A Start . . .

445+.  That's where I'm starting from.  Yes, that's pounds.  I guess like any good start, you need to know where you are and how you got there in order to really begin.  Here goes . . .

Me in August 2013

I'm 41, divorced as of 2011 but separated in 2009, so I've been single for 5 years now.  I'm father to 2 teenagers, both great kids.  Son just graduated high school, daughter is a rising junior.  My ex and I have an amicable relationship for the most part, especially in terms of parenting.  We've both always tried to put the kids first and present a united front to them.  We don't always agree, but we get along.  We talk frequently by phone, mostly about the kids.  It took a while to get there, but I'm really glad we did.  She's with someone else now, and as much as it used to pain me to admit it, he seems like a good guy and has been great to the her and the kids.

I am 6'3" and have always been a big guy.  I was frequently picked on all through school for being chubby.  At least until my senior year when I discovered weightlifting and the fact that I was suddenly inches taller than most of the guys that had picked on me. I learned to take up for myself and the bullying stopped cold.  I've also always been strong, but I come from hardy stock.  Both sides of my family produce tough folks.  I've seen an uncle hold up the side of a tractor while someone else changed the tire.  I'm not talking lawn mower either, I mean BIG GREEN GARDEN tractor, the tire as tall as me. Another uncle used to compete in rodeo events. I've seen my brother carry a car transmission over his shoulder.  Don't even get me started on the feats of strength I've witnessed from my Dad.  We all have that raw, rough, country strength that I guess comes from generations of working outdoors, tilling the land, or generally working hard for a living.  Even though I've never done any of those things for any length of time - I work in an office - I guess genetics had its effect and with intermittent weight training, I was pretty strong.  Early in our marriage we moved yearly (usually when the lease was up, it was cheaper to move to another apartment with a new "move in special" than to renew the lease with the requisite rate hike) and I was good at it, it was nothing to pick up a washing machine and carry it out and put it on the truck by myself. I thought that strength would last forever, but good genes only get you so far.

I got married in 1994, too young to know what we were doing, we struggled throughout most of our marriage.  We both set our sights on graduating from college and made a lot of sacrifices to make that happen.  Those sacrifices included working a full time and a part time job for me while she worked part time and took care of the kids full time and we both went to school.  Online classes are awesome, by the way.  Over the years my weight crept up, no doubt the result of sitting behind a desk so many hours a day, combined with eating cheap fast food multiple times a day and getting very little exercise.

The funny thing is that for so long, even in the 300 pound range, I was still strong, still flexible, still athletic, even if I looked ridiculous running around a tennis court, or playing basketball.  People tended to underestimate my speed and endurance and I loved surprising them.  I've been a fan of martial arts my whole life and for Christmas one year, when my son was about 5, my wife got he and I karate lessons.  Him because he'd love it, and me in hopes that it would generate some weight loss.  My daughter later took classes as well until gymnastics and dancing took over her interest.

I took Kenpo Karate for about 9 months, got my orange belt, lost a little weight, gained a LOT of flexibility, and loved it.  Unfortunately I didn't alter my eating habits so the weight loss was pretty minor.  Then we moved again and it became too far to drive to the dojo, so I went to another dojo, owned by a friend. His was much more intense, and I made some headway but before long, finances put a stop to that.  To this day I really miss training.

Anyway, to speed up the story, we'll fast forward past the crazy busy years of finishing college, getting my associates and then bachelor's degrees, while working two jobs and my wife getting hers as well.  I'll also fast forward past the issues that arose in our marriage and led to its dissolution.  Sufficed to say that years of hectic lives, under constant stress, had taken its toll.  I'll refrain from trying to explain why she left, although I've spent years analyzing every conversation, every interaction during that period and trying to figure out what I could have done differently. What I've come to realize is that you can't undo years of problems overnight, people do change, and some things just aren't meant to be.  I still love her, probably always will - even when I don't like her very much.

See, when she first told me she was considering leaving, my first thought was that it was because of my weight.  It didn't help that I was about 380 pounds at this point.  In fact that was part of our problem, but certainly not the only one, but at the time that is what I seized on and I convinced myself that if I could lose weight, I could "save my family".  I just knew that if she left my whole world would collapse, my kids would hate me, and my life would be over.  These thoughts ignited a fire inside of me, a desperation, like I'd never felt in my life.

