The Forever Part
My crazy de-massing scheme worked. I effectively escaped the word “fat”. I am by no means “thin”. I will never look good in (or out of) clothing. This is okay because I’ve never been thin. Throughout my youth I was always fighting to come close to normal weight, when I was an athlete I was continually fighting to maximize my strength-to-weight ratio, and obviously in my adulthood I lost the fight. To quote the sage philosopher poet Popeye, “I yam what I yam.”
Given that more than half of the humans on this part of the planet have a Body Mass Index that places them in the “obese” range, it’s safe to say that I’ve transitioned out of “Morbidly Obese” and have landed in the midrange zone that qualifies as normal in 21st century America. Glances at mirrors and the security camera’s video monitor now reveal my face and clothing – not an awkwardly waddling homonid.
Getting smaller became a fact versus a fantasy, but “getting it” (redesigning my attitudes to fit my size to keep my size smaller) was another challenge. For the first time in 35 years of dealing with an unruly body, I began to grapple with the “how’s” and “why’s” of my former massiveness. I had this luxury because the Big “What” (what I did to get the fat off) worked. For me the changes in attitude were pervasive, but mostly manifest in tiny realities. When viewed as a whole, these wee evolutions painted a fairly large portrait of a life that could be lived without the depressing mantle of lard.
One of the surprises of going through the entire nine-month process was that the last two months realized an easier and greater mass reduction than I anticipated. This encouraged me to realize that any pounds lost goal I could have set would have been restrictive and depressing (restrictive in that it would blunt the spear of my intensity if I prematurely obtained an arbitrary size and depressing if I didn’t. . .) So rather than terminate the entire process when I achieved some sort of magic “goal” (pounds, inches off my waist, era of clothing that became wearable, etc.), I simply let the nine-months run its course and ended up becoming smaller than I had anticipated.
The reason for this success was not just due to Dr. Stillman and ketosis, but to simple revelations about how I viewed food. I discovered it really doesn’t ruin the Super Bowl party if you don’t have the Buffalo wings and beer. I realized that you don’t have to have four brownies at your child’s school Open House to complete the experience. I also found out I didn’t need to load my gut with cookies and milk to get a good night’s sleep and, finally, that my relationship with my wife, so often based on shared dining, was really not dependent on the guilty pleasures of gross consumption of haute cuisine.