This post serves two purposes:
1)This story is pretty funny and I think deserves a re-post. You don't need to laugh at it if you have already read it, a pleased smirk will do just fine.
2)By "phoning it in" for the sake of having a new post after what can only be considered a VERY long haitus I am hoping this my be the catalyst to get me writing again. I miss it. With that said:
THE FOLLOWING IS A TRUE STORY. TO PROTECT THE INDIVIDUALS INVOLVED NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED, ALTHOUGH I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH THAT MATTERS BECAUSE IF YOU ARE READING THIS, UNLESS I HAVE SOMEHOW BECOME FAMOUS, YOU PROBABLY DON'T KNOW THESE PEOPLE ANYWAYS. Enjoy.
I have been violated. Here's the story:
I was having dinner with a group of work associates at a pretty high class joint. Dinner was fun, there were good stories and good jokes, the food was good. Everything was closing out in the way that dinner should and like a picture of personal responsibility I declined dessert repeatedly after the entire table stared at me with the expectation that I might say 'Oh, heck! I'll take ALL of them!'. Our waitress (an older, yet spunky gal named Tina) started to pass out after dinner chocolates as she placed the check. She put one down in front of me and began to move on to the next person when behind me I heard "Oh! Whoops" and then felt a cold square fall through a gap between my shirt and belt and straight into my buttcrack.
Tina fumbled and said "Oh no! I'm so sorry" to which I responded "Oh no it's o-" and before K came out she had reached down to extricate the treat from my hind quarters. Her fingers only managed to push the chocolate down further. "Tina I can get thaaaaa!" her hands probed further down the back of my trousers, knuckles brushing my nether cheeks until finally she digs the candy out of my undies. By this time she is laughing hysterically while I am scheduling an appointment with a therapist. Tina cackles and as she walks away she places the tainted chocolate in front of the person sitting next to me. Who eats it. 8l .
Epilogue: As I regained my composure I told Tina that that wasn't the first time I've had someone fish chocolate out of my crevasse. I turned to my seatmate and let him finish the morsel before asking him how it tasted. His response was pretty nondescript but his expression changed when I asked him if his chocolate was extra humid. I then described to him the initial fall of his treat, the subsequent deeper plunge, and the final retrieval, before it arrived in front of him. He muttered something about hoping that the alcohol would sterilize his mouth as he swiftly walked to the restroom.
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Rage Quit
"Hey John! John, get your butt in here! We gotta get this fat guy moving so he can lose some weight!" These are the first sentences that some dude that I just met and would be working the next hour with has ever said to/about me. I rationalized with myself and thought that this guy (we will call him Herby to protect his innocence) just gets comfortable with people really, really, really fast. So I chuckle and say "Well, Herby unloading and demonstrating these tools and then reloading them is my Summer weight loss program." This garners a few good natured laughs from the growing crowd surrounding Herby and myself. "It's not working." Herby says flatly. There are no laughs, no winks, no friendly nudges and certainly no follow up 'Just kidding!'s. Herby, a guy in arguable worse shape than myself and no less than three times my age just took a shot at my weight. Time to die Herby, time to die.
Like a great white shark hunting seals off of the tip of South Africa, I explode into Herby with the force of a thousand freight trains. He is gone before he hits the ground, and a burly electrician curls into the fetal position and sobs in the corner.
Like a fat and manly Ally McBeal, I wake up from my daydream to realize that: A) I didn't destroy Herby and B) Everyone is waiting for me to start my sales presentation. When reality sets in I say a prayer of thanks that I am not Ally McBeal (and will never write that name again!) and can see that I'm feeling a bubbling of emotions, none of which are good. This does not bode well for me.
A strong argument could be made that until recently I eat all the time. That creates issues all their own, but my eating habits get decidedly worse when emotions are involved. When tubby is both hungry and depressed hide the children because everything is fair game. The sad person stereotype is to feel better via some delicious nutricious ice cream. When my smile turns into a frown a red phone rings at Ben & Jerry's world headquarters and production is boosted by 500%. Unfortunately these feelings occur whether or not I am on a diet. The only difference between being on a diet or not is that when I am not dieting an incident like this is merely accelerated self destruction, while when I am on a diet this is called a rage quit.