There was a little good that came out of these feelings.  The first being the realization that I didn't have to eat traditional meals and could eat as little as I wanted, no one was making me eat the crazy amounts of bad food that I was used to. There is no law that says Thou Shalt Eat Three Meals A Day.  This was suddenly freeing to me.  But of course out of desperation I took it to the extreme and literally didn't eat any solid food for the first 4 days.

I started walking the next morning after the infamous "I want a divorce" conversation.  I was up at 6am and made it to the end of my street and back.  My back hurt, my legs burned, and I was tired, but I did it.  That night I joined 9Round and started a twice a week boxing workout (genius idea by the way, I seriously love 9Round).  I lost 30 pounds the first week.  Aaaannnd ended up in the doctors office when my kidney's shut down and I was dehydrated.  I'm lucky that I wasn't sent to the hospital.  I had gotten to the point that I couldn't drink water.  It made me gag.  I literally had to force myself to drink.

I started eating a little.  Yogurt, chicken breasts, salads.  I added weight lifting 3 days a week and gradually increased my walking until I was going 2 miles per day, 6 days a week.  My walking evolved in to mostly walking with a little jogging, to jogging and walking, to mostly jogging with a little walking, to jogging 2 miles per day 5 days a week and 3.5 miles on Saturday mornings.  The weight melted off.

Unfortunately as my body became healthier, my mental state deteriorated.  My relationship with my wife just seemed to get more and more strained.  It started affecting my work.  I would sit in my office with the door closed for hours, unable to concentrate, unable to move, just running a never ending series of scenarios through my mind as to how my marriage was going to play out.  I even had dumbbells under my desk and I'd do curls and presses to try and take my mind off of my problems, but it was just a temporary fix. At the time I was so self absorbed in my own misery that I didn't see the signs all around me that due to the real estate collapse, the company I worked for was slowly circling the drain.

By May of 2009 I'd lost more than 130 pounds.  I'd run my first 5k.  I was being treated differently by everyone around me, to the point of actually being noticed and hit on by women.  My friends couldn't believe the transformation.  I'd had to buy all new clothes.  Physically, I felt good!  I could do things that normal sized people take for granted, but are huge sources of shame for a fat guy, like fit into a booth in a restaurant.  Like tie my shoes without grunting and maneuvering.  I could actually see my feet! . . . among other things that I'd lost sight of due to my weight.

I just knew that my new physicality would be enough to "save my marriage".  That was my mantra, words that I'd repeated millions of times to myself, that I'd Googled over and over, read in countless books and articles, spoken to my friends in many long conversations, prayed over and over and over and over.  I'd been going to Church with my kids every weekend, singing along and praying for a miracle.

Alas, twas not to be.

I was constantly searching for a guarantee that everything would be ok; a promise that she wouldn't leave.  I was grasping for straws - from my friends, from the internet, books, co-workers, God, my wife.  I think I must have become unbearable for her to be around.  My every action, every word, calculated to either ingratiate myself with her, impress her, or beg her not to go.  It was not a healthy time for me mentally and I am ashamed of how I acted.  I was desperate. I was weak.

In May of 2009 she had enough and moved out.  The next week my company folded and began the process of shutting down, I was let go.  I fell apart.

I got low.  Very low.  I forgot every person that was there to support me.  All my friends that were by my side.  My parents and brother and sister, whom I'd hidden all of this from until now, who loved and would do anything for me, I dismissed.  My kids.  My wonderful, beautiful, incredible kids.  I felt like I had let them down.  I had let their family fall apart.  I'd failed as a husband and therefore as a father.  I was a burden to them. I didn't deserve them.  They deserved better, a better influence, a better provider, a better Dad. Someone better than me.

A lot of people say that they've contemplated suicide, and I believe that is true.  Many of us have done the childish - "they'll be sorry when I'm gone and they'll miss me" thing, at least in our minds.  Some of us have even threatened it out loud, for the drama, to get the attention of someone we think is ignoring us, or we're losing.  I don't think we're really serious about it then, it's truly a cry for help, or attention.  I did that.  I'm not proud of it, but I did it as a last resort, please come back, you're ruining my life thing.  I can honestly say that of all the mistakes I've made, I hate myself for that one. I feel like an idiot now.

