Week 3: The Price Of Fat

Being Good

After last weeks issue with the swimming pool and Gym, I chose to only go once this week. I will be looking for a new place to go, because it really annoyed me. When I did go, I did the normal trick of 50 widths (4 breast/1 crawl) and 30 mins on the cycle that doesn't work (2 mins fast rate, 30 secs going like the clappers). I also went on the stepper for 10 minutes (OMG). Other than that, not to good I'm afraid.

Now I say chose to go only once. The choice was sorta forced on me because for some reason this time I felt like someone had taken my knees and replaced them with wooden ones. And not only that, but because I wasn't very good at using my new wooden legs I constantly felt like I would fall face first and have my knee buckle backwards under me.

Being Bad

I have done really well this week. I have avoided chocolate completely, and sandwiches.  I only had food after 11pm once, and on that occasion I had cereal. With no sugar. How good is that!!!

Unfortunately, it has made absolutely no difference to my weight, or my body shape. My clothes are exactly the same on me as they were last week. I am extremely disappointed.

The Price Of Fat

I have so much to say on this that my tongue (or fingers) is tripping over itself. I have actually had to cut down my comments for fear that this would turn into my first book. The rest I shall save for another day, but for now, Why is it that a clothes design is one price when served to skinny sticks that spend half their time throwing up their soup in the bathroom, and a completely different price to a fat person.

I appreciate there may be a little more material, but in my experience we are talking two or three times the amount. As if it's not hard enough to find a high street store that stocks plus sizes as it is, when you do find one you end up having to get a mortgage to afford them.

Now, I am a guy, and so only have a certain amount of this abuse, but I have been out with many plus size women, and each and every one has had to suffer the indignation of being told by some tarty-dressed, stuck-up sales assistant with a serious coat hanger up her arse, that their shop doesn't do that size. They have looked my partners up and down with the kind of disgust that a preening toucan would look at a nightingale. For one, what the hell is their problem.

Do they think they are better just because they are thinner? Seriously? I have known many women and in my humble experience, thinner women are not better. There have been some very polite, very charming thin women I have known, but I have known a lot more chubby women with those characteristics. As far as I am concerned, these women are the worst of the worst. They make you feel bad just by being around them. Why would anyone want that in their life? Why would anyone want to be friends with them, knowing they will just feel dirty and spoiled afterwards?

Even if you do find the right store, that sells plus sizes, and even if you get a sales assistant that doesn't treat you like you are diseased and they are there for your personal assistance,

"Weeeell, you need a bit if help, don't you, you need someone to tell you what doesn't work on you don't you"

when you finally get to the cash desk you realise that the belt you picked out costs £40 alone.

As I have said, I am a guy and have rarely experienced this, until recently when I happened to go into a "Big and Tall" store. I swear the place is designed to kill off fatties like myself once and for all, because when I saw that just one Hawaiian shirt would have cost me £120, I nearly had a heart attack. I have an idea they have a trapdoor and a dungeon for all the bodies like Sweeney Todd.



"Is that another one Gone, Frank?"

"Yes, he said he wanted to buy a tie!"

There is seriously is no need for it . We all need clothes, and they don't have to cost the earth. And for God's sake. Look, in case I havent said it enough, I am a GUY and generally we aren't so worried about our clothes as women are. Also guys tend to have a specific kind of wardrobe, we all wear suits for funerals, weddings etc, so if there's an event, like a job interview, we get the suit out, but women don't have that simplicity. They like colours and styles and dresses and pants and blouses and tops, and jackets and shoes and loads of stuff. They like clothes.

I am not saying that's a bad thing. Women in clothes is good I say, I support the idea. I admit my personal preference is women spilling out of clothes, but that's just me, and somehow they need to stay warm. Now, just because I don't engage in the rigmarole of changing "outfits" every two hours, doesn't mean I don't appreciate it when they do. If however, the only thing you can find to wear is a tent, because no store supplies any style choice. then they will get frustrated rightly so. And then as a rule they will take it out on me, (which would be a little unfair as for one I agree with them whole-heartedly, and for two there are an awful lot of them)

Why does it seem impossible to have any variation on style. Why do designers think that all trousers should second up as a flag! It's all very well saying, yes but this skirt is in green, but it's still a skirt, just like every other knee-length skirt in the damned shop!

And then when she finally does go to the counter to purchase yet another elasticized neck blouse, it turns out the garment is on special offer and today will only cost me £85 !!!

Clothes should be cheaper, they should have more variation and they should be staffed by shop assistants who are a little more humble. Women don't expect the earth, but they do hope to gain a little respect, a little confidence and a little excitement when they go shopping. And it appears to me that the only women who are continually overlooked in this are fat women. It's wrong in so many ways.