Scene: It is the end of a very long night at work a few years ago. As I walk from the movie theater that I was managing to my car I feel stress start to bubble up. I open my car door and see an unopened Slimfast in the cup holder. I grab hold of the Slimfast at the same time I see red and a second later there is a strawberry Slimfast sailing through the air into the darkness. I see it reappear in the light above a lamp post 15 yards away and then again when it explodes against another lightpost about 45 yards out. Like the Shot Heard 'Round the World, this explosion marked a point from which there is no return. Minutes later the good person at Wendy's late night window told me to "Be safe!" when handing me the half a cow in a bag that I destroyed shortly thereafter. When I quit a diet in anger, I quit with the kind of tenacity usually reserved for Nathan's Hot Dog eating contests. Kobeashi has nothing on me.
We all have our little triggers and I think that it is a universal truth that when we are on diets or trying to quit something we really like doing those little triggers turn into big triggers, and big triggers make a big bang when set off. In starting a diet I have nearly come to the conclusion that there is wisdom in treating that situation as though I have entered a monastic order. Specificly, sequester myself and take a vow of silence, at least for the first three weeks.
Things are different this time around though. I have entered a physical crossroads: At the age of 28 I still have time to lose weight and return to a semblance of my former physical glory. On the other side of the coin, my weight is making itself manifest through a higher cholesterol and some liver enzyme issues. If I don't make changes those will get worse. So now is the time to make a change.... again.
I have my goals, I have a support team and I potentially have a medical condition that will help me lose weight by taking all of the fun out of eating: Gluten Intolerance. So wish me luck my friends, and watch for flying Slimfasts.
Like a great white shark hunting seals off of the tip of South Africa, I explode into Herby with the force of a thousand freight trains. He is gone before he hits the ground, and a burly electrician curls into the fetal position and sobs in the corner.
Like a fat and manly Ally McBeal, I wake up from my daydream to realize that: A) I didn't destroy Herby and B) Everyone is waiting for me to start my sales presentation. When reality sets in I say a prayer of thanks that I am not Ally McBeal (and will never write that name again!) and can see that I'm feeling a bubbling of emotions, none of which are good. This does not bode well for me.
A strong argument could be made that until recently I eat all the time. That creates issues all their own, but my eating habits get decidedly worse when emotions are involved. When tubby is both hungry and depressed hide the children because everything is fair game. The sad person stereotype is to feel better via some delicious nutricious ice cream. When my smile turns into a frown a red phone rings at Ben & Jerry's world headquarters and production is boosted by 500%. Unfortunately these feelings occur whether or not I am on a diet. The only difference between being on a diet or not is that when I am not dieting an incident like this is merely accelerated self destruction, while when I am on a diet this is called a rage quit.
Scene: It is the end of a very long night at work a few years ago. As I walk from the movie theater that I was managing to my car I feel stress start to bubble up. I open my car door and see an unopened Slimfast in the cup holder. I grab hold of the Slimfast at the same time I see red and a second later there is a strawberry Slimfast sailing through the air into the darkness. I see it reappear in the light above a lamp post 15 yards away and then again when it explodes against another lightpost about 45 yards out. Like the Shot Heard 'Round the World, this explosion marked a point from which there is no return. Minutes later the good person at Wendy's late night window told me to "Be safe!" when handing me the half a cow in a bag that I destroyed shortly thereafter. When I quit a diet in anger, I quit with the kind of tenacity usually reserved for Nathan's Hot Dog eating contests. Kobeashi has nothing on me.
We all have our little triggers and I think that it is a universal truth that when we are on diets or trying to quit something we really like doing those little triggers turn into big triggers, and big triggers make a big bang when set off. In starting a diet I have nearly come to the conclusion that there is wisdom in treating that situation as though I have entered a monastic order. Specificly, sequester myself and take a vow of silence, at least for the first three weeks.