Thinking about and facing suicide are two different things.  Sitting in the dark, alone, with the device for ending your pain at hand and no one to stop you, no one to pull it away, no one to talk you out of it.  That is facing suicide.  Weighing the pros and cons, trying to see through the haze of jumbled emotion, thinking further than what others will think - to the mechanics of the act; who will find you, how will it impact them and how can you arrange for that to be someone that can handle it.  Sitting alone in the dark and staring into the void that has become your soul and looking for just some flicker of light, listening for some voice, some whisper on the winds to say "don't", or "stay".  When your thoughts are not about revenge on someone that hurt you, but truly about ending the pain, emotional or otherwise, about making it stop, escaping; that is facing suicide.  It's thinking about taking the easy route and "opting out" rather than getting out of bed one more time to face a day that holds no light, no hope, no chance for happiness.  It's when you can't remember what happiness is, what self worth means, and you are convinced that the only purpose left of your life is to be a warning to others. It's forgetting all the faces of your family, your friends, and being completely absorbed into your own misery.  This decision is right in front of you like a tangible object and you pick it up, turn it over, examine it with cold eyes, from all sides, to see if it fits. Still listening for a hint, a voice, something to interrupt your inevitable slide down the slippery slope into this dark decision, into this oblivion.  Thinking about God, wondering if he understands.  Will he greet you or will it be the other, and can Hell possibly be worse than the way you feel right now.  I don't know if it's like this for others, if anyone else has ever felt the way I did, but I went through this. I stared down this decision, this demon.  More than once.

At my darkest, tear soaked, soul numbing, closest to the edge moment; I heard something.  My mind was a raging storm of emotion, pain, regret, and self-loathing, but through that storm I heard a voice.  The barest whisper carried on the storm.  It just said, "I've got you".

It was just enough to push me back from the brink.  Enough that I carried on.  I'd like to tell you that this was the beginning of a whole new happy life for me.  It wasn't.  I did eventually see how ridiculous it was that I felt so alone.  How selfish I'd been to think that my kids didn't need or want me.  How utterly crazy it was that I let one person's decision to no longer be with me define who I was and whether or not I was worthy of breathing. I did eventually take responsibility for my own mistakes and issues and realize that the universe wasn't out to get me, but it took some time.  But in the meantime I ran back to my old vice.  The one addiction that you can't quit cold turkey - food.

When life turns upside down some people turn to drugs, or climb into a whiskey bottle.  Not me.  I climbed into a bag of chips. I suppose as far as vice's go its not the worst, but given enough time it can be just as deadly.

I started my old eating habits back.  I was lucky and found a new good job, thanks to a good friend - you know, one of those people I'd convinced myself wouldn't care if I were dead.  Sadly, I'd lost all desire to exercise any more.  I ate whatever I wanted, more than I wanted.  I kept running, for a while.  I'd grown to love the solitary sport and the way I could clear my mind and think while doing it.  Unfortunately physics kicked in and when you start adding weight, without fail you'll lose performance and injuries follow.  I injured my leg and started having a sore back, so I stopped altogether.  I walked one last 5k in October of that year and that was my last serious attempt at exercise in 5 years.

Lets fast forward again, through years of tears, 5 years of emotional and mental healing.  5 years of slowly building a different, but positive, relationship with my ex.  Yes I did see a counselor for a while and it helped.  I'm back working 2 jobs, but I love both and while I scrape by financially, I work with great people in great environments and have a hard time contemplating leaving either one. I'm stronger mentally now, although all that physical strength I boasted of earlier, sadly, has left me.  It's also been 5 years of eating out of control. I sadly admit that a big part of why my finances are the way they are is due to eating out 3 meals a day most days.  Not only is the food really bad for me, but it's really expensive when you start adding it up.  $30 a day quickly becomes your biggest monthly expense, especially when it goes up on the weekends when the kids are here and we all eat out.

So what does 5 years of physical neglect look like?  What does 5 years of a very sedentary lifestyle, consisting often of 15 hours a day sitting behind a desk, look like?

I have a laundry list of escalating health issues.  My feet hurt, shoes don't fit the same anymore.  My knees pop and ache, going up stairs is hellish. My back is a mess.  I have had sciatica twice, I don't recommend it.  If I stand for any length of time the pain becomes nearly unbearable.  I frequently have stabbing pains in my left side that I'm not sure whether or not they are related to some kidney problem, kidney stones, or related to the sciatica.  I get out of breath tying my shoes, which is a chore.  I'm always tired, can fall asleep anytime I sit still for a few minutes, but never a good nourishing deep sleep.  I wake up virtually every hour during the night, uncomfortable, with my arm or leg or neck sore from what ever position I've been sleeping in.  I avoided the doctor for a long time, dreading what they would say.  Although I did go when I had a kidney stone, and again to talk about my back, but got no sympathy from the doc and felt like I was dismissed out of hand since I guess to her my problem was completely obvious.  Lose weight was her grand advice.  Then, thanks to changes in the insurance industry, which I won't rant about now, my doctor's office dropped my insurance carrier.

