The food industry plays us for suckers and fools every day. Or so we tell ourselves. The funniest, most ironic part of that statement is that we blame them because we are fat.
Ha! Did they force that extra Big Mac® down your gullet? Did they coach you into that marathon sitting position for gaming 24/7 while you guzzle a 2-Liter Mountain Dew®?
The simple answer is NO.
We blissfully traipse through the mall of life, sucking down sugary frappa-fat-fats and greasy filet-o-fat-fucks in all their processed glory. We allow commercialism, consumerism, and convenience to drive our behaviors, tottering through the maze of life like the brainwashed, voracious lemmings we have become.
In short, we make choices. And all choices have consequences.
Anyone with common sense knows that, at its most simple form, weight loss is a function of calories in and calories out. 3500 calories of input or output results in a gain or a loss of one pound of fat. It’s science.
Distilled into a tasty soundbite we can all digest: Move more. Eat less. So, Slim, what is your excuse for dying quicker each day, consuming the wrong things, and not moving?
I have had a lot of time during Covid quarantine for introspection. And as a fellow Chubs, I have known for a long time I need to drop 25-30 pounds. In particular, as I have gotten older, I have gotten sicker because of it. As discussed in What Doesn’t Kill You Gives You Colitis, my ulcerative colitis flares far more regularly.
And the excess weight does not help with inflammation. I have developed Type 2 diabetes, after a long bedroom runway as a plus-size model, knowing I had pre-diabetes and not doing anything truly meaningful to reverse it. Weight loss might have been my one shot.
So, of course, now it is deadly serious for me. I eat a little better, drink somewhat less, exercise a ton more. Amazing how fear of death can focus your thoughts and sculpt your actions (along with your abs). I literally have zero interest in learning through experience if there is a god or not.
I am but a grain of sand in a desert of fat people. What the fuck is wrong with us? I have a very fit wife and a lot of fit friends. Why do I not model their behaviors? Why do I continue down this icy mountainside of doom on freshly waxed Pepperoni skis?
For me, I think it took the real consequence of “hitting bottom” to learn I am not invincible. The accompanying apathy truly did not help. Mix that altogether with a heaping teaspoon of anxiety and fear from coronavirus, and life seems a hell of a lot shorter and more precious these last few months.
What is your excuse? Here are some thoughts that might help you take that hard look in the mirror and commit to affecting some change in your life before you die.
- You are ignorant. There must be some portion of the population out there that has not been exposed to basic health concepts. Right? They can’t help it; they just didn’t know! You know the person – no Internet, no TV, no public-school education, no fat role models in their family to be disgusted by. I call bullshit. Keep reading, you ignorant bastard. The real reasons are below.
- You are stupid. The math is too hard, he whined. Shut up. Christ. Buy a calculator, mathlete. Even if not customized to you, your body, or your metabolism, the average man requires approximately 2,500 calories of input per day to maintain weight. The average female requires approximately 2,000 calories per day to maintain weight. If you decrease calorie intake by 500 calories per day, then you will lose 3,500 calories per week, or 1 pound of fat. That’s 50 pounds per year! But this requires counting the calories for every electron of Dorito® dust you stuff down your gullet. What about output? If you just went for a walk for an hour each day, that could burn 250-500 calories. Another 25-50 pounds lost per year! Maybe more if you are extra porky. If your time in grandma’s basement has made you averse to sunlight and fresh air, just march in place in front of your video games. Either way, there are dozens of apps out there that do all the counting for you. Continue being dumb; give Technology the wheel.
- You are disorganized. Time management is the most teachable skill in the world. But it requires you to stick with it like the Cinnabon® frosting on your chubby, glistening fingers. If you lack the basic discipline to keep to a schedule, I would love to see how your Checking account looks! Where did my money go for rent? he whined to his mommy. Safe bet: ask Taco Bell drive thru. Planning meals takes some forethought, for sure. Before you disappear into grandma’s dark basement to jerk off to Pornhub® for eight consecutive hours, start your day with a quick journaling of your planned meals and mealtimes for the day. Keep it around 2,000 calories. Bonus for you! There must be some sort of calorie deficit created by such egregious masturbation. And please stay hydrated!