Things are different this time around though. I have entered a physical crossroads: At the age of 28 I still have time to lose weight and return to a semblance of my former physical glory. On the other side of the coin, my weight is making itself manifest through a higher cholesterol and some liver enzyme issues. If I don't make changes those will get worse. So now is the time to make a change.... again.
I have my goals, I have a support team and I potentially have a medical condition that will help me lose weight by taking all of the fun out of eating: Gluten Intolerance. So wish me luck my friends, and watch for flying Slimfasts.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Red Alert
I am going to try to tell you about one of the scariest times in my life and make it funny at the same time. Here we go.
Have you ever experienced something hilarious and horrible in the exact same moment? It can happen and when it does it feels like you are traipsing through the no-mans-land between Heaven and Hell (Heallven?).
If you manage to navigate this paradox without your head simultaneously exploding and imploding you will go away from that experience grateful. Grateful for what? To be away from that experience. This is about to get graphic.
16 Years ago on a Sunday I was sitting on the bench seat of my families maroon GMC Sierra fulfilling a church related duty with my dad and my friend Scott. I was feeling not only unwell but in fact Anti-Well. My head was spinning from a bad migraine and I was getting really sick. I expressed this to my dad and got the Chiropractic equivalent of rub some dirt on it, which is a really long explanation as to why I feel like crap. While that was highly informative, it didn't help my quickly deteriorating condition. Push came to shove, where my head was pushing and my stomach was shoving and all of a sudden IT WAS ON!
"SHTRAUGHHHLLL!!!!!" (Translation: Please stop the vehicle, I am presently going to be ill in a most unsightly and messy way. I would like to spare you, my travelling companions from witnessing this horror and by stopping this mini van you will allow me to do so.) Through watery eyes I grabbed the handle to the door of the van and slid it open while losing myself all over the plastic step into the van and the street outside. Now I've never had surgery performed on myself in the theater of a medical school, but I think I can relate.
My dad stopped the van and turned around in his seat, and these are his words of comfort in my moment of need: "Okay, now Scott check this out, we are going to see what is in Travis' stomach. Now that chunky that just came out was the last bit of undigested food in his stomach, looks like its time to eat because there wasn't much of that. Next comes the stomach acid, and there it is! He is probably experiencing what tastes like battery acid flavored Pop-Rocks, thus the grimace on his face. And finally, there is the fat. Everyone has a little fat at the bottom of their stomach, well everyone except for Travis right now. Travis will keep on heaving but there is nothing left in his stomach so nothing will come out, which is why they call it a 'dry heave'. You done? Okay, lets go."
Some might think that was little heartless (I did at the time), but the way my dad dissected the strata of my stomach while it was tumbling out of me was truly, truly hilarious. That created another problem for me, because as anyone who has heard a good joke in the middle of drinking a glass/carton of milk can attest, when you drink and hear funny simultaneously, your nose likes to get involved. Yes, dear reader, I'm not implying but explicitly telling you, my dad made me vomit from my nose. Heallven help me.
Story 2, a lot less gross, a lot more scary.
Last Thursday (July 19, 2012) I was working, which entails driving to businesses and doing sales presentations with some pretty heavy tools as props. I was on the way to do another such presentation when things started going down hill. I started feeling pain in the left side of my chest which isn't a great sign for anyone, especially the weight endowed. I called off my last sales call for the day and started heading home. I was thinking I would get home, rest and see a doctor the next day if I still felt the same. Fortunately I had some good friends who were aware of the situation call me and tell me they thought I should stop as soon as possible to seek help. In the moment I brushed that off and continued, but that thought remained in the back of my mind.
