Audentes fortuna juvat

I hadn't planned to write this long, full entry until the first anniversary of the time I decided to take responsiblity for my weight, but many people keep asking me how I lost nearly 140 pounds -- from 319 to around 178 (click here for the Cliff's Notes version of this posting), depending on the day (it fluctuates around there). I'm glad I'm asked, but the answer is not easy and is complicated. I am still happy to give one-on-one explanations, though, if you're willing to hear the long story. I just wanted to go ahead and have an omnibus explanation to link to so that I can save time, because it is a long story.

This, by no means, is advice. There are no promises that these methods can be successfully adapted to everyone, or, considering some of this was accelerated by illness, that you'd even want to. Everyone's body composition and chemistry is different -- especially between men and women. We simply gain and lose weight quite differently. (I'm sorry, ladies, but estrogen makes it harder for y'all. I sympathize.)




STARTING FROM THE BEGINNING

I've been a little bigger than most, but around 2nd or 3rd grade, I started to realize that I was different than the other boys. I was excluded by them, and I felt excluded and weak when my only friends I had were girls. I learned to be kind and sensitive with them, but I eventually felt isolated. I would be depressed in a way a child would feel, but I also would have tantrums and rages against those who challeged me, teased me or somehow made me feel bad. Thus were the nacent factors of what I would layer be diagnosed as: bipolar.

I medicated myself with food and began the overeating that would be a major factor for many years. There came a point where I would isolate myself from others because I felt that I couldn't relate to them, and vice-versa. My interests were academic and nerdy; theirs were more age-appropriate. I ate and ate to fill the hole in my life.

I eventually crawled out of my shell, came out of the closet and made many wonderful friends. Still, old habits are hard to break. I'd binge on Zaxby's, Burger King and every other food that was bad for you. I did not buy foods with an eye toward their nutritional value. I ignored doctors' advice to lose weight and urgings to go to nutritional counselors. I drizzled on the dressings; I ate full-fat and sugar ice cream for breakfast and dinner.


April 2007, Columbia, S.C.


July 2007, UGA Arch.

THE MOMENT I TOOK CONTROL

In July 2007, I had enough. I had enough of wearing hard-to- find size 50 pants. I had enough of being tired and of feeling like a lazy slob. I had enough, at the age of 26, of being fatalistic that I would not live past my mid-50s on the path I was going. I was going to take control.

I started a simple program of calorie and fat control, and eased into exercise 4-5 days a week on a stationary bike for 30 minutes. I gradually upped the speed and intensity, as well as the duration.

I was having steady results, losing about a pound or two a week. It was hard, at first to stay motivated. But I kept on, and by the end of August, I was down to about 305.


CLOSTRIDIUM DIFFICILE

That summer, I accepted an interim editor position at my employer after the previous editor -- whose health problems increased with her stress -- resigned when the VP over the department would not allow her to go down to a part-time status.

The stress on me was heavy, but I thought I could handle it. I was responsible for writing an annual report for the past physical year, editing a four-page newspaper-like newsletter, editing advertising copy and putting a university magazine out -- something I never had done before, and I was playing interference between individuals and dealing with heavy, illogical edits on things.

I wound up getting sick with something that I thought was a sinus infection. I went to the urgent care clinic and the doctor diagnosed it as a sinus infection, and gave me an antibiotic called Omnicef. I still didn't take it easy and worked from home. Then, I felt a little better and started working again, and during Labor Day weekend, I went out and did a lot of things.

Then the next week came. I progressively got sicker. But I still came into work out of a sense of obligation. By that Wednesday or Thursday, I came in one morning, determined to work.

But the lights hurt my eyes. I had a massive headache. I was incredibly dizzy. I had diarrhea. I couldn't take it anymore and I went back to the urgent care.

I had a fever of 103.9 -- near the 104 danger/seizure/death threshold. The same doctor who gave me the Omnicef had an "oh fuck" look on his face that relayed a serious concern. "You might have meningitis. You're going to the emergency room."

I was taken by ambulance to WellStar Kennestone Hospital in Marietta. I am not impressed with some of their emergency staff, esp. a certain male Dr. there.

First, I was tortured in a first attempt at a spinal tap -- they had me bent over the side railing of a bed and shoved their torture needles into my spine -- only getting blood into my spinal cord and not getting any fluid. Then they had the second attempt where they put me face down on a bed and used a flouroscope to get it right. I was so dehydrated from not being allowed to drink any water that they could barely get any fluid. (Oh, and I had an audience of radiology trainees the procedure. Fun times.)