There is an alternative, we could all go online. Now I like buying online. I enjoy it, because it suits my sense of fairness. When there is a store doing something that I consider unethical, I simply don't buy from them, there are always plenty to choose from, which makes life easier. It may well be that they are all one and the same, but until they are specifically pointed out to me, then I can be pleased.

The one thing that really gets my goat more than anything else, though is the way a plus size specialist models their clothes with a skinny person.Why would you do that. Here I am, about to invest my money to someone I have never met before, to buy an item that may be totally the wrong style, fit or colour for me, and you present me with the items on a guy that looks like Brad Pitt. How will I know how that looks on me? Clearly Brad looks great, BUT I AIN'T BRAD. It is my first and foremost rule, if they don't have pictures of a plus size model modelling the clothes I will not buy from them. I am trying to encourage my fiancée to do the same, but I feel it will take a while. She keeps saying to me, thats a good store, but it doesn't have the clothe I want.

This is the beaultiful Chloe Marshall. Miss Surray 2008. Eventually I will write about her, but heres a quick link to another blogger.

http://www.thicksational.com/category/pageants/

Week 1: Life in Blogland

Week 1

Being Good;

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="196" caption="I came, I saw, I died"][/caption]

I went swimming twice this week, the first time achieving 30 widths of the pool (4 breast-stroke to 1 front crawl). The second time I completed 40 widths (same ratio) and also spent an hour in a blissfully empty gym cycling. I believed I had done very well until I realised that the entire hour I was cycling a flat. The machine was broken and so couldn't do hills. To compensate I jumped in the walker and nearly died after one minute. Clearly there is a long way to go.

Being Bad;

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="209" caption="Devils Food"][/caption]

I failed on both my tasks this week. I had a bought sandwich, almost without thinking of it. On the day of the marvelous exercise too. It was raining, and I only went in to the shop for a drink. I have also eaten chocolate. To my shame I have twice been caught out by the advertising campaign for Cream Eggs. They may be gone in a couple of weeks, but I say good riddance to them. They also happened to be on special offer so both times I bought two. I had hoped this would be cathartic. Long way to go for that too I see.

So no progress this week, and plenty to do next week. I swear that time is my biggest enemy. Either I have too much time, in which case I get bored and eat, or I don't have enough time, in which case I don't go to the pool.

Life in Blogland

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="210" caption="No messages... again"][/caption]

I started this separate blog thinking that my attempts at changing into a thinner happier person would be of interest to a different set of people. And much to my great disappointment I have had a grand and impressive total of just two views in a week. It saddens me because whenever you start one of these you have this picture in your head of being read by hundreds of supporting fatties trying to gain inspiration from your ordeal. You also imagine being read by thin people who wander across your site by accident and find themselves drawn into your life through a passionate heartfelt story and a strong persuasive narrative. Imaginings, however, are just that. My egotistical dreams are in fact the dreams of an untalented, unremarkable and very ordinary individual who for just one moment felt the fluttering feather of optimism waft nonchalantly under his narcissistic nose.

The truth as any average blogger knows is that no-one will read my musings. Well I say no-one, but what I mean is that no-one other than a few very close loved ones whom I will tell personally that is. Although even that is not totally true either.

The fact is that there is a trick to blogging. To get readers, not only do you have to say something funny or fascinating, not only do you have to get lucky and get on the front page of the WordPress dashboard, but you also have to scout around for similar articles from other prospective writers and leave them comments.  Something I had been doing quite innocently when my simple blog was on MySpace but since I have been here, I must not have done enough.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="135" caption="Vitriolic Commenters"][/caption]

WordPress has a habit however of polarizing writers and placing commenters them into two camps. You are either pro the writer and what they stand for, or you are against the writer. If you are against the writer, you will be lambasted by other commenters with long vitriolic statements arguing that you are being thoughtless, unappreciative and what the hell are you doing reading this blog anyway. The fact that you merely stumbled across it by accident and it provoked you to comment (surely a good thing even if the commentary is negative) doesn't matter. If you don't agree then butt out, except don't butt out completely because my comments tally has risen from 40 to 150 in just one week.

If however you do agree, and are lucky enough to have said something suitably supportive and witty, then you get the "Thanks for your comment, Hope you continue reading" return, and you also may be honoured with a returning visit, and perhaps, please God for everything that is good in heaven, a reciprocal comment!

All that however is just as a preface for the fact that I have been reading blogs this week. Blogs specifically about fat and fatness.

I had intended this to be my very own personal journey, and I still intend it to be exactly that, but I have realised there is so much more to talk about.

