I have been 6' 3" since age 16. I was always able to keep my weigh around 200 pounds, until I got into my thirties. But by 37, I had ballooned to 275. Walking up one flight of stairs made me sweat and breathe heavy. My back hurt all the time. I had no energy. And oh the gas, and Christ the bouts with the screaming shits -- from my poor eating habits.
In November 2001, I went to the doctor and found out I had very high cholesterol. This threw a scare into me and I went on a low fat diet. This was the first time in my life I ever counted my calories. For the next several months I ate oatmeal with skim milk for breakfast (350 calories). I ate a Lean Cuisine, a can of soup, and a fat-free yogurt for lunch (total about 700 calories). I ate salads, chicken, and vegetables (without butter) for dinner; dinner was no longer about enjoying the food, but about keeping the calories below 1500.
I was shocked at how easy it was to lose the weight. By April I was down to 227 pounds. People complimented me and asked how I did it. I was the talk of the office. And oh my regularity, and Christ my impressively solid turds that actually didn't require endless wiping.
Well, it is now the beginning of 2003, and I am sad to report that as I step on the scale my weight is back up to 248.
I still eat my oatmeal, I still stay away for fast foods, but I love to cook. And when I cook I go all out. I use real butter. I make large portions. There are lots of leftovers that I hate to throw away, so I eat them. I keep trying to get back on the diet, but it is tough. It was easy to lose the weight, but maintaining is a bitch. When I was on the diet, it was sort of fun -- I had a goal, I accomplished it, and I felt good.
But now, I'm starting to get my "fat pains" back. Sore, stiff back when I wake up. Low energy. Sweating. And oh the gas, and Christ the erratic shitting patterns.
Yesterday some friends came over to watch some football. One woman brought some of her homemade hot chicken wings. After several beers, I dug into those wings. Soon my eyes watered, my nose began to run and my face was numb. But I kept returning for more. I ate about twenty-five wings, some cajun potato chips with onion dip, several spicy chicken quisadillas, and lots more beer. Before passing out on the couch I pigged out on a bunch of cookies.
I woke up about 10:30PM with the worst gas in the world. My whole torso ached. I lay in bed for hours trying to get comfortable. All night I was farting out hot wing fumes -- I would lift the covers and "Dutch Oven" myself and laugh as I fought back the urge to puke.
By morning my bedroom smelled worse then the Metroparks' outhouses. I tried to squeeze out a log before work but couldn't. I painfully went to the office and chugged some coffee.
The urge to shit hit me around 9AM. There was no time for the usual Shameful/Shameless arguments in my head -- I rushed to the handicrapper, and although it was already tainted with someone else's holiday mess, I just stooped and pooped and let it fly.
And oh the gas, and Christ the terrific brown mess that I created.
I started out with several nasty farts and then proceeded to spray the toilet bowl with toxic wing sauce dung. My ass had the same numb feeling that my face experienced the day before. I wiped and I wiped, and then I wiped some more. And you guessed it: I plugged up the toilet. I just laughed and left it there for my co-workers to enjoy, getting them back for all the pain I have suffered from their messy habits and their "I don't give a fuck" attitude.
As I walked back to my desk, asshole on fire, I told myself I have to get back on my diet. I am halfway back to where I started... I have got to get my shit together.
-- Doniker [1]