As I toodled down the road something else started to happen. My left hand got cold and then I noticed numbness creep up from the tips of my fingers on my left hand to the middle of my forearm. Now when the Starship Enterprise encounters a de-cloaking Romulan Warbird what does Captain Jean Luke Picard say? "Red Alert!" That is a sign that things may get crazy and everyone needs to get ready for that, shields up, weapons ready. Red lights were flashing in my brain and I was a little (a lot) freaked out. Something interesting happened in all this mental turmoil, I realized that I was listening to my comedy station on my Pandora Radio, and that one of my favorite comedians was on. Mike Birbiglia is hilarious (warning: not always family appropriate, but hilarious). While I was feeling the encroaching numbness in my arm he was doing a bit on a pizza neck pillow or something like that. It caught my attention because I love both pizza and sleep, and a product like that seemed right up my alley. My multi-tasking kicked in to high gear as I laughed, prayed, Googled the nearest hospital and drove my truck all at the same time.
15 minutes later I pulled in to the parking lot of said nearest hospital. I strolled in fairly casually given the circumstances, and approached reception. "How can I help you?" my reply: "I'm having some chest pains in the left side of my chest and numbness in my arm." Before I finished that sentence a couple things started happening all at once. The receptionist picked up the phone and repeated what I said to the person on the other end, and a very sweet lady who by her looks was probably Methusela's girlfriend apparated out of the nearest wall with a wheel chair. Notably, the wheel chair was extra wide. "Ma'am, I don't think I need a wheel chair, I can walk." I offered sheepishly. The sweet old lady said "Son, it will be easier for me to wheel you down the hall than for me to pick you up and drag you." Away we go down the hall, while I see the cast of Grey's Anatomy prepping my room with monitors and IV's and Sarah McClaughlan songs. When we reach the room I stand up from the wheelchair, the old lady morphs back into the walls of the hospital and I'm left looking around awkwardly while everyone continues busily prepping.
A sheet is shoved into my hands with a curt "Take off your shirt and put this on." I unfolded the sheet and oh! This is a hospital gown for a very large person. These people are ready for me. I'm instructed to lie down on to the bed, and while these guys are trying to determine if I'm dieing, I am busy formulating a way to make this fun. Questions were coming rapid fire, and I handled the questions by waiting for the person asking me to look up from their computer screen and look at me. I would then answer the question and then whip my head around to the person who asked the next question chronologically. This is how questions were answered and the result was some of the nursi (a gaggle of nurse) were weirded out, while others were doing all the could do to contain uproarious laughter.
Things got provocative when a male nurse pulled my hospital toga down, exposing my chest so that he could put stickers all over my torso to which he attached electrodes. I looked at his eyes the whole time and when he finally met my gaze I said "Hello." in a semi wistful tone. Luckily he laughed. My well coiffed Grey's Anatomy cast members did a great job taking care of me but were altogether boring (apparently we passed season 4 at this hospital already). A rotating cadre of nurse came through to check on me periodically while my tests were being run, and some just peaked in to see what was going on. Thankfully the tests came back looking good for me, I have to get a stress test done to make sure but hopefully that will look good as well. It was, in all seriousness, a big wake up call for me to get serious about losing weight and getting healthy.
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I think experiences like these are microcosms of what it's like to be hefty, a little bit of heaven a little bit of hell. I'm looking forward to losing weight and leaving this bit of Heallven behind for greener pastures.
Have you ever experienced something hilarious and horrible in the exact same moment? It can happen and when it does it feels like you are traipsing through the no-mans-land between Heaven and Hell (Heallven?).
If you manage to navigate this paradox without your head simultaneously exploding and imploding you will go away from that experience grateful. Grateful for what? To be away from that experience. This is about to get graphic.
16 Years ago on a Sunday I was sitting on the bench seat of my families maroon GMC Sierra fulfilling a church related duty with my dad and my friend Scott. I was feeling not only unwell but in fact Anti-Well. My head was spinning from a bad migraine and I was getting really sick. I expressed this to my dad and got the Chiropractic equivalent of rub some dirt on it, which is a really long explanation as to why I feel like crap. While that was highly informative, it didn't help my quickly deteriorating condition. Push came to shove, where my head was pushing and my stomach was shoving and all of a sudden IT WAS ON!
