fatty. no good for you.


“To Die Unsung Would Really Bring You Down”

Helmet's "Unsung", for those who don't remember the early 1990s.  Another line, and probably the most I can quote without a takedown complaint, is "Die young is far too boring these days."

Very few people I've met have completely lacked ambition.  I didn't understand it myself until I was about 29, the first time I really noticed that I had stalled in my career, and I was mostly fine with that.  I was married, and I finally had enough "things" - a nice house, 2 cars, pets, 5 televisions, furniture in every room, and the better part of a gym in my basement - that I had no one to envy.  I had everything I needed and plenty more.  I could just live out the next 35 years and retire reasonably successful.

It was at this point I allowed myself to tolerate so many of weaknesses.


Obstacle 1

I suppose I should use fewer music references. I have to make sure this doesn't turn into The Crow graphic novel for fat people, which is really just The Crow.

I've hit my first plateau. Since Saturday, after I did my hour-long treadmill session, I'm down a whopping .3 lbs, including no loss between today and yesterday. There could be a variety of explanations for slow down, but it's still frustrating. These could include, but are not limited to:

  • I had a Totino's Party Pizza yesterday.
  • Sunday and Tuesday (today) featured workouts on an elliptical machine, which I am still learning and adjusting to.
  • My body, already known to be a giant asshole, could be making some unwelcome adjustments to accommodate my workout regimen.
  • That ice cream I had on Sunday wasn't really reduced fat and calories like they claimed.
  • I'm weighing myself wrong or inconsistently.

Yesterday, I detailed the math that I understood went into weight loss.  I still don't understand what I wrote there, but I do know that it's a combination of diet and exercise that's allowing me to lose weight.  Right now, I'm unwilling to make any further diet concessions, so I need to step up my workouts.


Eat Shit and Die

It's not a request. It's what I did, figuratively, and a reasonable expectation given the path I was on.

For example, this was a meal:

That is a 16" pizza from a local restaurant, delivered to my home roughly once a week. I'm going to guess that it runs about 2,500 calories, and 120 grams of fat.

Here's where shit gets funny.


Reality Sets In

This was August 29, 2011.  307.2 pounds.  I ate Sparta, and then some.

Less than one week after my divorce, a friend tried to get me on the right track by challenging me to a weight loss contest.  The goal was to see who could lose 10 pounds the fastest.

If I were to win, she'd send me some criminally sexy pictures of herself.  If she were to win, I'd fill her Starbucks Rewards card with $25.00.

Since I am me, a thirty-something white male stuck in arrested development, and there were tits on the line, I started myself on a powerful weight loss supplement that I'll leave unnamed.  For the days that followed, I ate next to nothing, and I felt like I was just asking for a heart attack.


Fatman Begins

I've published this same content under the "About fatty." page, but while I expect that to evolve, I want a static version of this page to refer back to.

My name is Michael, and I am a fatty.

I could tell you I'm overweight, that I'm out of shape, or that I need to lose a few pounds, but that would send the wrong message entirely.  By telling you I'm a fatty, I'm telling you:

  • It's not a weight problem, it's an lifestyle: Until recently, I was doing nothing to help myself along.  I enjoyed 16" pizzas and short walks to the john.  I have a treadmill, an elliptical machine, and something that was sold to me as an "Olympic weight set".  They collected dust the way I collect calories.
  • It's an identity, and it sucks: I'm a white guy in the United States, meaning a substantially overweight gentleman is not an uncommon occurrence.  We're fairly well tolerated, and entitled to our lifestyles here.  Not to mention there's a dearth of good fat jokes lately.  That said, until there's an affirmative action that mandates blow jobs for fat people, I have to find a way to be attractive to the opposite sex (my preference) or pay for the pleasure through outlets like Craigslist or backpage.com.
  • I manage to keep a sense of humor about it: And maybe that's part of the problem.  If I can find humor in it, I can embrace it.  That said, when I reach 170 pounds, I'm still going to have all the collected stories from when I was fat.  For an alternate source of humor, there will always be the Republican party.
  • I hate it enough to do something about it: Keeping a blog is going to force me to confront the lifestyle, the identity, and hold me to progress.

I'm in my early 30s.  I both suffer from and enjoy ADHD.  I was divorced in August of 2011.  I'm mostly sure that if I want sex, it's going to cost me.  I drink, but not as much as I should.  I've done lots of drugs, but it's been a while, and I'm certainly not an addict.  This is not my online dating profile.

So, what should you expect?  Sad and pathetic stories touched with my dark humor, progress in the lack of self-efficacy, and a man whose love of women alternates between admiring the strength and resolve of those repressed by a society that embraces irresponsible body images and wants to pay them less, to "YAY, BOOBIES."

I'm doing it for me, but if you enjoy it, I'd love to hear it.  Thank you for your consideration.