Week 1: Life in Blogland

Week 1

Being Good;

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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;

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

Too many Funerals

I have been to two tragic funerals recently, and both have upset me in different ways.

The first one was of an elderly lady. She had lived a long and exciting life, working at The Mirror Newspaper, and travelling around the world. She was an inspirational lady even if she could talk the hind legs off a donkey.

I met her first in my cab. I had had a particularly good day (around christmas). Our local radio station had put on a prize for the best christmas lights, and the town had responded exuberantly. As Mrs Douglas jumped in the car, I told her how much it would be to take her home, but would she like to look around the houses at no extra charge. She did and we laughed ourselves silly at the many displays.

About 6 months later I answered an unusual request to help someone move. It's the kind of job that takes a long time, but doesn't pay well, so the other drivers left it. I was still relatively new however and hadn't realised the full extent of the job. It turned out to be Mrs Douglas, and I instantly recognised her. The job was long and fruitless, but we didn't care so much.

Over the next 6 months we became great friends, but she had planned a move further east, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before she left for good. My parents also became good friends of her during this time though, and when she finally did leave, we all kept in touch with the occasional visit and regular very very long phone calls.

Over the New Years period she contracted an infection which spread across her body. She died in late February.

In March I went to her funeral. It was held in a crematorium in Reading. Only 6 people attended. Only one family member. One lady who was there had never met Mrs Douglas in person, but had been paid regularly over the last 12 years to put flowers on Mrs Douglas' parents grave. The one family member was a distant cousin who lived in the north of Scotland.

I felt so angry with her. I didn't know what to say or do, but after the funeral I found myself crying my eyes out for her. For the waste that had been her life.

Yesterday I went to another funeral. A young lady, only 31 years old passed away last week to the shock of her friends and family.

I knew Miss Kellaway when she was little. We used to throw big family parties, and play charades and trivial pursuit. She was always smiling and entertaining.I have an affinity to children, they mostly see me as a climbing frame as a rule. She did not. This young lady was incredibly well-behaved and polite, and took her time to get to know me. She was always involved and I liked her a lot. I didn't know her as she grew up, but I learnt she had no children, and although she was very attached to her partner, they had not married. I guess they just never got round to it.

The funeral was well attended at one of our local churches, the coffin was placed in the middle of the church before eventually being carried off to the crematorium. Her partner tried his best to read a touching poem, but was too grief-stricken to get the words out properly. Her father had written a beautiful eulogy but he too didn't have the composure to read it. As the priest took control, the whole congregation could feel the immense despair in the words.

Once again I cried, as did everyone around me.I have been to a few funerals now, many more funerals than weddings. This was by far the most personal and touching.

I was heartened to know that so many people will be thinking of her and her family as I have been today.

For my own part, I have come to some stark conclusions. Firstly I don't want to die old and alone. I know how tragic it may seem to my parents and loved ones, but I would rather die younger (not yet obviously).

Secondly, I want to be harvested. I am a humanist at heart, and believe that there is enough great beauty in this world. One of the tragedies of life here on earth, however is the inequality we all suffer. I have been lucky enough to be born here, in a decent secure stable country. I have also been born with a relatively healthy body, which I have learnt to abuse. I do feel a debt to the community I live in however, and so wish to be harvested for educational purposes or transplant. I'd rather not live in a jar, but if that's what happens then so be it.

Finally I want anyone attending my funeral to be wearing the silliest thing they possibly can, and should anyone turn up with respectable funeral clothing, then they should be given a pair of long plastic clown shoes and a big glowing red nose. I know that people could be grief-stricken, but I want them to remember this moment with a warm smile. I want them to be turning to the person next to them and chuckling. I want my final last joke to be on them.

I know that people who know me, would get the joke.

To my two friends, I salute you. You have moved onto our memories, our dreams and our stories, where all the sadness disappears and only the funny and remarkable remain. You have both been funny and remarkable, and will be well-remembered.  You have both made a difference to my life, perhaps the only truly glowing honour.