Coping with dissatisfaction, coupled
with a short-term outlook toward most things in my life, defined my
mindset for the great majority of my life – which contributed to my
fitness and health challenges. Though an extremely short-term
goal-oriented and –driven individual, when I haven’t had have a
major task to attack, at times I’ve ended up floating aimlessly.
That’s not a fun state in which to get snared, but when it has
happened, I’ve tried not to dwell. Complicating this matter, I’ve
normally found it incredibly difficult to generate goals from within
myself (did I mention my job situation?), and so, in a situation
where I’ve gotten stuck, I’ve just attempted to deal with
circumstances as best as possible, without actually taking much
action.
In terms of my
health and fitness particularly, for the longest time I never thought
about the future repercussions of my daily diet and activity. I let
the issues build and hoped I’d never need to face them. That taking
action for successful change would require painful sacrifice, while
not faced with dire need, dissuaded me completely. I’d always been
in poor shape. My parents probably were too – my mom wasn’t the
smallest person, my dad had a bit of a gut, and friends loved coming
to my house since it was always chock full of sugary snacks we gorged
on. The only brief time I acted toward getting in shape in my youth
was an outlier six-month period in middle school when my parents
registered me for swim team. As a newcomer, of course, I stunk. I
lost every single race I participated in, and suffered massive leg
cramping on a regular basis, which the coaches likely thought I was
faking, in order to participate less. Really, it hurt, and I didn’t
want to drown. Despite looking and feeling a bit better, I didn’t
think about it much, and wrote it off as slimming down due to height
growth. That frustration, and inability to see any progress as earned
by my efforts, led me to quit as soon as possible. I went back to
spending hours online or playing video games, rarely getting outside.
Things got worse
from there. In high school, working at Culvers, a fast-casual
restaurant, I didn’t care whatsoever that eating some combination
of fried and breaded chicken tenders, Reuben sandwiches, French
fries, cheese curds, and frozen custard a minimum of four times a
week for three years might turn out badly. During most of college, I
had an absolutely terrible diet, though despite joining a fraternity,
I didn’t drink alcohol excessively often. I did frequently become
dehydrated, partially thanks to living in a dormitory which lacked a
water fountain, and partially due to a penchant for downing two-liter
bottles of Mountain Dew – in a one sitting. Except for my Freshman
year in Madison – where I tried to eat a bit better and walk on
the treadmill for an hour a night, which resulted in about a 20-pound
loss of weight, abruptly regained when classes resumed – I never
exercised. Ever. I even rationalized taking the bus to class to avoid
climbing Bascom Hill.
Having ignored
years of increasingly insistent warnings that I needed to get in
shape – which had no motivational impact – I faced the first
major manifestation of physical problems around that time. One day,
just walking around, I heard a snapping in my knee, and it exploded
into excruciating pain. The shooting feeling became persistent,
though slightly dulled, long thereafter. When I went back home for a
break, the doctor informed me the tendons in my knees had worn down.
He guided me how to repair the damage with very simple exercise. Leg
lifts, three reps of 30, three times daily – not hard. But the
routine hurt. True to form, I did it for a short time, quit, and
chose to not think about it.
I also preferred
not to think about the rather obvious ties between my terrible state
of fitness and how people related to me and how I felt about myself.
I didn’t date in college, despite my interest in more than a few
women. I probably wasn’t treated the best by some acquaintances and
“brothers” in my fraternity – comments here and there, looks, a
chant that the fraternity created to address me… that in particular
seemed funny at the time, but now I see it, to a degree, as mocking.
Internally, likely directly related to my physical deterioration was
what I assumed was a case of depression – which, despite being
vividly aware of a pervasive family history of depression, including
instances of suicide in every generation before, and recently
including, my own - I chose not to address.
Graduating college
a year early and proceeding to waste the precious time I earned
through hard work with a pointless hourly job for the next few years;
living on my dad’s couch for 12 months and having no friends in the
state; then moving into the city and making superficial improvements,
but still feeling totally disassociated from the community around me;
and generally not knowing what the hell I could do to improve the
situation – if that hopelessness is not a rock bottom point, I
can’t describe what would be. I ate total crap and downed energy
drinks nightly to stay awake at work, became aware that the
relationship I'd been in wasn't the best fit, and generally didn’t
care about anything except avoiding pain and seeking positive
immediate stimuli.
At that time, I
probably weighed about 265 pounds. Maybe more, maybe less. I put 270
as my weight for my license... I hoped it was an overestimation.
About that time, the dissatisfaction
with almost every aspect of my life ate away at me, and I struggled
to offset all of it by trying not to think. Yet it had to burst
through in some fashion - and once again, physical pain erupted.
Unlike last time though, the pain served as a catalyst for active
change – the most significant I’ve made in my lifetime.
When someone would
incessantly tell me I had bombed an interview due to looking like
crap, or that women wouldn’t be attracted to me unless I hit the
gym, or that maybe I should cut down on the refined and cheap pasta I
ate almost every other meal (I can’t cook, and it was easy), or
even a doctor telling me I might not be able to walk – walk! –
easily within a few years if I kept packing on the weight, I’d get
pissed, but ignore it as fast as possible. My family, father in
particular, started pushing me to make changes in my life,
particularly to lose some weight and get active. It pissed me off
more than motivated me, and I didn’t act on it – if people
telling me my lifestyle sucked had ever worked as a motivator, I
never would’ve started working in hotels, for example. I embraced
my generally miserable self, was miserable to be around, and I’d
get back to facebook and miserably bitch about how I couldn’t
change anything even if I tried. I never tried.
Ignoring other
people was easy.
Ignoring intense
spinal pain which lasted for years? Not as easy.
My back hurt. My
knees hurt. My feet hurt. My legs hurt. My body hurt. Standing hurt.
Sitting hurt. Laying down hurt. Literally every single second of my
day, the pain permeated everything. It came to dominate me. The pain
got so bad almost a year previously that I had an x-ray of my spine
performed. Results: nothing was wrong. Only by losing weight could I
reduce the pain.
Thankfully, if
there ever one lifelong motivator had proven more useful than the
urge to keep my thoughts in the here and now, it was the avoidance of
immediate discomfort and pain. I remember having a panic attack at
age eight, pledging that I’d rather die than endure the booster
shots that awaited at age 12. I could never hold my own in any sort
of fight, the idea of getting nailed in the head by a baseball or
knocked out by a basketball terrified me, and generally had the
fortitude of a wimp. I’d try to imagine any way to get out of
something that promised pain or discomfort.
I’d made some
recent changes around that New Year’s 2011 – a slightly better
job, an urge to improve my quality of life and social circle.
Suddenly, at that moment, it seemed like a chance for action had
emerged, but it came slowly and without a major kickstart.
Until one day in
January, 2011, I realized that unless I lost some weight through
increased activity and improved diet, simply put, the rest of my life
would be a living hell.
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