Then, the doctor said, "oh, you've got blood in the fluid. Maybe you've had an aneurysm. Let's do a CT scan." So, it was off to radiology again.

They couldn't determine what was wrong in the emergency room, but after admitting me to a semiprivate room, they did Clostridium difficile cultures thanks to the No. 2 problem. Once it was confirmed that the bug -- which grew strong thanks to a weakened immune system and antibiotics that flushed my good bacteria out -- was poisoning my blood, I was shipped off to a private room, loaded with drugs whenever I pleased and given Flagyl to combat the infection.

The hospital doctor said had I not sought medical attention, I would have been dead.

I spent four days in the hospital, unable to keep solids or liquids down. I was sent home to recover, where my mother stayed with me for a week.



Chart of weight loss.

ACCELERATION

Because my stomach shrank, and I had no desire to really eat heavily after puking my guts out, even when I ate Jell-O, the number of calories I ate was very limited -- 800, increasing to about 1,200. This was not intentional. I just simply could not eat as much.

After I regained a healthy palor and my strength, I did limit myself and used my decreased capacity and appetite to my advantage. I began tracking every single calorie consumed, increasing to a healthy level of 1,600 (I now eat 2,000-2,500 calories a day, and pursue a low-fat strategy.). And I started exercising again, increasing the time and the speed steadily.

The weight started coming off, so much so that everytime people saw me, they couldn't believe that I had lost the weight. My clothes did not fit as well anymore. I walked during my lunch time and even walked 2 miles to work some days. I became an exercising machine. I kept having to buy new wardrobes.


PHYSICAL/PSYCHOPHYSIOLOGICAL REPERCUSSIONS

There have been physical repercussions to the weight loss. As is common with those who lose weight rapidly, my gallbladder has been a source of grief. Nuclear medicine tests have shown some dysfunction related to my system being out of whack, and really fatty, heavy meals are not something I can tolerate on a regular basis -- a good thing, yet when it's time to have a little treat or a family celebration, I truly must limit myself.

The worst pain happened around Christmas. I spent Christmas Eve in the emergency room -- this time with a far nicer doctor than in September.

There's also the fact that I still do resemble a deflated balloon with the amounts of excess skin that I have.

And for some reason, the weight loss tipped me over into mania, for which I'm still being treated.


BRAIN/BODY

I still see myself as that bigger person. And I am paranoid as hell that I am going to blimp up again and ravenously binge on all that is bad for me.

I cannot quite adapt to some of the changes in the way people treat me, especially those who are strangers, and especially among gay men. Those who would have nothing to do with me at the weight of 319 are all over me now. I'm not used to the whistles or cat-calls in Midtown. I'm not used to come-ons. And this, as I've discovered, includes those of straight women.

And, for the life of me, I do not understand why there are those who wish to sabotage me. I don't think it conscious for many people in a malevolent way, or as part of unconscious hostility. There's got to be some underlying sociological or psychological reason that people with more training in those fields than I have could explain.

After the physical changes, the psychic ones are yet to happen. And yes, I still look back in anger at the way I was treated. I should get over it. But I just can't do it in one fell swoop.

Writing is my therapy. While I see an MD for the bipolar issues, I do not quite want to make the leap to go to therapy to deal with these issues.

But in the end, I am glad I have undergone this incredible journey. It has made me a stronger, more confident person. Much bolder. And I do believe for all the pain that has happened, and the residual issues that I'm facing, it's for the best and I am a much happier person now than I was before.


May '08.

STATISTICS AS OF JUNE 30, 2008:

• Weight: 178-180 lbs
• Height: 5' 11.5 "
• Waist then: 50-52 in
  
• Waist now: 34-36 in
• Shirt then: 3XL
• Shirt now: M to L (Euro tailoring L, American M)
  
• Percent Body Fat, March 2008: 15% per caliper test
• Percent Body Fat, March 2007: +40% per caliper test
  
• Calorie consumption now: 2,000-2,500/day
• Minutes of daily exercise: 35-55 min cardio
• Days per week exercised: 7, unless ill below the neck or not feasible due to logistics
  
• Walking pace: 4.4-4.6 mph
• Walking incline: 1-minute intervals at 3%-5% grade
• Weight-training occurrences: 2-3 times per week