Hello internets! Today I'm bringing you a special treat! Our dear friend Adam is about to share about his very own healthiness journey! Please read through it, feel inspired, and leave him a comment. Liz-update coming for you tomorrow! Much love! Also, wedding pictures included are by Yvonne Denault of yvonnedenault.com!
Adam's Story:
As of November 22, I am 216 pounds. I'm six feet tall, with
a 34 inch waist. I fit comfortably in most Size L shirts and outfits. I can jog
about two minutes without my legs feeling like they're on fire, and I can
normally do this about five times in a thirty-minute period of time, every six
minutes or so. I have a strong sense of balance, and my coordination is
improving all the time. If you threw something at me now – a set of keys, or a
remote control – I would likely catch it without dropping it or fumbling it
against my body. My reflexes are noticeably better than they've ever been, and
my mind moves faster too. I have never been this fit – this capable, period – in all my life.
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| Adam! |
That was not the case for me as recently as May 2007. I had
just graduated with my Bachelor's Degree and was on vacation in the Rockies
with my family. This is me with my father and brother on the Bighorn Mountains:
I would estimate that I was about 330 pounds then. I was 22
then. I had a 48 inch waist. I had to wear either XXL or, worse, XXXL size
clothing on a regular basis. I felt like I wore parachutes. I also felt
miserable just about every day of my life.
I'd been overweight ever since I was eight. I really
ballooned up in size in middle school, but it started in second grade. I've
never been a small boy – I have a large frame, with big joints and a thick
skeletal structure – but I couldn't write off my size as just being “big-boned.”
I didn't have healthy eating habits, and I never participated in athletic
activities as a kid. I sat around a lot, reading, watching TV, and playing
video games. The few times I did try to play outside with other kids, they
didn’t want me around because, well, no one wants a fat kid on their sports
team.
I got bullied a lot for being overweight, and when you're
bullied pretty often about something, you start to believe it, no matter how
hard you fight it. Over time, I cultivated this belief that I was pretty
worthless. I gave up on trying to be social and outgoing by the time high
school rolled around. I just wanted to be left alone because I felt like I
didn't have anything to offer anyone: as a friend, as a lover, as, well,
anything. I didn't have many friends, partly because deep down, I think I
believed I wasn't worth knowing.
I still remember coming home from vacation in 2007 and
seeing the photos we took after we had them processed. I almost cried when I
saw that picture of myself at the Bighorn Mountains with me and my dad. I saw
how I shrank away from the camera and took awkward poses so my bulk wouldn't be
so evident. There I was, in photos with my family, trying to enjoy my intimate
company, and I was trying to disappear.
Immediately after that, I took up walking with my dad. We
walked every day during that summer, rain or shine. I cut out sugars and
starches, and I lost almost forty pounds. I dropped below 300 pounds for the
first time since middle school. I was ecstatic.
And then school started. I slacked off. I holed up in my
dorm room, watching cartoons and playing video games. I took the shuttle
between classes instead of walking on campus. I went back for seconds and
thirds on fatty food in the cafeteria. Not surprisingly, I ballooned back up to
320 pounds by the next summer.
So I tried again. This time, I walked alone much of the
time, since my dad had started having trouble with his joints. I repeated my
diet from the previous summer, this time slashing my caloric intake in half. I
dropped down to a little over 270 pounds. I felt and looked fantastic. That was
the first time in decades that I actually looked “skinny,” especially in
comparison to where I was at the beginning of that summer. When I returned to
school at the end of the summer, I couldn’t walk down the hallway in the
English Department without someone congratulating me on my progress. It felt
like I had really turned a corner.
(And I'll say this right now: I ultimately believe that
successful decisions to lose weight have to be spurred on by internal
motivation, but damn it if it doesn't feel good for progress in weight loss to
be validated by other people. Especially when you're called “cute” for the
first time since first grade.)
But bad habits and destructive thinking came back in a big
way. My weight loss plateaued a few weeks into the school year, and I became
discouraged. I was busy with second-year graduate work, and I used that as an
excuse for sitting around and eating crappy food. Not surprisingly, by the end
of the summer I had jumped back up to 300 pounds.
I have to say this right now, and this was easily the worst
part of being overweight: I gave up on myself. I didn’t want to be fat, but I
got it in my head that I would never be anything but fat. I assumed that I
would never have any real friends. I would never be really happy; I would just
have to live with it. If you thought that was the saddest, most depressing
thing you’ve ever heard, I wouldn’t argue against it.
