In 19 months, I've lost 262 pounds. New Me, New Life.

Without sounding like a pervy cougar, you look really handsome sitting on the cycle.

Hey Myfitnesspal,

So, it's been 19 months since I started using myfitnesspal, and it's been a major success for me. I weigh 216 pounds today, down 262 from my original 478. It's been a wild ride, and I'd essentially lived two completely separate lives. Here is an pretty in depth anecdote from my blog I've been keeping detailing the journey at gainsthroughloss.com

Welcome to my Nightmare.

As I sit alone in my pickup truck, parked in a small asphalt parking lot, I look down at the floor of the passenger seat that is now overflowing with trash from a fast food restaurant. It is overflowing the center console; this gross, greasy mess is the only physical remnant from a meal now filled with regret. The trash is not the only thing that lingers though, my stomach is so full from a self-destructive meal that I can feel my it stretched to the breaking point inside my giant gut. The same gut that rests on the steering wheel; my circumference too large to fit comfortably inside this extra large GMC pickup, a truck typically roomy enough for the biggest of men. It is not big enough for me. My right leg rests uncomfortably on the center console, pressed so hard against it that it is falling asleep. My left leg is just as uncomfortable pressed against the door. I have just finished off two double quarter pounders, two large fries, a 20-piece nugget with hot mustard sauce, and, of course, a couple Cokes. Lonely, I sit parked in the space between the most satisfying Heaven, and the torment of hell.

Already feeling regret from the meal, I am aware that my binging is driving me down a path towards my death. I really don't want to do this, I think to myself as I look in my rear view mirror towards the place I dread most in the world. It is a place that sends me straight to an unhealthy binge before I enter. I am full yet hollow in the satisfaction of a painfully stuffed gut. I look across the street, observing the traffic signal that stops traffic from the local mall. Damn, they are going to watch me make this walk. I don't want to do this. At all. What if some kids yell out the window at me? I don't think I can take it right now. Panic overwhelms me as I start to sweat the pounds of grease I had just taken in. It's only thirty two footsteps (a number I had counted a thousand times before.) You can make it when they have a green light. I slowly open the door of the truck and my giant, sleeping legs fall heavy to the asphalt. The light turns red before I'm even out and I look with dread as the cars line up across the street. The drivers and passengers are stopped at the light, ready, willing, and excited to watch my thirty-two step walk of shame across this parking lot. At that moment the parking lot may as well have spanned the distance of thirty-two football fields.

My feet and back are tired before I ever take the second step; my dreadfully large legs, weighing more than stone boulders make way to the door. I look up to the one sign in the world that fills me with shame, perpetuates my depression, and keeps me in the cycle of binging. 'Casual Male XL,' reads the sign. I hang my head in shame as I think of all the cruel things the people in their cars across the street, are saying about me. Envying their life, envying the 'normal' shopping trip they're returning home from. A normal life. One I wished I had. As the door jingles shut, I step inside, looking around at all the clothes that will never really allow me to have style. They are robbers of part of my identity. Making way to the tees, I browse, trying to find the least absurd. Maybe, just maybe, they have something this time that I would wear if I wasn't five hundred pounds. Christ, more skulls. More ****ing comic book graphic tees. Rockawear? Ekco? Who the **** wants to wear this? This place doesn't have a clue who I am, who any of us are. This stupid *kitten* skull shirt is the least embarrassing thing they have and it is still pretty embarrassing. Maybe I can pull it off, maybe people will think this is the kind of things I like to wear. Ah well. I grab a tee shirt I hate, just so I don't have to continue wearing the faded rags I have on. Painfully browsing, I make my way to the jeans. If you could call the sewn polyester cotton blend they offer here, 'jeans;' they are so thin they tear when you put them on. I grab the size I know will fit, since I only have to match them to the size I hide under my gut. Today it's a tight fitting size 58, not worn at my nonexistent waist, but under my hanging belly. They fall to my feet like parachute pants; they're too long and dragged across the floor. I have no choice. This is my life. Sloppy. Disgusting. Depressing.