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="386" caption="American Beauty"][/caption]

Firstly, Fat Acceptance. This is a stunning movement and I can't deny that I was gob smacked when I discovered it floating about in the electronic ethers. As a random reader you may not entirely understand the full meaning of fat appreciation. Indeed I suspected it was merely thinking that fat isn't the disgusting and immoral, repugnant stereotype of lard arse laziness we are lead to believe it is by the world of fashion magazines, health clubs and dietary product manufacturers, but now I realise it means so much more.

http://pinstripebindi.wordpress.com/2009/06/16/these-are-both-the-dumbest-and-the-most-offensive-ads-ive-ever-seen-kudos-jerkface-yogurt-company/">

Now I want to tell you that I personally find larger women more attractive. I like that body shape for many reasons, such as younger puffier looking faces, curvier bodies, and more coy and empathetic characters. Yes, I appreciate this is a stereotype too, but the truth is that we are guided by what we enjoy visually first and foremost, before we get the opportunity to interact properly with a prospective partner.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="218" caption="Exercise is tiring!"][/caption]

However, I have never ever pretended that these, in my humble opinion, sexier women are healthier than their thinner counterparts like some of the Fat Acceptancists do. To me it seems absolutely obvious that we are not supposed to have the kinds of excess of weight that I myself carry. I have always felt like a thin guy wearing a life vest, and whilst I am comfortable with this, I am also aware that without the vest on, I could run faster for longer and keep up with my fiancée's kids better, not be so out of breath-taking the shopping up the stairs and so on.

I have read argument after argument about how fat may protect you from certain diseases, giving you a bigger and therefore stronger heart etc, but despite all these wonderfully scientific ideas, I couldn't get past the blatantly obvious fact that fat... is fat. It is unnecessary excess, that we keep and store for an emergency, although god knows what emergency I am storing for, because I suspect I could last longer than a camel in a desert!

Now I'm all for promoting fatness as a lifestyle choice, I'm even prepared to give the "big-boned" brigade a little rope, and I am very happy to see more images of fat people on TV and in magazines, especially with an ever-growing population of fatties and a child eating disorder problem. I personally wouldn't buy from an online shop unless it has suitably sized models showing off its clothes. Lets not kid ourselves however, lets appreciate that we may be happy being who we are, but we are not how we should ideally be, and we really shouldn't be going around saying we're healthy. I know that this is not the position of some of the Fat Acceptancists, but there were enough out there for me to feel justified in commenting.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="167" caption="Doctors being rude"][/caption]

The issue of whether our fatness matters, whether personal obesity is a societal "problem" or not, is up for very strong debate. For my part I see my potential for healthcare issues as being no more serious than other people for drinking, smoking, skiing, or doing the hundreds of other stupid things people do. I pay my taxes and so therefore deserve to be medically treated based on my personal choices. I can't abide the doctors and nurses who refuse to treat someone because of their weight. Who are they to pass judgement on me or others. What difference does it make to their day if they are dealing with me or someone else. They still get paid the same.

In the words of Nelson, before he lost his arm probably, "STFU and get on with it me-laddo!".

There are far more patients in hospital because of drinking related issues than there are fatties, but you don't hear ER doctors screaming I don't want to treat him because he'll only be down the pub next week.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="281" caption="It's their choice"][/caption]

The issue as to whether I am healthy however, is not in question. I am not, just like the skateboarder who is likely to break a bone, I am more likely to suffer from heart disease or asthma or one of the many things that fat people suffer from.

I was also surprised at the amount of failed attempts people have made to do exactly what I am trying to do. I have heard the phrase food addiction be used often by these bloggers in an attempt to confront their own personal demons. I commend them all for trying, but worry that food addiction, whilst it is something I can very much relate too, isn't another way to blame something else rather than facing our problems. Perhaps not, after all at places like Alcoholics Anonymous, don't they suggest you admit your addiction first and foremost.

I did come across one site however.

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="353" caption="Simply beautiful "][/caption]

http://adipositivity.my-expressions.com/index.html

A simple site worthy of note I felt. There are a few sites doing something similar, I understand, but this was the one I came across. It promotes fatties in all their glory, and shows how sexy the female form really is. It's not pornographic in any way, but it is quite simply elegant and very sexy. I encourage you to look and hopefully it will provoke you positively as it did me.

My Fat Truth

I am 5'5'' and weigh nearly 19st (266 lbs). I am 39 years old with a life expectancy of 55. I am morbidly obese, and have been since I was 20.

I am plenty of other things too, I am a particularly good loser for example. I can juggle with three balls. I am good at recognising bits of music, especially from the 80's. This blog however is about Me and my relationship to FAT.

I know there are many people out there who would probably look at me in disgust. Who would suggest I am wasting my opportunities. Who think I am a failure. In time I intend to really get to grips with what they have to say. I actively encourage your comments. I would be surprised if there is anything I haven't already heard, but please go ahead. Make me your vent if you will. Right now though I want to make my admissions.