Time to fast forward a bit, to the spring of 2010. That
previous January I had my first residency for the Stonecoast MFA Program. I met
Liz's husband (then boyfriend) Tarver when we roomed together. Tarver and I
became fast friends, and I met so many great people from all over the country.
I was till about 300 pounds at this time.
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| There's Adam over there on the left! |
That residency brought so much happiness to me, but I also
felt sad because I realized how profoundly unhappy I was otherwise. I knew then
that I didn’t want to be so unhappy anymore, that I didn’t just have to live
with it. My weight loss didn’t start here, but the mindset that led to it
began.
Then, in May, my mom started a new weight loss plan using a
supplement called HCG. I was still being a bit lazy about actually getting a
weight loss regimen started, although I was eating less sugars and starches
(always a good thing). My parents more or less taunted me into joining mom on
the HCG plan. My dad told me, “You’re always talking about how you want to get
serious about losing weight. Stop talking about getting serious and actually do
it. Try this plan with Mom; what do you have to lose?” Mom told me that she’d
be delighted to have someone else in the house doing the weight loss plan with
her, so she wouldn’t be alone in it.
I joined in on the HCG plan. That summer, before the July
residency at Stonecoast, my second residency, I lost 35 pounds off of my weight
from the previous residency, bringing me down to 265 pounds. Even better, I
didn’t hit a plateau. Or rather, I did, but I moved through it by continuing
the diet and remembering my early successes, knowing that if I stuck with the
plan good things would happen.
It was a hard diet plan to follow – low calories, no sugars
or carbs – but it resulted in the creation of excellent habits. I weaned myself
off soda and sugary drinks. I discovered that I really liked the taste of
vegetables and fruits (apples taste so much better than any candy bar to me,
even now). I experimented with different vegetables in my omelettes,
discovering the difference between banana peppers and bell peppers.
And it was hard to argue with the results.
My self-confidence climbed. Not soared – not yet – but it
still climbed. It helped that people from the previous residency couldn’t stop
telling me how much better I looked. That was so empowering: being deprived of
that kind of feedback most of my life, then experiencing it for the first time
all at once. Like I said before, successful weight loss is ultimately
influenced by your own internal motivation, but damn if it doesn’t feel good when people notice.
I wasn’t done yet. I wanted to go farther. The thing is,
ever since I was in high school – ever since I was upwards of 340 pounds – I
had this recurring dream. A few times a month, when I slept, I dreamed that I
stood in front of a mirror, my big fat body in front of the bathroom sink, a
towel wrapped around my waist like I’d just gotten out of the shower. Staring
back at me from the mirror’s reflection was a trim, broad-shouldered man with a
gentle smile. It was me, the version of me that I hoped existed under all of
that extra weight. The more weight I lost, the closer I got to looking like that
version of myself. I wanted to see if I could go all the way.
I came home and continued my HCG regimen, spurred on my
recent success, my family’s support, and my friends’ reactions. I thought, if
they liked me then, wait ‘til they see what’s next.
By the January 2011 residency, I dropped to 220 pounds, with
the same measurements as I mentioned at the beginning of this post. Even before
I returned to Stonecoast, I felt euphoric about my weight loss. I looked great.
I felt great. I ran faster, jumped higher, and slept better. I even thought faster and at a more complex
level. My writing also hit a new, higher level of development and quality; that
can’t be mere coincidence.
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| Adam's classiness factor? Oh, super-high. |
This massive weight almost literally fell from my shoulders.
All of the memories and pain accumulated from years of bullying and self-doubt
were negated. They didn’t go away – I suspect they’ll never completely go away,
simply because that’s just how memories work – but they no longer held power
over me. I had hit a reset button, and I felt like my life had a fresh start.
I’ve kept that weight off for a whole year now. It hasn’t
been too hard; it’s just a matter of maintaining the habits that got me to this
position in the first place. I keep the sweets and starches to a minimum when I
can. I still gain weight back sometimes, but I stay in a target zone with a
range of about five pounds. If I stray out of that zone, I hold back on some
things and work back to where I should be.