- You are apathetic. Zig Ziglar taught, “It is your attitude, more than your aptitude, that will determine your altitude.” So now you are fat, waving your hands in the air like you just don’t care, drowning below a waterline of apathy. Your altitude is below sea level, Amelia Earhart. And even all your newfound blubber will not keep you afloat for long. Here is a thought to wake you up and perhaps motivate your callous ass – Death is nigh. You heard me. Death is coming for you in the form of Karma. Throw your douchey blasé attitude into the Universe, and Karma will deliver you a twenty-liter Coke® enema. The worst part is She is patient and sadistic. There are millions of disenchanted dickheads out there just like you, and She can reckon with you whenever your turn comes. And when it does, I promise, you will suddenly care. A lot.
- You are invincible. The curse of the young – their naïve perception of invincibility. This was me. Bad things only happen to other people because I am… me! I am a unique individual adrift in a universe of shit, but because of my sheer me-ness, no harm can befall me. Why worry about the future when everything is so awesome in my life today? And if there is a problem, if I get fat, I can fix it. I will have time. Ask Ozymandias where that level of hubris got him. One certainty I have as I continue along the denouement of my own life: we are all born dying. We were endowed with the freewill to make choices that will impact the rate of that celestial discharge, but die we shall. And the more I shower that freewill with arrogance, pride, and delusion, the bigger the flood I need to navigate. Consider me your own personal Noah. Not much room left in the ark.
- You are impatient. Weight loss takes time. Sorry to burst your bubble, Bubble Butt. You have spent a lifetime reaching a 45 BMI and morbid obesity. If you have 80 pounds to lose, it may take a year or more to get there. We all need a little patience, Axl Rose. Our world surrounds us with false promises and magic pills. Internet hucksters sidle up in their digital chuckwagons, peddling their Pirelli’s miracle elixirs (shout out to Sondheim). We consume and consume ad nauseum, repeating the same failing behavior, expecting a quick fix and a different outcome when there never has been one. When Jesus resurrected his bunny, Reg (as told in the gnostic Gospel of Reg), that was a real miracle. They’re rare. Time to roll up your sleeves and get to work, Mr. Creosote (shout out to Monty Python). Practice the line, “No. Fuck off, I’m full.”
- You are lazy. My wife and I just had a custom-made sectional sofa delivered to the house right before the plague descended like an unwanted third testicle. A gift to ourselves as Empty Nesters. Something decadent and sexy. And comfortable? Oh my dick. This couch absorbs your fat ass in a cloud of cooling yet supportive leather, whispering her siren’s song of stay with me forever in your ear as you fade in and out of a take-out food coma, sometimes called a nap, while Anderson Cooper’s sexy dulcet tones lull you into further submission with stories of the End of Days. If you could shit in a dirty pail nearby, this might possibly be heaven. Yeah. That kind of lazy. Our creature comforts and animal pleasures trump the harder things in life – like niçoise salads or jumping jacks. Robert Heinlein said, “Progress isn’t made by early risers. It’s made by lazy men trying to find easier ways to do something.” Well that’s just fucking stupid. And I love Heinlein. But flip that statement around, and you’re beginning to get at the essence of the truth. Life is hard work, effort, and challenge. If you are sick and tired of being the laughingstock of Fatville, it’s time to get off that leather sectional.
For me, this whole conversation is deeply personal. I figure, best case, I have another thirty years orbiting the sun if I get my shit together and drop some weight. But as it stands, I want at least sixty more.
One of the myriad reasons I write is to leave a part of me behind. Something that recalls me and reminds the world this pudgy yet funny bastard existed, albeit a smidge pudgier than desired. My writing is like a horcrux immortalizing a piece of my soul.
Closing thought, my little pandas: use Occam’s Razor. The simplest solution is the correct solution when presented with comparable facts. If you are fat, you will die early. Losing weight will help prevent that from occurring. William of Ockham just did a medieval cartwheel.
Drop the bullshit excuses and watch all that excess weight drop off you!
In the immortal words of White Goodman in the vastly underrated movie, Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story:
“…ugliness and fatness are genetic disorders, much like baldness or necrophilia, and it’s only your fault if you don’t hate yourself enough to do something about it.”
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