Shedding Light in the Dark Corners

Therapists say that when you are finally able to talk about the things that shame you, you're on the road to recovery. For about two decades, I've been shamed by the worst kept secret in all of mankind-- I am grossly, morbidly, hugely and ridiculously obese. Not "yo' mama's so fat," fat. Waaaaaaay beyond that. We're talking, "hey, how is it that you still don't need a motor scooter to get around," fat and "I was pretty sure you'd be dead by now" fat. The kind of fat that even when people are being nice in front of your face, you know they're talking about you over their lattes, their protein beverages or their "rabbit food" lunches. The kind of fat that, if you don't want to end up killing yourself, you develop a strong sense of humor and what I've been told is a quick wit, as a defense mechanism.

This morning is weighing day. But, you see, I don't weigh at a doctor's office. I weigh at home. On a scale that I bought. From a "large lifestyle" (God, I HATE euphemisms for fat) product website. I call her (the scale, not my wife) "Old Reliable." Old Reliable is marketed to fat people who require a capacity of either 500 pounds (the expensive version) or 1000 pounds (the really expensive version). It is a good enough scale. It measures my weight fairly accurately, but only to the nearest whole pound. On the bright side, it doesn't scream in agony when I step on it (which I'm pretty sure I'd do if I stepped on me). Its dials don't spin around wildly like some old time cartoon, and it doesn't short out, sending sparks flying everywhere just because I am standing on it.

Despite its shortcomings, I love that scale. "Why?," you might ask, knowing that for years it has been delivering me bad news about my ever increasing girth and ever decreasing life expectancy. The reason is simple. Over the past 35 or so days, Old Reliable has been forced to admit that through modifying my eating habits and actually getting out of my recliner regularly, my weight is dropping. From a high of 478 (pre-MFP) down through the 470's, then the 460's, and the 450's, until this morning. This morning was special.

I normally drive my 12 year old son to school in the mornings. We listen to a locally produced "morning show" that is a mix of pop music and humerous banter. For those of you in Houston, it is "Roula and Ryan" on 104 KRBE. Jake (who is a great kid who is taking singing and acting lessons along with Bar Mitzvah lessons, baseball lessons and maintaining straight A's in school) and I laugh along to the comedy bits and sing along to the music during our 14-20 minutes together in the car (depending on traffic and whether a train is blocking North Braeswood or Bellaire when we're trying to get him to school). This morning I let Mrs. R take Jake to school because I had an appointment. With Old Reliable.

You see, I knew I was hovering in the low 450's. I also knew that I had a particularly good eating and exercising day yesterday. I gambled that I would be able to choke another pound or two out of that scale as a result of my efforts. So after Jake and Mrs. R finally left the house, I jumped in the shower (those few hairs that end up in the drain count for some weight, right?), scrubbed with my exfoliating loofah extra well (hey, dead skin cells count for some weight, right?), toweled off (excess water on the skin counts for some weight, right?), walked right past my underwear drawer unused (DON'T worry... no pictures are included in this message), and strode to the scale (damn, I didn't wear my fitbit... guess I wasted those 17 steps). I took a deep breath (to properly aerate my remaining fat cells... that has got to make them lighter, right?) and stepped on Old Reliable. I had both of my eyes tightly shut until I made sure that my weight was properly distributed on her. Finally, I slowly opened one eye. Frankly, I do not believe that the "one eye" procedure changes the weight on the scale at all. However, it is a dramatic bit that I have seen on movies, and dammit, I'm allowed to be dramatic if I want to be. I saw the first 4, which I expected. But squinting through one barely opened eye, it looked like it had an identical twin next to it. The only way I could be sure would be to open the other eye so that my vision normalized. So I did. 449. Yes, it said 449.

Now, I fully realize that if your scales said, 449, you'd be in total agony, ready to jump off the nearest bridge. But for me 449 is a victory. A big one. It represents the fact that I am only double digits (not triple digits) away from fitting on a REAL scale that is designed for people and not freight (or small footed oxen). 350 is also the weight that I have decided would probably allow me to comfortably fit into a real car instead of the 7-year old minivan that I have driven because I can't really fit into a regular car. 350 is a weight that will allow me to comfortably umpire little league baseball next spring instead of wheezing and gasping to do the volunteer job that I love so much. And now, instead of being 128 pounds away, it is only 99 pounds away. 99 pounds. I can do that! One pound... one day... one exercise walk... one right eating choice at a time. With perserverence, and if I continue to reduce my calories and increase my exercise as my weight and TDEE drops, I can be at 350 at or around March 1st of next year. And if I don't make it there by March 1st, wherever I end up will be so much healthier than where I was a month ago, where I am right now. And that's a good thing.

So, sometime next spring, if you happen to know someone who wants or needs a scale that pretty accurately measures weight up to 1000 pounds (454 kg. or 72 stone, for my new friends "over the Pond"), let me know. You see, by then, I plan to be using a real doctor's scale that real people can fit on. And when that happens, I will lovingly pack Old Reliable in a box, tape it shut, and send her, without charge, to someone else who needs to create his or her own miracle.

Have a wonderful rest of your Wednesday.

Scott R. in Houston, Tx.