Today I'm here to buy a dress shirt for my family Christmas, only a day and a half away. I make my way to the 'dress' section. The walls of this mental prison are wrapped around me, littered with pictures of handsome dudes, who look happy. This place? This place is anything but happy. These people? The people who are forced to shop here, if they're anything like me, couldn't be further away from happiness. By now, my lower back is throbbing in agony, pulled forward by my giant stomach, causing me to sweat through the pain. Oh God, don't start sweating, control your sweat. We've gotta get out of here, pick something out and let's just get out of here. That chair is only sixty some odd steps away. Oh no, I've still gotta pay. Quickly, I grab one of the largest dull blue dress shirts they have, and make my way to the checkout. Sweat pouring down my face, I must look like I stepped out of a rainstorm by now. My back aching, no screaming in pain after only five minutes in this place. My legs sore, causing me to sway side to side to give them a moment of rest before making them suffer all five hundred pounds of me. My lower back continues writhing in pain as I throw down the clothes, panic I'm sure in my eyes. Out of desperation, I wipe my face with my shirt.

'How are you today?' the overweight lady behind the counter asks me, syrupy sweet. 'I'm great,' I reply, my labored breathing impossible to hide. I gasp for air after having to speak and stand at the same time. So far from great. Filled with shame. Panic and pain overwhelming me with every single second that passes. 'Is this all for you today?' She asks with a smile. I wonder if she thinks they're selling me a quality product, or if she knows she's shoveling the worst possible quality goods to people who don't want to be here.'Yeah, that's all.' One day, I think about saying to her, I'm going to lose weight and never have to step foot in here again. I hate this place with all my heart. '182.57,' She says, as I look down at the poorest quality stretch jeans you can imagine. A poorly stitched, ugly graphic tee, and a George Foreman branded dress shirt, a duller blue than my mood lay on the counter as well.

Yes, 182.57 for three of the poorest quality items you can imagine. Something no one should ever be forced to wear, let alone buy, let alone buy at nearly two hundred dollars. Being this fat shouldn't be so expensive. More depression.

We complete the transaction and I make my way slowly, heavily towards the pickup truck. I am a sloppy, wet, slow-moving mess, as I drag myself across. I squeeze my way in to the drivers seat, finally escaping the screaming pain and panic of being on my feet in front of people who can observe me in this state. I start the truck, and make my way with a heavy heart to Taco Bell for an after shopping snack. I had earned it…


This, sadly and honestly, was my last shopping trip at five hundred pounds. December 23rd, 2011. I have replayed it here exactly as I remember it. The misery I felt that day brought me nearly the last step to changing my life. I hated myself. I was lost, scared, and alone. I had no idea what to do or where to start. Very soon, though, I would. These memories now seem like a distant nightmare to me. When I think back, I see them in my mind like the kind of nightmare that tugs at you for days after you wake. They don't seem like they were ever my reality, anymore, though I know all to well they were. It gives me the drive to stay the course, stay healthy, and live this second chance at life I have been given.

Until recently, I hated shopping, trips like the one I have just described to you, they were some of the most dreadful moments of my life. This scenario would play out almost identically, every time I would go shopping, though, the dread escalated every time to stay parallel with my weight gain. I had been shopping at big and tall stores since my eighteenth birthday, or a little before, a XXXL by the time I graduated high school. Today, I am stuck in that awkward stage in between a XL and a large. I can not tell you what it feels like free myself from the all encompassing prison that is a big and tall store. It is one of the fruits of this labor I enjoy the most. To contrast, I was recently graced with the company of a good friend to a rather large outlet mall. We shopped nearly all day; three hours at least of non stop walking and standing didn't phase my stamina. I appreciate now the ability to do this effortlessly, combined with the even more incredible feeling of being able to walk and talk, where before, I would have to dedicate myself to either walking, or talking, I was incapable of both. It was a truly freeing feeling--a sense of accomplishment that day rushed over me. These were real changes. I was becoming...normal.

I am so excited about my future and the opportunity to live a long and healthy life. Knowing I am truly free of the special bond I have always had with chairs, benches, sofas and recliners is beyond wonderful. Please know, if you're suffering through life the way I was, you are not alone.

Good luck on your own path, I know you can change too. I'm rooting for you.