"Breathing isn't All it's Cracked Up to Be!"

Being fat can be a bit claustrophobic.  At my top weight of 316 lbs, I was rendered to a state of near inactivity.  I would get up in the morning, take a shower, and go to work, where I would basically sit at a desk all day.  A few short walks to the bathroom or break room or another office was my form of exercise.  Then, arriving home again, I would fall into my recliner and move very little for the rest of the day.  That's not to say that I didn't do anything at all... there were household errands, chauffeuring of the children in my life, and periodic moments of spontaneity. 

Unbeknownst to me at the time, my weight had reduced me to a slow chugging machine that huffed and puffed and creaked and groaned.  My parts were failing and I had one foot in the junkyard.  I have always been listed as an anatomical donor on my driver's license and I truly wanted to have my body used for the best purposes possible after my death.  However, I am pretty certain at this point, that my parts would have been useless, even at a pick and pull yard.

As I slumped in my chair and avoided getting to my feet, two things were happening.  I felt like I could not breathe when I was moving.  My throat would tighten up and my airway would choke out the breathing process.  My breathing had become very shallow and pushing more air in my lungs felt like I was being choked.  The second thing that was happening to me was the inability to walk without a great deal of pain in my knees.

I couldn't tell anyone, even my partner of twenty years at the time.  I didn't want to draw attention to myself, even though a withdrawal from household chores was probably a pretty good signal that something was wrong.  My partner would tell me that I should get up and move around, go outside, take a walk... anything to get me out of that damn recliner.  I was full of excuses.  ""Not right now. I am tired," I'd say, and I was.  Weary with inactivity and hiding the reasons why.

There are a multitude of reasons for this decline in my life.  I remember being a strong and active person in my younger years.  I carried my three year old niece on my shoulders for long walks across town to visit the library.  I hoisted 50 lb bags of this and that, carried large sheets of plywood, and moved heavy set pieces at my local community theater.  I didn't shirk when it came to loading and unloading a truck of furniture on moving day.  And, all of this activity happened at various weights between 125-210 lbs.

The first reason I would recount is that I quit smoking cigarettes after a 20 year habit of 2-3 packs a day.  Within less than a year, I gained 75 lbs by replacing the nicotine with eating candy.  When I first made the decision to allow myself one Snickers bar a day, I was proud of myself.  I was making a decisive choice to allow myself room to escape the deadliest habit in my life.  By the time I reached 225 lbs, I was not so happy with the choice, but... *shrug* what could I do?

The second thing that happened is the death of my mother in 2003.  Glioblastoma... a deadly and incurable brain tumor was the cause.  My mom had survived two other bouts of cancer in her life, breast cancer and uterine cancer.  Both times she recovered and went on to live for many years without recurrence.  I was wounded beyond belief by the brain tumor that took her out of my life. 

And that is when the serious out of control eating became insurmountable.  My days were dark and I barely put one foot in front of another, just managing to work and avoid as much personal contact as possible.  I don't know exactly how long it took, but I swiftly managed to gain another 91 lbs within a two year span of time.  Bags of potato chips, candy bars, pasta and potatoes in heaping portions, fast food... By the time I opened my eyes again to let some of the world back into my hurting heart, I was 316 lbs and utterly in despair of changing.

It was the loss of my job that started my recovery, in a way.  While I was devastated by losing contact with the outside world, I was also motivated to make some changes in my life.  This did not happen overnight, of course, but I will cut out the messy parts of a dark depression that only allowed me to stare blankly at my living room walls for hours at a time.

We can talk about my journey into sanity later.  Right now, I just want to reach out and let my readers know that I know.  Your pain is my pain.  Your loss is my loss.  We are in this life together and it is important that we support each other, regardless of conventions.  We need to see each other as real human beings who are constantly being motivated by pain and loss and injustice, as well as love and kindness and compassion.  The next time an extra large someone rolls past us on an electric scooter in the grocery store, lets remember only one thing.  Today this person needs the electric scooter and not our judgement.

