Losing My Weight Loss
Or how I’ve begun to fall off my healthy lifestyle
Since I was seven years old I’ve been considered the fat kid. A week before I moved into NYU, I decided I was going to kick the “freshman 15” right in the teeth. Within two months, I dropped from 186 pounds to 161 pounds.
Today, I stand at 144 pounds. I’ve accomplished my goal three times over.
Like most journeys, I’ve experienced my ups and downs over the past year, but one of the most interesting things has been the exploration of my physicality. I distinctly remember the moment when I returned from a four-mile run, took off my shirt, and noticed the small bicep that had emerged from my shredded fat. I felt like Peter Parker the morning after that fateful spider bit him, except I had a belly to remind myself that I still had a ways to go. But that didn’t matter in the moment. As I indulged in my vanity, I slowly inspected the stretch marks—my battle scars—around my armpits.
Of all the fruits I’ve received, this pales in comparison to the development my athleticism. Three weeks ago, I ran an 18-mile race around Central Park. A week later, I ran a mile race on 5th Avenue. My six-and-a-half-minute mile disappointed me. Despite earning the Physical Fitness Merit Badge when I was thirteen, I don’t remember completing a mile in at most nine minutes (a requirement). I remember slogging through that mile, but I don’t remember ever satisfying that requirement.
On the other end of the spectrum, I’ve heard the strangest comments on my weight loss. Some of my relatives have told me that I’m anorexic for wanting to reduce my body fat percentage, a goal that is part vanity (relative to my peers, I still have a large belly) and part mindfulness for my long-term health and athleticism. One of my friends said I had more “swagger” when I was twenty pounds heavier.
When you danced, you had more than one thing jiggling around, if you know what I mean.
The absurdity thickens when someone tries to guilt me into eating or drinking junk. If I were generous, I’d say this is because they want me to enjoy myself. I’ve worked so hard for so long that I ought to reward myself, never mind the fact it’s those very “rewards” that gave me the “opportunity” to lose weight in the first place.
But I think that people do this to vindicate their own decisions. Again, this is terribly odd. We are shamed for our perceived unattractiveness, our oafishness, our so-called “burden” on the nation’s healthcare system, but when we decide to remedy those judgments, we are met with a pernicious culture that encourages us to consume just enough. In America, just enough is more than you need. The comments I’ve received at social events, “Wow, Mark, you look really great. Do you want some cake? No? Are you sure? It’s really, really great. No? C’mon. Just have a little bit. Enjoy yourself!” are microcosms of this. I empathize with my friends who’re nagged to dance at parties when they don’t enjoy dancing.
Normally, I’d brush this off. The comments I do appreciate, the ones that express complete and utter respect for my accomplishments, are the ones I try to hold onto. As a funny aside, I remember telling one of my best friends that someone might think I gained the celebrated “freshman 15" if I met them for the first time, when I’ve lost three times that over the past year.
But, I’ve let my environment get the better of me. My friend’s comment cut deep. I used to run 25-plus miles a week. Outside of two races, I’ve run maybe eight over the past three and a half weeks. I’ve let my dieting go, too. During the first of many binges I’ve had this past month, I thought I wanted to become fat again so I could capture the lost “swag” my friend praised. I have that same thought at least once a week, and for that reason, I do suspect that a good portion of these thoughts are mine alone, my hyperbolic paranoia to match my oversized past. My repeated failures have brought me close to foodie nihilism. Needless to say, I’ve gained five pounds.
But I know that my decisions are my own. I can either let myself be influenced by my surroundings, or try to overcome them, finding and engaging with a supportive social circle. This is objectively the right thing to do when considering my longterm health.
We often hear of many weight loss stories that end where they begin. They’re thrown around without much context, but I do suspect that much of what I’ve written has passed through the minds of these statistics—sorry, fat people are dehumanized too often—these people before. So to anyone who’s lost and then gained weight, what went through your mind during that period? If you know someone who’s gone through this, why do you think this happened?
Email me when Human Parts publishes stories