half approximately 2 feet away from the business end of a smoke machine. And remember what I was saying about this being during winter? Well, we were soaked with sweat by the time we left, so it seemed like a grand ol’ idea to walk the couple blocks from the club to the car without our jackets on.

The next day, I woke up feeling horrible. Okay, just a cold, I hoped. By the end of the day, I realized it was the onset of the flu. And the next morning, I felt even worse. And when I woke up 2 days later with freaking pink eye, it was almost funny. I had never been that sick in my life. When I finally got to the doctor the next day, I’ll never forget his reaction. In the examining room, he stepped away from me to look at my chart. Then he looked at me again, inched back, took another look at the chart, inched back again, and then he finally spoke. “You are still very sick, and will need some time to recover. You’re also very contagious right now, so I recommend avoiding contact with others as much as possible.” What was hilarious was that he still kept inching back as he talked, till his back was to the door. And right after he said “possible” you could faintly see the cloud of dust from when he slipped out the door and called for a nurse.

My friends dubbed this period when I was sick with everything at once my “lichification,” because when I finally showed up again after spending two weeks on my death bed, I was like 15 pounds lighter. (And I know it’s bad to have to explain a joke, but a “lich” is a wizard who purposefully turns himself into an intelligent zombie that can use magic, thusly becoming immortal in the process.) My transformation into a lich has been the running gag with friends of mine ever since I dropped below 135 pounds. That’s geek gallows humor for you, I guess.

That’s also why when #3 comments about thin people versus fat people, he says I don’t count because I have a flesh eating disease. Plus there was my hernia surgery that seemingly also had the side effect of stapling my stomach. (I was having major trouble processing food after said surgery, which lead to periodic 10-14 hour long bouts of intense pain. Took some time, but I’ve been able to keep that problem in check.) Ungodly levels of pain aside, I’ve likened the experience to having suddenly gained the stomach capacity of a 6 year old girl. So these days I really have to be careful about what I eat. Can’t eat too much because I’ll either get sick or, y’know, gain weight. But I also need to eat enough to actually maintain weight.

A few months after all that, I got a stomach virus around Thanksgiving. (Which has to be the worst time of the year to be unable to eat much of anything.) That knocked me down to 118, which I hadn’t seen on the scale since my back surgery. But that was also when I started getting this odd burning sensation in my lower back. Signs pointed to that possibly having something to do with loss of muscle mass, and getting back up to 121 or so seemed to make that burning sensation go away. And that’s why about 121-123 is my current goal. Of course, I slowly crept back up to 134 pounds again. A last panicked push with some increased diet and exercise stuck, and I haven’t gone over 130 ever since. I’m at about 126 now, so my goal is reasonable.

But I’ve also noticed something else. At 130, I wanted 127. Then I’d hit 127 and be thrilled. Then I’d stumble into 125 and be ecstatic. And then I’d lose momentum and be back at 127. So when I was at 130 I felt, well, fat, and 127 felt better. But after hitting 125, 127 felt just as fat as 130 did. 127 became the new 130, if you will. And I’m sure 124 will be the new 127.

Oddly enough, I get asked every now and then if I’ll ever “go back” to being as big as I used to be. My approximate response is always “Oh fuck no” regardless of how much my sweet tooth screams in protest. Granted I don’t really have anything to show for my effort, but… no. I’m not going back.

It’s also come to my attention via Twitter that my *holds the tip of a thumb and pointer finger a hair apart* tiny obsession with my weight may classify as anorexia. And… I’m not sure how I feel about that. I mean to be honest, I see the mantra “skip dinner, wake up thinner” and I can’t really bring myself to argue with it. And for as much as people comment on how thin I am these days, I get annoyed when I see a guy thinner than me. Oh, I think, he has to have a girlfriend. Maybe if I was as thin as him, I could actually get a girl too.

-Johnny

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And this is why I hate planning

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on June 27, 2013 by Johnny Broken

Well… long story short, I had big plans for last weekend, but things didn’t go as I’d hoped. Umpteenth suicide attempt, if you’re curious. I had intended to make the attempt Saturday night, but I didn’t even get that far due to an impromptu minor car wreck earlier in the day. Which is why things are a bit later than usual this week. The specifics of my plans or how they were thrown off aren’t really important right now, and my lack of reacting quick enough to use the wreck to my advantage has me too depressed to explain them any further anyway. So I’m going back to what I had previously intended to post this week.