"Her Butt is Fat!"

"Her butt is fat!"  So said the cherubic 5 year old child standing next to her mother.  She was pointing at me, or rather, my large rear end, her eyes wide as she looked to her mother for approval.  Of course, the mother was mortified and attempted to shush her young child, avoiding my eyes.  "But, mommy, her butt is fat!"

I laughed... genuinely amused by this frank admission from the girl.  I smiled at her mother, stealing her eyes away from the suddenly very interesting floor.  "She's young," I said, matter of fact and friendly.  I did not need to add the obvious.  The child was correct in her observation.  

I knew it.  She knew it.  Her mother knew it.  Frankly, everyone within hearing distance knew that the little girl was not lying.  Had it not been such a frank exclamation of astonishment, devoid of judgement, I would probably have been mortified.  However, the child exuded a startled innocence matched only by her own mother's startled shame.

Frankly, I am well aware of what my body looks like.  I know that I walk with a limp because one leg is shorter than the other.  I know that my upper body does not match my lower body.  I have a very large bottom paired with a much smaller torso.  Somehow, as the years have passed (and while I was avoiding the mirror) my proportions became pear shaped, rather than the more even proportions of my youth.

I do not pretend to be smaller than I am.  My girth is unavoidable.  However, the soul of me feels small and perfectly proportioned.  I often catch myself picturing a nimble leap from my chair, a swift pace across my living room, and a fast jog across my yard to retrieve my missing book from the car.  I find myself thinking that a bike ride would be great, and before lumbering to my feet, I see myself grabbing my bike from the shed, jumping aboard the comfy seat, and pedaling with athletic grace through my neighborhood.

None of this actually happens, of course.  As soon as I start to stand from any prolonged length of sitting or lying down, my knees tighten up and my legs turn to lead.  Taking a step becomes a huge process of will over mechanics.  I hold onto my end table, my dresser, even a door jamb, or whatever else is a steady surface that can support my weight.  I steadily pull on the object to begin a forward momentum.  Once I get my legs to take a few steps, it becomes easier, and the limp becomes less pronounced.  Easier, though never easy.

Walking is definitely a skill that is taken for granted by the majority of folks that never have to give it a second thought.  I have always prided myself on my ability to empathize with others; to be compassionate, sensitive, and kind, regardless of a person's abilities.  So it came as a surprise to find that when I was younger and able to walk long distances without worry, I had no clue about the true lives led by the differently-abled people I encountered along the way.  Those folks bearing canes to guide their way or maneuvering wheelchairs or walkers or electric scooters were simply beyond my understanding at that time.  How could I realize the inconvenience of a body that would not do my bidding?  I had never been subjected to a painful debilitation that exhausted me both physically and mentally.  And, being young, I did not understand that inside the bodies of these extraordinary human beings were the spirits of people who could see freedom from the prison of a body that did not work as well as it once had; with a single thought, they might picture their own gracefully pointed toe stepping off the curb without worry or care for whether it might hurt; because within the resiliency of our minds and spirits, we are forever able to see beyond our limitations.

So, this young child, who had no idea that she might cause me discomfort or shame or anxiety, because she saw the size of my butt and couldn't fathom a reason to not exclaim the news to her mother, this child is precious to me.  She has an innocence that will soon be lost in a world that demands that we be polite; for by virtue of being polite and proper, we are not allowed to discuss certain subjects and, therefore, appear to lose the ability to truly see beyond the obvious.

I want honest conversations to happen with regard to obesity that go beyond the obvious.  There is so much to talk about; so much education we can learn from, within these conversations.  So much shame that can be laid to rest; so much anxiety that can slide from our shoulders; so much relief, that can lead to even more conversations.

"Yes, sweetie, the lady's butt is fat... I wonder why?  Do you suppose that is why she is walking with a cane?

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"I Want to Be Fat When I Grow Up... Don't You???"

