273

Let's get the elephant in the room out of the way: Standing six feet tall and weighing in at 273 pounds, I am officially at my fattest ever. I know what you would say to me if I said that to your face. "You're not fat, Ryan! Don't say that about yourself!" C'mon, let's not be delusional - I'm 'uuuuuuuge.

Believe me, I'm fat. And I'm not sad to admit it. Admitting it means I am acknowledging it. Acknowledging it means I am ready to change it. Changing it means that I am taking steps toward improving my physical wellbeing. Accepting that I am fat is better than avoiding it altogether.

Hitting rock bottom is hard. Hitting rock bottom for a second time is even harder.  It's difficult to fathom that I was 73 pounds lighter when I first started grad school, and nearly 100 pounds lighter when I was starting my last two years of undergrad. Sure, 100 pounds ago I was a pretty terrible, vapid, and mean spirited human being who loitered around dating apps, frequented gay bars, went out on dates with men just to get a free meal, and dropped one conquest and pursued another with little more than a "thanks for the memories, talk to you never" text to separate them. I had a lot of work to do in terms of emotional maturity and not being a menace to the dating pool, but I was more or less physically healthy. And while I don't miss who I was emotionally, I do miss who I was physically.


I worked out. A lot. I know, I can hardly believe it myself. I won't lie to you and say I loved it - I hate working out. It is the worst. I worked out hard because I figured that if I was going to suffer through the sweating, cramping, and aching muscles, I was going to earn it. This hatred for exercise only motivated me to eat healthy because I was going to be damned if my two hour workout was going to be undone by my poor food choices. And that lifestyle worked for about a year.

Then, the excuses came. First, I told myself I didn't have time to work out when I started the last two years of undergrad. I had to get involved in student organizations. I had to be social. I had to make time for making new friends and keeping up with old friends. I had to work a part time job that I didn't enjoy, but provided money. I had to make time to read, write, and study. I had to make time for my "dating" apps. I had to make time to go on dates. And while all of those things have been lucrative in gaining friends, going to grad school, getting comfortable in my own skin and with my sexuality, and truly understanding who I was and who I wanted to be, they were all excuses for why I couldn't make time to work out.

Then, I got into a relationship. A serious one. And the best part? He had lost a lot of weight and, it turns out, he really just wanted to eat, too. And once it got serious enough, I felt comfortable enough to eat all the bad things I used to eat. We traveled often, drank great wine, and ate great food. I wouldn't trade any of those experiences with my now-husband, but it's pretty obvious that I got carried away. I went too far.

I got fat.

It's difficult to explain the struggle of overeating to someone who has never experienced it, but the best way I can relate it to someone who hasn't struggled with it is to compare it to an addiction. I'm sure I just made someone livid with that statement, so let me be clear: I am not downplaying addiction. I cannot imagine being under the control of a substance, but comparing the difficulty of overeating to overcoming an addiction is the only way I can even remotely explain what it's like. There's pleasure in overeating. There's joy in overeating. There's comfort in overeating. There's shame in overeating. There's embarrassment in overeating. There's guilt in overeating. There is withdrawal when you stop overeating. It's easy to offer explanations for why someone overeats. Fine, it's an issue with impulse control. Sure, it's "as simple as" pushing away from the table. Okay, it's a ramification of an overindulgent society. "Moderation is key." I'm sure it looks that easy on the outside, but there is nothing easy about overcoming an obsession with food. But saying it isn't easy is a cop out, and a pretty lazy cop out at that.

So here's my first next macguffin: finding my way back to being a physically healthier person. I can't do it by myself -- been there, tried that, and it isn't working. So Craig and I are doing this together using HMR, which provides all our meals and vitamin enriched shakes so there is no guess work. You follow the program, or you fail: the success of this program, from everything I have read, is entirely dependent on the choices you make. If you eat outside of the program and decide to have that drink, that slice of pizza, that burger, then the consequences are on you. Is it restrictive? Sure. Is it going to be difficult? Yes. But I'm in control of it. My "off" day does not affect Craig's "on day," and Craig's "off day" does not affect my "on day."

We will see if the program lives up to its promise, but I can say that I am excited to have one day under my belt. I can't promise that it will be motivational. Eventually, I'll have to exercise, and I guarantee that I'll hate it. But I'm going to keep myself honest. I'm going to beat this thing. I'm not going to let it win anymore.

Here's to the journey.