Many moons ago when I was but a young lad naïve to the ways of the world, like most my age, for all intents and purposes, I didn’t care when I ate, what I ate, or how much of it I ate. I was a chubby kid growing up, but I figured that was just how it was. I mean I hated my relatives for teasing me about it, yeah, but there were some kids at school just as pudgy, if not more so, than me, so I took it as normal. Some kids were athletic and fit, I wasn’t. That’s just how it was. Didn’t really cross my mind that I had any control over this for a long time.

I think my heaviest was around 185 pounds. And considering that I stopped growing at 5 foot 5 and a half, it wasn’t a good look for me. (I apologize if you don’t use American measurement systems. Math and I have never gotten along very well, so I would be the last person to try to convert that to stones or grams or whatever measurement system you use in your neck of the woods.) Now you might be wondering, “Hey, haven’t you said that you’re 5 foot 6 and a half?” and you would be right. Quick story!

I was born with a bad case of scoliosis, and I forget the exact numbers, but something like a 1.5 grade to the curve of your spine is normal. They recommend surgery at like 2.5. My spine was at like 3.2. So as a reward for my extremely screwed up genetics, I got two steel rods inserted next to my spine to straighten it out. And when I finally made it to my grandmother’s for post-surgery recovery, I had this weird feeling of vertigo walking around the place. Then it dawned on me that I had literally been straightened out, and was thusly about an inch taller. The disorientation came from everything being an inch lower than I remembered. Bit trippy, getting used to that.

Anyway. When reality finally sunk in and I realized, “Damn. I’m fat.” I began a lengthy period of trial and error to determine how to best lose weight.

One of the things that I had to plan my life around when I was growing up, was that I was frequently sick in the stomach. Granted a lot of this could be attributed to my nerves even as a little kid, but my parents were also fond of a late night snack back in the day. Hungry? Have a bowl of soup. Or some cereal. Or a sandwhich. Then off to bed in less than an hour. And of course, by the next morning. “Oh, you don’t feel well? Hmm. Ah well, we’ll get you some medicine.”

I saw a TV show somewhere along the lines about healthier living that advised to stop eating before you go to bed. And the exact numbers escape me, but the rest of it was something like you really shouldn’t eat like 2 hours before you go to bed. Sound plan, I thought, and I’ve abided by that rule pretty much ever since. And guess what? Almost immediately after I started watching how late I ate, I all but stopped getting such a frequent upset stomach.

And of course there’s the obvious stuff like cutting back on junk food and soda and the like. And then exercising, well, at all, in my case. But things weren’t progressing enough at first, and my hardcore sweet tooth wasn’t helping either. And then I got that previously mentioned back surgery which was like 8 or 9 hours on the operating table, and 6 months of recovery. Now I would like to point out that when I was barely able to move because my back had been cut wide open so my spine could be fused and bolted straight with two steel rods, the LAST thing on my mind was how much I weighed. At the time I had been growing my hair long, so I admit I was focused on that, but I really never noticed during my recovery that I was dropping weight like crazy. All in all, I lost like 50-60 pounds during that whole ordeal. And I was absolutely thrilled. My hair was long! And I was THIN!

And, oddly enough, this was also when I started dating a girl who was… hrmph, I’m trying to think of how I can phrase this so I don’t sound like an asshole, but I’m at a bit of a loss. So screw it. When I look at the opposite sex, I mentally file women my age into three categories

-Attractive. This encompasses “hot” girls who are thin or toned or curvy in all the right places or whathaveyou. See also, Out of My League.

-Average. An average girl can still be incredibly good looking, but she has a few extra pounds. Theoretically, averages girls are in my league in the dating pool.

-Big. This should be self explanatory. I’m sorry, but I do not find this attractive. And if I lost the weight, so can you.

Now the girl I started dating around this time, let’s call her #5, who also became the aforementioned longstanding girlfriend, was attractive. Well built. Pretty. On the other hand, the girl I dated for a bit before her was a bit on the pudgy side. Big boned, if you will. She was nice, but I will be honest, she’s one of the girls that would not be the first pick of the dating pool. My point here is that once I finally slimmed down enough, I was able to get a desirable, attractive girlfriend. Call my perception of life warped if you will, but a lot of what and how I think was developed through crap I actually went through.

And at that, we are to be continued! And you can relax, I’ll be here for a while. My plans take some alignment of the stars level arranging, so it’ll be some time before I try anything major again.

-Johnny