"SHTRAUGHHHLLL!!!!!" (Translation: Please stop the vehicle, I am presently going to be ill in a most unsightly and messy way. I would like to spare you, my travelling companions from witnessing this horror and by stopping this mini van you will allow me to do so.) Through watery eyes I grabbed the handle to the door of the van and slid it open while losing myself all over the plastic step into the van and the street outside. Now I've never had surgery performed on myself in the theater of a medical school, but I think I can relate.
My dad stopped the van and turned around in his seat, and these are his words of comfort in my moment of need: "Okay, now Scott check this out, we are going to see what is in Travis' stomach. Now that chunky that just came out was the last bit of undigested food in his stomach, looks like its time to eat because there wasn't much of that. Next comes the stomach acid, and there it is! He is probably experiencing what tastes like battery acid flavored Pop-Rocks, thus the grimace on his face. And finally, there is the fat. Everyone has a little fat at the bottom of their stomach, well everyone except for Travis right now. Travis will keep on heaving but there is nothing left in his stomach so nothing will come out, which is why they call it a 'dry heave'. You done? Okay, lets go."
Some might think that was little heartless (I did at the time), but the way my dad dissected the strata of my stomach while it was tumbling out of me was truly, truly hilarious. That created another problem for me, because as anyone who has heard a good joke in the middle of drinking a glass/carton of milk can attest, when you drink and hear funny simultaneously, your nose likes to get involved. Yes, dear reader, I'm not implying but explicitly telling you, my dad made me vomit from my nose. Heallven help me.
Story 2, a lot less gross, a lot more scary.
Last Thursday (July 19, 2012) I was working, which entails driving to businesses and doing sales presentations with some pretty heavy tools as props. I was on the way to do another such presentation when things started going down hill. I started feeling pain in the left side of my chest which isn't a great sign for anyone, especially the weight endowed. I called off my last sales call for the day and started heading home. I was thinking I would get home, rest and see a doctor the next day if I still felt the same. Fortunately I had some good friends who were aware of the situation call me and tell me they thought I should stop as soon as possible to seek help. In the moment I brushed that off and continued, but that thought remained in the back of my mind.
As I toodled down the road something else started to happen. My left hand got cold and then I noticed numbness creep up from the tips of my fingers on my left hand to the middle of my forearm. Now when the Starship Enterprise encounters a de-cloaking Romulan Warbird what does Captain Jean Luke Picard say? "Red Alert!" That is a sign that things may get crazy and everyone needs to get ready for that, shields up, weapons ready. Red lights were flashing in my brain and I was a little (a lot) freaked out. Something interesting happened in all this mental turmoil, I realized that I was listening to my comedy station on my Pandora Radio, and that one of my favorite comedians was on. Mike Birbiglia is hilarious (warning: not always family appropriate, but hilarious). While I was feeling the encroaching numbness in my arm he was doing a bit on a pizza neck pillow or something like that. It caught my attention because I love both pizza and sleep, and a product like that seemed right up my alley. My multi-tasking kicked in to high gear as I laughed, prayed, Googled the nearest hospital and drove my truck all at the same time.
15 minutes later I pulled in to the parking lot of said nearest hospital. I strolled in fairly casually given the circumstances, and approached reception. "How can I help you?" my reply: "I'm having some chest pains in the left side of my chest and numbness in my arm." Before I finished that sentence a couple things started happening all at once. The receptionist picked up the phone and repeated what I said to the person on the other end, and a very sweet lady who by her looks was probably Methusela's girlfriend apparated out of the nearest wall with a wheel chair. Notably, the wheel chair was extra wide. "Ma'am, I don't think I need a wheel chair, I can walk." I offered sheepishly. The sweet old lady said "Son, it will be easier for me to wheel you down the hall than for me to pick you up and drag you." Away we go down the hall, while I see the cast of Grey's Anatomy prepping my room with monitors and IV's and Sarah McClaughlan songs. When we reach the room I stand up from the wheelchair, the old lady morphs back into the walls of the hospital and I'm left looking around awkwardly while everyone continues busily prepping.
