Fat Tales

Did anyone else see the show that featured the one-ton brother and sister? Together, they weighed just more than 1,100 pounds. Now that’s fat.

But I have questions about this. First of all, at what point do you just give up entirely? Is it when you can’t reach around your backside to take care of business after going to the bathroom — and you decide it’s really not that important anyway? Although I’m clearly no sylph, I wonder about how it is that you could become SO immobilized by your weight. All I can think is that these folks must have a pretty good support system. Because if you’re that fat, somebody’s got to bring you your chow and take care of you. If you can’t wipe your own ass, then that’s a problem, particularly if you just don’t care.

This comes to mind after going to a Chinese restaurant last night. Let’s say right now that all food that comes from that restaurant is off the plan. But who cares. Last night my partner said “let’s go” and I agreed because I didn’t care.

As we entered, an enormous woman and her colossal husband were just about to be seated. The woman was dressed in a sleeveless shirt and a skirt, with no jacket. Mind you, it was 45 degrees, but this gal was sweating. And she quite honestly had a serious case of body odor. (Disclaimer …. not all fat people smell, and not all fat people sweat, and not all fat people are unattractive — I know this. I’m one of them.)

I looked her over and wondered: When did she give up? Was it at 160 pounds? Was it when she had to get a handicapped license plate? Was it when her husband said “I love you, regardless of your size?”

I don’t know. But I do know, I’m not ready to give up. Even if I do cheat and don’t lose any weight, I still think it’s important to try.

I suppose I’m the eternal optimist. I can still visualize what it might feel like to get comfortable within my own skin.

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I just came home from CES in Las Vegas, and the fact that I survived now means that I can really knuckle down on my diet. Las Vegas may be the food capital (since every major chef seems to have a restaurant there), but I can tell you that I saw NONE of that. Instead, I was marooned on the floor of the Sands Convention Center, where doughnuts are sold as a side order to iceberg lettuce salads that are drenched with suspicious-looking creamy dressing. I had a hot dog and Cheetos for lunch one day. Yikes.

But now I’m back in the lovely and delightful Bay Area, and fired up to feel better. Yesterday, I bought a step and distance pedometer, and I’m going to try to hit 10,000 steps a day. I did okay yesterday. After I put it on in mid-day, I hit 7,700 steps. That’s not too bad, considering I wasn’t really trying. So today, I’m going to hit 10,000, no matter what.

Today is the first day I’m really beginning to feel normal after all the badness that went into my system over the last week. Stress and terrible food is a really bad combination. Of course, I’m not telling anyone anything new here, but the last week just reinforces it for me. There’s a direct link between my mental health, good food, exercise and stress level. When the balance goes out of whack, I get very cranky, very fast. I feel awful.

The thing I’ve realized is that I’ve felt bad for a long time, without knowing exactly why. Now I think I get it: If you take care of yourself, you feel better mentally and physically. Wow! Now there’s a barn-burner of an idea!

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What would happen if everyone lost weight and were thin and beautiful? What if we all looked just the way we wanted to? Like Catherine Deneuve, Angelina Jolie, Charlize Theron or Audrey Hepburn? Or Cary Grant, Brad Pitt or George Clooney?

Or would it be better, frankly, to be ourselves and look more like Rosie O’Donnell or Oliver Platt?

Would we be bored if we were perfect? Is being fat a thing to do?

I dunno. I’m not so concerned about looking like them as feeling like them. I’d like it if my job was to look as good as I could.

For those actor folks, maintaining their bodies is their livlihood. For me, I’m not so sure it matters. But I bet they feel pretty good. Maybe their days aren’t crammed with every mundane chore. I bet they don’t tuck into a chocolate sundae after work as a stress reliever. But who knows? Kirstie Alley did. And look what happened to her!

Is there a lesson in all of this?

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It’s been a while since I last posted. My father died. If there’s one thing I think I’ve learned from him, both in life and in death, is to value your health and treat it with respect.

My father had lung cancer before I was born in 1961. He lost half a lung and was blasted with serious radiation. Thankfully I don’t have two heads, but I suppose one could sprout at any moment. In any case, although the last five years of his life were frankly shitty, I think he’d still sign up for the radiation based on the 40 years of good health he did have after treatment. Because of the radiation, at the end of his life he lost the use of his left arm and had lots of other medical problems. The point is, though, that he thrived after his cancer and led a pretty good life.

I remember my father exercising every morning on his electronic Exercycle — a Rube Goldberg-type contraption that had a seat that moves up and down and in the opposite direction from the pedals. My dad was a big guy, and at the time I thought he looked a little silly on his machine, but he definitely had the right idea. The fact that he lived to be 82 after a near fatal brush with lung cancer is a testament to the idea of trying to take care of yourself.

So now I’m back in the saddle, in both my mind and body. I want to lose this weight and exercise and eat right. I haven’t gained any weight over the last month or so, but I haven’t lost, either. Now it’s time to lose.

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I’m back, not from Paris, but from Reno. My father has been gravely ill and I’ve been spending oodles of time up there. As a consequence I’ve cancelled Paris.

I feel selfish for saying this, and I suppose it is selfish in practice, but I find Reno a hard place to be. From a health perspective, it’s just plain bad for me. If ever there was a place where processed carbohydrates could be a major food group, Reno is it. Everytime I go I gain weight. This up and down has been going on for weeks since my Dad got really sick. And I’m sick of it.

Somebody wrote in and suggested that I just quit trying because I hate it. The truth is, though, that I don’t hate dieting. What I hate is not seeing immediate results. I know that’s irrational. Nothing is immediate when it comes to lifestyle changes. As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I have the slow-going metabolism of a earthworm. So I hate the fact that all I have to do is eat a Cheeto and the pounds pile back on. Though I’ve come to like healthy food and honestly enjoy cooking it too, I still stumble and wish that the consequences weren’t quite so measurable.

So I don’t want to quit. I realized that upon spending time with my Dad in the nursing home. While he is seriously ill and it’s not his fault, he’s also not done a thing over the last eight years to help his health in the least. Now he’s basically immobile. He refuses therapy. He’s given up. I don’t want to. I want to be healthy.

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