Fatty
Fatass.
I never wouldve thought that the name fatass would ever really apply to me. Yes, me. The guy whose weight never left the 155-165 pound range from age 14 to 27. The one who always got called a twig. The one who spent most of his life having a semi-six-pack without even trying because there was nothing but a layer of fleshy tissue paper over my abs.
Yet here I am, sitting on the verge of 200 lbs with a tumor hanging over my belt.
I think the problems started a little over a year ago when my job description changed. Im a truck driver by trade because its the one thing that I can do halfway good and get paid for. In February of 2006 I got put on a run from Minneapolis to Chicago and back, which is all I do.
Down to Chicago one day. Back to Minneapolis the next. Down. Back. Down. Back.
Because of this, I spend a good deal of each day sitting on my ever expanding ass.
You dont need to eat.
Ever notice how many fat truckers there are? Thats because the job itself is a perfect formula for making the most twig-prone people obese. Take the fact that you cant really cook many foods on the road, meaning you have to get pre-made stuff or eat out (neither of which is all too healthy) with the fact that most of your exercise comes from moving the shifter through the gears, and you get fat truckers like me.
Ive tried the whole eating healthy thing, but its kinda hard to do when I cant really keep food for more than a few hours before it starts getting bad and gross. And its hard to keep motivated and try eating healthy at home when I know that in a few hours Ill be back on the road again and back to eating shit.
Youre supposed to be exercising, Fatty.
This is yet another thing Ive attempted to do. I went and bought a sweet pair of $180 rollerblades last summer, and Ive used them twice. You see, I sprained my right ankle once and my left one twice and in order for me to be able to even stand in rollerblades (because my ankles never really healed up as good as they were before) I have to strap them so tight that it cuts off the circulation and I can only be out for a few minutes before I have to sit down and loosen them up.
A couple months ago I forked out $700-some on a fancy treadmill, as well as running shoes and workout clothes and stuff. I used that thing exactly three times.
When I was 18 I overdosed on crystal meth (completely my fault), but I messed up my heart and Ive had problems with it ever since. On my third jaunt on the treadmill I was a bit upset after a conversation I had recently had concerning my growing gut and I overdid it a bit.
It began with my legs getting numb, which I thought was just because I was out of shape and weak. Yet it got to the point that I was basically propping myself up with some wet noodles. Then my heart began palpitating again, but much more violently than it had in years. I stopped running and was taking giant breaths, but it seemed like I was underwater-the air wasnt making its way into my body.
I laid down on the floor and had to use my hands to prop my then-immobile legs on the coffee table next to the wall (I figured that since they tell you to prop up the legs of a person in shock so the blood stays in their core and brain that it couldnt hurt to try).
Dont go trying to bring up your heart again
It took about ten minutes to get to the point where I could breathe somewhat normally and feel my legs again. I wondered if I was having a heart attack. I thought about how ironic it would be if trying to get healthy killed me. I wondered just how much time I had knocked off my life ten years ago when I ODd, if I didnt die on the floor of the spare bedroom.
I eventually got off the floor, but never really let on what happened. For one, Ive never really liked the fact that I was a dumbass and fucked up my heart forever and I try not to bring it up because I dont need people to feel sorry for my being a retard. I also didnt want to raise any alarm since my episode was apparently over (although it took another 20 minutes or so for my pulse to get back to normal).
Hopefully Ill soon be making enough money off of other stuff so I can quit my job and then have a doctor check me out, and maybe even hire a nutritionist to help me so I can take care of things without causing any more damage.
Hopefully soon I wont have to intentionally avoid the mirror in the bathroom in order to escape having to gaze at the disgusting blob Im becoming. Hopefully soon I wont have to consciously try to walk backwards in the wind so it doesnt press my shirt against my gut. Hopefully soon I wont have to walk around with my pants unbuttoned because Im too fat for my clothes.
Then again, maybe this is how Im gonna be stuck for the rest of my life.
I hate the fact that Im even writing about this. I always used to think it was so stupid for people to be so obsessed with their weight in their diaries. I guess sometimes negative reinforcement does take its toll.
Fatty.
At least I only ate one microwave dinner tonight. Maybe Ill just go all-out and stop eating.
Yeah, right.
Your butt is wide, well mine is too
Just watch your mouth or I’ll sit on you
The word is out, better treat me right
‘Cause I’m the king of cellulite
Ham on, ham on, ham on whole wheat, all right
My zippers bust, my buckles break
I’m too much man for you to take
The pavement cracks when I fall down
I’ve got more chins than Chinatown
Well, I’ve never used a phone booth
And I’ve never seen my toes
When I’m goin’ to the movies
I take up seven rows
When I walk out to get my mail
It measures on the Richter scale
Down at the beach I’m a lucky man
I’m the only one who gets a tan
If I have one more pie a la mode
I’m gonna need my own zip code
When you’re only having seconds
I’m having twenty-thirds
When I go to get my shoes shined
I gotta take their word
You know I’m huge, I’m fat, you know it
(Fat, fat, really really fat)
You know I’m fat, you know, hoo
(Fat, fat, really really fat)
You know I’m fat, I’m fat, you know it, you know
(Fat, fat, really really fat)
And the whole world knows I’m fat and I’m proud
Just tell me once again who’s fat.
Weird Al Yankovic