I was watching myself slowly deteriorate.

On some level I think it was punishing myself.  I know I was depressed, I know I was feeling sorry for myself.  I know better than to eat the way I did.  I know my bad habits were killing me slowly.  I know with the onset of diabetes and my sedentary lifestyle, the next step would be high blood pressure and eventually heart disease.  I know that my life expectancy is mid 40's.  I also know that on some level, deep down, I thought I was OK with that.  I don't think its that I consciously wanted to die, but I just didn't care if I lived. Even though my depression was much improved, it was still there and I still had moments where I felt . . . out of place, stuck in a hole, and climbing out just seemed so hard as to be nearly impossible.  It's almost like I'd accepted that this was my fate and I was resigned to it. I would just slowly fade away.

That's not how life works.  The pain was a wake up call.

I missed a day of work just about every month due to some ailment.  My vision started to blur and I bought reading glasses for the first time about 6 months ago.  My back was the worst though.  I was in nearly constant pain.  Walking hurt, just standing hurt, and now sitting hurt.  It wasn't unusual for me to come home from work and go straight to bed just so my back would ease off.  A few months ago I finally took some steps forward, at the urging of some good people.

One of my bosses suggested that I see his friend who is a Chiropractor.  Doc Holloway was great.  I use his name because it always reminds me of Doc Holiday when I say it.  Anyway, he did x-rays on my lower back and showed me my problems.  I had a vertebrae out of alignment and with what looked like a small fracture.  Also, the cushioning in my right hip was pretty much gone from all the pressure on it.  He started a series of adjustments on my back, vertebral subluxations, I believe he calls them, to bring it back into alignment.  He's not a backcracker, but a serious health enthusiast that believes that these minor movements aid the muscles in doing what they are designed to do.  He's worked wonders for me. He encouraged me to start walking, told me that it was possible to fix my problems, just to start easy and get moving.

My other boss (I work in a law firm for 2 partners) apparently noticed my declining health.  I guess the dark rings under my eyes were probably magnified by my new reading glasses.  Anyway, she gave me the name of her doctors office and a glowing recommendation, so I set an appointment with them.  Some blood work, some lab tests, and what do you know, it's official - I have type 2 Diabetes.  No surprise there.  My Mom's had it as long as I can remember, it runs in both sides of my families, but genetics aside, I knew I was an ideal candidate for it and fully expected this diagnosis.  My blood sugar was averaging around 300 or so first thing in the morning. My doc put me on meds to help control my blood sugar and my thyroid and we had a long talk about my health in general, my eating habits, and the fact that I could turn my health around.  Luckily my blood pressure was good, which was surprising to me and the doc.  For the first time in a LONG time, I left the doctors office feeling positive.

After a few days on the new meds I felt better.  My blood sugar dropped down to around 200, still not good, but better.  My vision actually improved and I don't use the reading glasses anymore.  My energy level has improved - some.  All in all, its a start.  Its been a few months on the meds now and I'm down 15 pounds from my initial doctor's visit, according to their scale.

I've made some other changes as well. For one thing I'm bringing lunch from home.  Besides saving a ton of money, I'm bringing much healthier fare than I've been eating for the past several years.  I'm buying groceries weekly and it's evolved into my new Saturday morning routine.  I plan my meals for the week and then go buy the ingredients.  For me, just walking all through the store and getting back home without my back screaming is a win.  I still have a lot of room for improvement, I still eat out a couple of nights a week while at the part time job, but over all I feel for the first time in years that I'm making forward progress, even if it's at a very slow rate.

So that brings us almost current.  Like I said, I wanted to start out by remembering how I got here. Just admitting some of the things I've just admitted makes me feel a little lighter.  It's good to clean out the mental closet I guess.  Pull things out and look at them and remember and maybe gain new insight.

I don't know if anyone will read this, and if they do if it will resonate with anyone, encourage anyone, help anyone who might share some of my issues, feelings, and experiences.  Maybe someone will read this and see things I haven't realized myself, offer me some insight.  I welcome insight, wisdom, and encouragement, even commiseration.  Judgement I can do without.

I don't know if I'll post again, and if so when it will be.  I don't know what my journey will be like.  I've tried before and failed.  I've promised myself sooo many times that I'd get healthy and yet here I am.  I'll just take it a day at a time and try to do the right thing.  Hopefully that'll be enough.