A sheet is shoved into my hands with a curt "Take off your shirt and put this on." I unfolded the sheet and oh! This is a hospital gown for a very large person. These people are ready for me. I'm instructed to lie down on to the bed, and while these guys are trying to determine if I'm dieing, I am busy formulating a way to make this fun. Questions were coming rapid fire, and I handled the questions by waiting for the person asking me to look up from their computer screen and look at me. I would then answer the question and then whip my head around to the person who asked the next question chronologically. This is how questions were answered and the result was some of the nursi (a gaggle of nurse) were weirded out, while others were doing all the could do to contain uproarious laughter.
Things got provocative when a male nurse pulled my hospital toga down, exposing my chest so that he could put stickers all over my torso to which he attached electrodes. I looked at his eyes the whole time and when he finally met my gaze I said "Hello." in a semi wistful tone. Luckily he laughed. My well coiffed Grey's Anatomy cast members did a great job taking care of me but were altogether boring (apparently we passed season 4 at this hospital already). A rotating cadre of nurse came through to check on me periodically while my tests were being run, and some just peaked in to see what was going on. Thankfully the tests came back looking good for me, I have to get a stress test done to make sure but hopefully that will look good as well. It was, in all seriousness, a big wake up call for me to get serious about losing weight and getting healthy.
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Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Sweating in Front of Strangers
There is a phenomenon going on out there in the world. It's something that pretty much everyone does, most of the time without meaning it. It's the fat face. No, I'm not talking about taking a picture where your face looks a little heavier than usual, I am talking about the face people make when seeing someone inordinately large or seeing an average fat person do something especially.... jiggly.
I'm a window seat man when it comes to airplanes. It does two things for me: 1) I get to see all of the sights that flight offers. 2) I can curl up (as small as a hippo can curl) and lean against the inside wall of the plane and try and get some sleep. Life is good when I get a window seat, although an aisle seat isn't that bad either. The middle seat in an airplane is where the joy of flight goes to die for the big 'n tall.
There I am, row 13 seat B getting ready for a 3 1/2 hour flight from Phoenix Arizona to Chicago Illinois. The person to my left is enjoying the majesty of the window seat by immediately falling asleep, which is the state he stays in for the duration of the flight. Good for him. The seat to my right is empty, but passengers are filing in and the words over the PA system echo in my ears 'Full flight'.
We immediately lock eyes the moment she passes the bulkhead separating first glass from us peasants. She knows the unoccupied seat next to me is hers, and I know she knows from her fat face. Her face was in a friendly but unintentional semi-smile as realization washed over her like a shower of dumpster water. A lip curled slightly, with a wrinkle of the nose and a furrow of the eyebrow. That was softened by a questioning look of pity. If there were no filter between her brain and her mouth she would have said "Did you know that you are massive? It looks like you are wearing that seat like a thong." Trust me sister, it feels like it. I created separation before she sat down by lowering the arms of my seat on each side. My handles were feeling less loved and more constrained by the metal hug those seat arms provided. That hug makes me look like those stress dolls when you squeeze the bottom part, upper body and head bulging everywhere, eyes and ears poking out of my head. As she daintily sat down she fat faced me again. Neato. Time to try and make friends.
"Hi name is Travis. I would like to begin this flight by apologizing for being as large as I am, I know it's not comfortable for any of us. I am going to do my best to keep my body in it's entirety within the confines of my seat. With as broad as my shoulders are and as fat as my everything else is that will be a challenge. If at any time I unknowingly invade your personal space, please let me know and I will adjust accordingly." That is the first thing that I said to my new seatmate. I figure if I made a self deprecating attempt at humor I could win her over and not get fat faced any more (it's a proven system that works.... usually). She looked at me with a look that clearly conveyed how shocked she was that I had just come out and said that. That look was not followed by the laugh I was hoping for. Instead she had a second dose of dumpster water. "Great." She says while I get a final fat face for good measure.
While being bigger gives me more to keep track of (you can't believe what it's done for my ability to multi-task) I do keep track of it. Dear world, I know what I look like, and while I don't like it, I can manage it. I say that because the looks I sometimes get are that of people wondering if I know. Yes, there is an elephant in the room, and it is me. I'm perfectly aware of this. Luckily I work with people who are forgiving of my physical foibles.
