Sometimes it’s jarring to remember that I’m an adult. My childhood and early adulthood were difficult times and I didn’t face them with as much grace and aplomb as one might hope. Perhaps I’ll eventually pen a diatribe about overcoming my upbringing and mostly avoiding becoming a petulant man-child, but it won’t be today. Like many people, I grew up under the illusion that adults always knew what to do and how I’d one day pass some secret milestone and Have It All Figured Out myself. Of course, I’ve since been thoroughly disabused of that notion.
All this is to say that sometime I’ll realize with a start that I’m rapidly approaching 40 and not exactly in prime physical condition. I’ve been overweight for most of my life, it’s often quite difficult to believe that the skinny kid in my first grade pictures was actually me. By fourth grade I was decidedly plump and it really never improved after that. These days, I’m pretty fucking fat and if I don’t do something about it, I’m going to fucking die. Yes, yes, we are all going to die, I know, but you get what I mean. So, why am I so fat? It’s not exactly a mystery: I have an extremely unhealthy relationship with food and I’m pathetically sedentary.
Let’s start with the food. I love food. There are times when I’d rank food as more pleasurable than sex. It’s my primary vice. I eat for comfort, I eat for fun, I eat out of boredom. I basically just eat all the fucking time. Now, I’m not an idiot: I know that this isn’t good for me, but it’s just so hard to resist. In my mind, I tell myself, “You have such little joy in your life already, surely you won’t deprive yourself of this too?” It’s a fiendish argument, but not uncommon: it’s that of an addict. I have vivid memories of those first few years I was living alone after my mom died, ordering family packs from Taco Bell or Wienerschnitzel and devouring a dozen tacos or chili dogs over the course of an evening, usually chased with a 12-pack of soda. The fact that I am not yet diabetic frequently astounds me.
Thankfully, I am somewhat better about diet these days, at least compared to twenty years ago. I cook at home fairly regularly, I eat actual vegetables, I usually don’t drink much soda in a given week. That said, there are lapses… terrible lapses. Last month I had a buy one, get one free coupon from Whataburger and I convinced myself that it’d be a waste to let it expire, so I ended up eating two hamburgers by myself, but one can’t simply eat hamburgers without enjoying some fries and a Dr Pepper. That’s just crazy talk! Needless to say, I felt disgusting most of the day after my indiscretion.
More recently, I wanted to try my hand at making chile con queso. Nothing wrong with that, really. However, Kara won’t eat queso, so I know going in that it’s going to be entirely up to me to eat all of it. Now, you can’t have queso on its own, so I had to stock up on tortilla chips and, since I was already buying chips, it only made sense to take advantage of the sale on potato chips they were having at H-E-B. And thus I ate chips and queso and more chips and basically felt like a disgusting slob. I grabbed one of the unopened bags of potato chips, sat at my desk, and ate probably 3/4 of the bag over the course of about 15 minutes. Mindlessly absorbed by whatever I was doing on my computer at the time.
I imagine I’ve made my point. I do best when I have no opportunities to snack at home. I basically can’t have cookies or chips around the house or I will eat them with impunity. Every single time, I lie to myself and say that it’ll be different, that I’ll be responsible and only have a few each day as a treat. Fucking nope. I will destroy that shit. Like I’ve said, the physical act of eating is pleasurable to me. I almost don’t even know what hunger feels like because of how regularly I snack. I also don’t know what satiation feels like because I so often eat to the point of physical discomfort.
I often read advice on weight loss and people talk about the psychology of willpower and how we can’t deprive ourselves and all sorts of other shit that might work just fine for normal people, but not me. I can’t be trusted and I must be prevented from eating so much. Honestly, it’s astounding to me that I’m not even fatter that this. I’m 5’9″ and weigh just shy of 250lbs. For years 220 was my normal, then it became 230, then 235. Sure, I’d do well for a while, but it never would last. I’ve been within spitting distance of 200lbs a couple of time over the past ten years, but the yo-yo always comes back. Sometimes it’s been through concerted diet changes and exercise, sometimes I’ve just been so fucking depressed that I couldn’t even bother making myself eat. My weight was already back in the 230s after the holidays when COVID hit and I literally had nothing to do but sit around and eat.
Right now, I’m focusing on damage control. I’ve seen to it that there are no potato chips or cookies left for me to eat. I do best when I focus on one primary meal each day and allow myself a few snacks before and after to tide me over. It’s not like I don’t know how to eat better, it’s just the constant self-sabotage that needs to fucking stop. My hope is that writing this out will put it at the forefront of my thoughts moving forward. That said, diet is just one piece of the equation. Eating more sensibly, controlling calories, that will allow me to control my weight, but I also need to become more physically active.
I have a fairly solid layman’s understanding of health and nutrition, so I don’t have any illusions that I will be able to “outrun my fork,” as the saying goes. I recognize that being physically active will hopefully improve my cardiovascular health, among other things. I also have found that being active makes me want to die just a little bit less, so there’s that too. I generally enjoy walking. A brisk trip around Hermann Park is only about 2.5 miles, but these days it’s enough to get my heart pumping and a little bit of sweat flowing. I really should strive for longer walks, perhaps other activity as well, but right now I’d settle for just having the discipline to go out and walk regularly each week.
See, that’s the thing: I know this is fully in my power. I can eat like a sensible adult. I can exercise regularly and be healthy. I just don’t know if I can to anything else on top of that. Basic self-care takes a lot of spoons and I often worry that trying to hold down a job and take care of all the other aspects of being a functioning human is simply more than I’m capable of. That’s all a rant for a different day, however. I said my piece and now I have a cold mug of coffee to enjoy before I get ready for bed. My hope, as I said, is that getting this all out of my brain and written down is yet another step in moving forward.