There are many reasons for my weight. Literally hundreds that I have come up with in my time on this earth. So lets just go through a few of them.

First my brother is six years older than I am. He was athletic also, loved playing football, joined the CCF at a young age. He walked the ten-tours across Dartmoor three times. When we were growing up there was no chance I would ever beat him at anything sporty, or even in fighting. As a competitive soul I recognised I could only get my revenge by winding him up to the extent where he would get into trouble. It didn't require me to be healthy. If anything, it helped to have people look at my chubby little face in sympathy.

This is not why I am fat, but it's a good excuse.



I was never very good at sports. From a very young age I knew I was not the kind of guy that would be a good runner. My run looked funny. I had bad balance. I was clumsy.When we played games I was picked last, which in turn made me feel bad. I eventually chose to reduce my activity to a minimum, only sticking to the things I really enjoyed doing. Until even that stopped when I left school.

My mother didn't speak good english, and I didn't have many friends. I spent a lot of time on my own in my room. I became a commentator of my own imaginary games, just like every young boy did. I was not a rebel and never pushed going out to other boys houses. My mother was a little distrustful of people anyway, and I hated the idea of having to explain a tight curfew to critical xenophobic parents. In the end I avoided any friendship outside of school hours and so never got as much playing time as other boys.





My father was away for most of my young life. He used to don his captain's hat and sail off into the oceans for nine months of the year, if not more. He was never there to fight my corner, to teach me how to fish or have a kick-about in the back garden. I never grew up knowing what a man should be able to do, or be inspired by his ability. I never learnt how to saw wood, or lay cement, or even to wash the car right. With no father around to fight with and adventure with, my weight, and my excuses built up.





My mother faced bouts of depression. We had a habit of going to our separate bedrooms. She was a good mother caring for me as best she could, but as soon as I began to show independence and with my brother much older, she knew her role in the front room watching TV with us was over. With no dad there, she slowly withdrew to her bedroom, allowing me the opportunity to sneak down the stairs whenever I wanted to. The poem "Chocolate Cake" springs to mind.

She spent many evenings more alone than I can ever imagine, crying quietly into her pillow. I remember listening and wishing I could do something about it. Some of my favourite moments were when my dad would turn up in the front room with what mother would call "pickings". These small morsels such as cheese and pineapple on sticks, mini-cheese pieces wrapped in parma ham, pickles and crisps would make my mother beam with excitement and my brother and I would sit on the floor and lick our lips like two hungry puppies. When I got older, and when mum was sad, I would try to make things for her so she would be happy again. My relationship with food as a source of happiness was already growing.

She was also a good cook, but coming from a poor background, she instilled into us the commendable ideas of never wasting good food and always clearing the plate. At the same time she wanted us to be happy, and we so enjoyed her food. For a very long time I blamed this one thing alone for my weight problem, and today I still have a real effort when throwing good food away.



I have heard that certain things release endorphins into the brain. These pleasure stimulators flood the brain and encourage you to continue doing something. You often hear of people who regularly exercise getting unhappy or even grumpy because they haven't done their daily run or their weekly gym session. The same is true with food. As we are all different, it is obvious that some people get a big high doing push-ups, whereas I get a big high eating a chicken flavoured crisp sandwich with mayo and pickle.

I always liked cooking. My brother did to. He eventually became a really good chef, for a while. I enjoyed the way that flavours mixed together, but I also liked my cooking to be moist and crunchy. It meant lots of cream and milk, lots of meat. I was never good enough to chef. I was never good enough to do anything in fact. I always almost managed to do things. I was good at maths, but not



the best. I was good at chess but not good enough. I have always been a jack of all trades, including basketball and badminton, but never ever a master. Never ever even to a point where people would say, lets ask Eggy.

It was always depressing and that combined with my conscious lack of friends meant I became a recluse to all intents and purposes. The further away from other kids I got, the less my weight mattered. I found myself protected from the outside world, cuccooned. As my self-esteem drifted, I searched for more cerebral attachments, with older friends that could be trusted. I began to reject people my age, most importantly girls. I am not gay, but I never faced the kind of scrutiny other boys went through. Weight was never an issue.



When I finally did encounter girls, I was a young man and could easily see that the aesthetically pleasing girls were also the most obnoxious. The quiet shy lilies were far more graceful and dazzling, appreciative and interesting. They also tended to be girls with similar stories to me. My attraction to larger girls had begun.





As you can see, throughout my life there were many different reasons why I was a fat child and why I became a fat man. All of them had a part to play I am sure, but if there is one thing I am going to do with this blog, it is to accept I am the real reason for my weight. The difficulties I face every single day may be described by things that have happened in my past, but they do not excuse it.

I am morbidly obese. And it is all my fault.