Some folks actually think that being fat is a choice; like I woke up one day and said, "Self, wouldn't you be happier as an obese woman?  Wouldn't you like to be able to eat anything you want AND gain enough weight to make your knees creak when you walk... to gain weight until you huff and puff just reaching for an extra donut?  Doesn't that sound like a deliciously sweet life, Self?"  And with that, I would have made a conscious, well informed decision to gain enough weight that I could be split into two medium sized people.

I don't know about you, but I never had that conversation with myself and I certainly never made that conscious choice to grow from a painfully thin adolescent into an obese woman with diabetes, high cholesterol, and absolutely no cartilage left in her knees.  And once these things happened, I did not continue to make this stubborn decision to hurt my body and self esteem... at least, not consciously.

Let me ask you... How many of you folks believe you are fat because it seemed like the right thing to do?  How many of you wish you could gain enough weight to make walking an excruciating process?  Do any of you obsess about being able to ride an electric scooter, because it seems so damn glamorous?  And, gee, wouldn't it be fun to have people whisper and point and laugh about your fat butt as you walk by?  Just how many of you would raise your hand and say amen to being unable to run and play and jump with your children?

"But you like to eat, don't you? That's why you are fat."  Someone actually said this to me, in a distinctly quiet and sober tone.  "Maybe you should go on a diet."  Ya think?  Unfortunately, this one sided conversation happened at a time when my self esteem was at an all time low and all I could feel was shame and the undeniable truth of what they were telling me.  

It was all my fault that I was miserable, because I liked to eat and I was fat and the diets were incredibly awful.  It was also at a time that the world had no tolerance for obese people and diets were viewed as a penance for being out of sync with the "normal people". Half a grapefruit and a quarter cup of cottage cheese for breakfast, followed by a hamburger patty and carrots for lunch and a cup of salad with a teaspoon of oil and vinegar for dinner.  Yum yum.  Sign me up now.

If that conversation were to happen today, I envision my response being, "Yes, I like to eat.  Do you like to eat?  Please take that potato chip out of your mouth and tell me that you don't like to eat."  Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I wouldn't say this, because I believe in kindness and the people who insist on saying such foolish things are victims of their own ignorance.  If I want this world to change and be more informed and loving, then I need to take the high road and respond without contempt.  I need to initiate understanding for the path of obesity in all of it's many forms.

Some people gain weight through their genetics; some have an eating disorder; and still others have no understanding of the ridiculous calories in junk food, until it is too late.  FYI, I recently took a "free day" from my self imposed diet, which I will tell you about later.  It was Super Bowl Sunday and we ordered a Papa Murphy's Family size pizza - the Murphy's Combo.  While recording the caloric content of my slice of pizza, I discovered that the total calories in a Murphy's Combo Family Size pizza is 4,277, meaning that a 1/12 slice of pizza equals 355 calories.  Wow... to think that I used to eat 4 slices at one sitting is incredible.  I was eating at least 1420 calories for one meal, which didn't include any cheesy bread or hot wings or chips.  You get the picture.

There are a myriad of reasons that we become obese, and just as many reasons why we have trouble with weight loss... but no one that I have ever met has become obese because they were dying to check out the "Obese Lifestyle".  No one in their right mind would ever choose to take on the pain and shame and life threatening reality of obesity.

Being fat is not a choice.  Accepting who you are is a choice.  Deciding who you want to be is a choice.  And these choices do not have to conform to anyone else's choices.  For me, I want to lose weight.  I am tired of "being fat".  I am tired of working so damn hard just to walk from point A to B.  I am tired of the excruciating pain in my knees and I am tired of pretending that it doesn't matter.  Don't get me wrong.  I am not tired of being me... I just want to explore a different path that may give me more comfort than the path I walked in my youth.  

I don't want to be thin because being thin is attractive and cool.  I no longer believe in the fairy tale world of magazine models.  I want to be less fat, because I want to walk anywhere I choose to walk; I want to dance and dance and dance without thought to my knees; and I want to take back my life from the diabolical hands of diabetes and it's many allies.  I choose to live my life free.

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