Since I lost that weight, I’ve had a year to observe the
changes that have been made by my new body. I’ve already discussed how I feel,
physically, mentally, and emotionally. I don’t have to be so self-conscious
about myself now. I can loosen up and relax. I feel comfortable in my own skin
for once. I take more risks now; I try new things. The previous me definitely
wouldn’t have had the will to travel to see Tarver and Liz's wedding on my own, much less get up in front of everyone and read a sonnet of
Shakespeare’s during the ceremony.
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| And it was a FABULOUS reading! |
It’s so much easier to socialize now. I feel – I know now, as I should have known all
along – that I’m worth getting to know, and I act with a stronger sense of
confidence and focus as a result. And, apparently, it’s obvious. I’ve made and
maintained a lot of new friendships over the last few years, and I don’t think
I could’ve done it without the fundamental changes that have taken place for
me. Not that I think my new friends wouldn’t have liked me, but it’s so
different now that I actually like myself.
I also get a lot more positive attention now from the
opposite sex, which is awesome. I felt like I was made of kryptonite when I was
overweight. No romance for me, basically, although I did make female friends in
the process. But that was when I bothered to even try and approach a girl in
the first place. Since the bulk of my weight loss, I’ve gotten a low of
compliments about my looks and my personality, way more than before. The trick
now is catching up on what I’ve missed the past few decades. I have no idea how
to take compliments much of the time because I’m not used to it! I still feel
out of my depth sometimes trying to figure out relationships; call it leftovers
from my previous attitudes. I worry about whether or not I do things the right
way, simply because I didn’t get much of a chance to do it before. Good thing
I’m sure as hell willing to try it now.
I still don’t completely know how I feel about the treatment
I’ve received since I lost weight. On the one hand, it’s so overwhelmingly
positive. Being treated better – knowing that, in some circumstances, I’m
actually desired – has been great
fuel for my self-confidence. Plus, everyone wants to be treated like they’re
not a leper, or invisible, which is how I often felt when I was overweight. At
the same time, besides the higher level of confidence and relaxation, I really
don’t act all that different from when I was overweight. People judge me
totally differently based on my appearance alone now. They treat me much more
fairly than before in just about every circumstance: in the classroom, in the
supermarket, in the bowling alley, etc.
What’s funny, and sad, is how some people have decided it’s
okay to crack fat jokes around me now that I’m not overweight. Let’s put it
this way: I don’t laugh along. No one should. Worse still, I hear so much on a
regular basis along the lines of “I hate fat people.” This is a horrid
attitude, plain and simple, indicative of an ignorance of what it feels like to
actually be overweight, at best, or a deep, startling lack of humanity and
compassion, at worst (Liz says: seriously. I have talked about this before on the blog and it's never any less true. It's mean, hurtful and absolutely does nothing to make people want to get healthier).
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| Adam, on the far right with a whole pile of new friends! |
Weight loss is not a solitary act. Sure, my weight loss plan
was successful in part because I believed in it and the ultimate success it
would bring me, but that belief was reinforced by the response of the people
around me and the support my family and friends gave me. On the flip side,
being bullied and ignored for being overweight only made me more depressed at a
time when I wasn’t as emotionally mature as I am now (assuming, of course, I
actually am emotionally mature now).
Someone has to build up enough willpower to convert those kinds of negative
actions into energy for change, and the support of friends and family can help
build that will. Even at the age of 25, when I undertook the bulk of my weight
loss, I still needed the kindness and encouragement of my parents, my brother,
and my friends from Stonecoast to reassure me that I could do what I knew I was
capable of doing. I needed their pressure to own up to my mistakes whenever my
backslid, knowing that they pressured me because they wanted me to succeed, not
because they derived pleasure from making me uncomfortable. They helped make me
accountable and recognize the immense willpower I didn’t even realize I had.
I’m not done yet. I met my first big goal: losing the weight
in the first place. I lost it by adopting healthier habits, tapping into my
willpower and drive, and being moved by the response I received from my loved
ones. Then I met my next big goal: keeping the weight off a whole year. What’s
next? The way I see it, I’m 27 years old. I spent 18 of those years overweight,
66% of my life. I want to make it to 36 keeping all that weight off, maybe even
losing some more along the way, toning up and refining the progress I’ve made.
My next goal after that will be making it to 37. By then, I will have been
healthy and fit for the majority of my life, and for every year afterward that
majority will only increase. I’m already looking forward to it.
Liz Says: So cheers, to a happier, healthier, more social and no less cuddly Adam!
