Fat

Ok: so I'm fat. That's all there is to it: I'm fat. I'm not 'big boned' (although I do have a naturally stocky frame), I don't have thyroid problems (although I have had my share of hormonal ups and downs), I occasionally overeat (but not always and not even that often), and I don't exercise enough (but I think a lot about it).

Ok: so I'm fat. The offical charts say I'm something like 40 - 50 pounds overweight, depending on whether you say I have a large frame or not. It's the biggest I've ever been, and most of the disgusting coat of flab that surrounds my perfect body has been added in the last 3 years.

I've piddled around with this diet and that supplement but have really gotten nowhere. My latest foray was into the wonderful world of Nutri-Systems. I'd done Jenny Craig successfully a time or two before and even did Nutri Systems ages ago when it was a new thing. (you should be able to tell by the last two sentences that I am a near terminal diet junky). I chose Nutri-Systems because you do it all online and you don't have to anything but buy and eat the food: no counselling required, no meetings, none of the bullshit. My wonderful success (!?!?) is a testament to the fact that some of us don't need all that hokum. Just give us the phoney phood.

Damn! I really AM a diet junkie. I've done Atkins, South Beach and Suzanne Summers Food Combining Diet (which worked well but didn't stop me from breaking the rules and over indulging). I've counted calories and watched my fat intake.

Probably the best I ever did was when I was 40 and just coming out. I wanted to experience what it was like to be attractive to strangers (prior to this I'd just been another seedy, potty married man). So I joined a gym, ate better, started running with a group and soon looked barely 30. It was fun, but my situation was different. I was single and had lots of time and energy on my hands and was consciously rennovating my life.

Today, I'm 53. I'm old and tired and I look it. My once hot figure has become my mother's own boxy shape -- the one she adopted in the last dozen years of her life. My chin sags. My pecs -- which used to be firm, high and hot, are now a bit saggy. I even have little dents around the sides of them. My ass continues to be my best feature, standing up proudly from my hips. I have no extra folds back there yet, no dents or cellulite stuff going on. But a lot of that has to do with my weight. Historically, one of the first places I shed weight is in my ass. So if I diet successfully, my ass will fall off. Not a good thing.

Here's the challenge: motivation.

I'm not talking about the motivation to lose the weight, but the motivation to live. I'm going to tell you a secret now, that I've told no one else. I've become rather fatalistic and resigned since I turned 50. It's like I realize my exciting days are over. I've done pretty much what I'm going to do. There are no great mountains for me to climb -- or rather, the ones there are require more energy than I can muster. I didn't make any kids to live through, so my next big event will be my own death.

With that as the climate, how can it be important to work hard and not eat so that you can be fit, thin and energetic? I'm 53. No matter how hard I work or what I do or don't eat, I'm going to be round. I'll never have a ripped stomach. So why bother? Isn't it better to accept the inevitably stooped grey haired guy I'm going to become rather than expend large amounts of effort in trying to hold back the years?

Have you seen the Margaret Cho specials on cable? They are so good. She makes me laugh and laugh. On one she does this very powerful self acceptance thing where she shakes her fist at the marketing of someone else's unachievable notion of 'beauty.' 'Nothing tastes as good as thin feels,' she mimicks, squeeky high voice and bobbing head. I want to be that comfortable in my own body. I want to wear my skin and flab like a comfortable coat. But when I look in the mirror I see this distorted picture of myself. That's not me. It couldn't be me. I'm at least ten years younger than that guy and . . . look at that gut! Oh my God; he's got a fat back! No, that's not me. I'm supposed to look like Keifer Southerland (I've been told so).

I used to be able to look at myself in the mirror head on and be happy. Ever since my hormonal malfunction, my pecs have been large and high. But today they are starting to lose their tone and to droop a bit. I fear some day I may have breasts instead of pecs.

'But,' you say,'It's not even about looking good, really; It's about health. You don't want to be crippled by a premature stroke. And you certainly don't want to become one of those shuffling, tottering old geezers being led around by a minority female in white, do you?'

Yes, that's true. But I've kinda given up on that, too . . . I mean, seeing I'm going to die and all.

Whine Whine Whine.

I'm starting to bore myself. What a fatalist I've become. I've got an answer for everything.

Here's some motivation for you, jazzy:

Your sexual activity level has been cut in half over the last year. This is due in large part to the excess weight you and your partner are carrying around. Nobody wants to invest the effort to have sex if the effort leaves you close to passing out. Lose some weight!

You fell in the bathroom yesterday morning, not because you lost your balance or missed a step. You fell because your right leg was not strong enough to support your weight as you shifted down to the right. Now, that's understandable, but getting winded walking up stairs or down to the corner is not.

One of the things that's enabled you to travel as much as you have has been your ability to convince companies that you can bring an energy to their challenges that will lead to creative solutions and ultimate success. It's hard to convey that when you can't button your trousers.

You dad died with emphasema, the legacy of his life of smoking. He loved to play golf. But he loved to smoke cigarettes. In the end he had all of this time on his hand he'd worked all his life to create . . . and he didnt' have the energy to play the golf he'd always planned to reward himself with. I'm doing the same thing with food. The idea of doing Europe on a shoestring with a backpack like I did 10 years ago is no longer in the cards . . . at least for the moment.

I could probably go on and on. Here's the deal: I'm getting off my ass again on Monday (that is, assuming I can even stand up. I've been in bed after my fall for 2 days!). I going to get fit again as a hobby. Like painting or needlepoint, I'm going to work on fitness as a hobby. I'm going to go back to the gym, become more active, schedule myself around my physical program, return to meditating and yoga and quit eating like a hog. That pint of Haagen Daz Coffe Ice Cream in the freezer will be the last I'll do for awhile.

No more carb binging at night.

I admit it: I weigh 206 right now. By the time we leave on the Christmas Cruise through the Panama Canal, I will be down to 190 and on my way to a goal weight of 170. I know, that's still on the high side for me, but it's a weight I can be comfortable with. In the past I looked like a holocaust survivor when I got below that.

No shit.