I sell tools to electrical contractors, which entails me handling tools that weigh a lot in front of an audience, usually outside. What that means is I meet someone and start sweating in front of them. A lot. I naturally run hot, add to that my weight and to that how hot it is outside and things get messy. My pores start working overtime. A contractor once handed me a bottle of water while I was in the middle of my presentation. He said "Watching you is making me feel dehydrated." We had a laugh. Yesterday a guy gave me a roll of paper towels to address my 'situation' with. I thanked him and did so, with more laughs. Fortunately, these guys have seen worse and so while I get the fat face, it's the fat face minus the disgust, which is nice. I tell them that my job is my summer weight loss program and we chuckle about it.
I'm not sure why I'm sharing this with you, I just realized that this is a part of my life and that maybe others can relate in a way. We all have things that we are self conscious of, and we have experiences where those perceived shortcomings have clearly been annoying to some but hopefully we have more where those shortcomings are accepted. The fun thing for me is that I've been blessed with the ability to laugh whether or not people are laughing with me. I think this is the only thing that gets me through the fat faces and lets me sweat in front of strangers.
I'm a window seat man when it comes to airplanes. It does two things for me: 1) I get to see all of the sights that flight offers. 2) I can curl up (as small as a hippo can curl) and lean against the inside wall of the plane and try and get some sleep. Life is good when I get a window seat, although an aisle seat isn't that bad either. The middle seat in an airplane is where the joy of flight goes to die for the big 'n tall.
There I am, row 13 seat B getting ready for a 3 1/2 hour flight from Phoenix Arizona to Chicago Illinois. The person to my left is enjoying the majesty of the window seat by immediately falling asleep, which is the state he stays in for the duration of the flight. Good for him. The seat to my right is empty, but passengers are filing in and the words over the PA system echo in my ears 'Full flight'.
We immediately lock eyes the moment she passes the bulkhead separating first glass from us peasants. She knows the unoccupied seat next to me is hers, and I know she knows from her fat face. Her face was in a friendly but unintentional semi-smile as realization washed over her like a shower of dumpster water. A lip curled slightly, with a wrinkle of the nose and a furrow of the eyebrow. That was softened by a questioning look of pity. If there were no filter between her brain and her mouth she would have said "Did you know that you are massive? It looks like you are wearing that seat like a thong." Trust me sister, it feels like it. I created separation before she sat down by lowering the arms of my seat on each side. My handles were feeling less loved and more constrained by the metal hug those seat arms provided. That hug makes me look like those stress dolls when you squeeze the bottom part, upper body and head bulging everywhere, eyes and ears poking out of my head. As she daintily sat down she fat faced me again. Neato. Time to try and make friends."Hi name is Travis. I would like to begin this flight by apologizing for being as large as I am, I know it's not comfortable for any of us. I am going to do my best to keep my body in it's entirety within the confines of my seat. With as broad as my shoulders are and as fat as my everything else is that will be a challenge. If at any time I unknowingly invade your personal space, please let me know and I will adjust accordingly." That is the first thing that I said to my new seatmate. I figure if I made a self deprecating attempt at humor I could win her over and not get fat faced any more (it's a proven system that works.... usually). She looked at me with a look that clearly conveyed how shocked she was that I had just come out and said that. That look was not followed by the laugh I was hoping for. Instead she had a second dose of dumpster water. "Great." She says while I get a final fat face for good measure.
While being bigger gives me more to keep track of (you can't believe what it's done for my ability to multi-task) I do keep track of it. Dear world, I know what I look like, and while I don't like it, I can manage it. I say that because the looks I sometimes get are that of people wondering if I know. Yes, there is an elephant in the room, and it is me. I'm perfectly aware of this. Luckily I work with people who are forgiving of my physical foibles.
I sell tools to electrical contractors, which entails me handling tools that weigh a lot in front of an audience, usually outside. What that means is I meet someone and start sweating in front of them. A lot. I naturally run hot, add to that my weight and to that how hot it is outside and things get messy. My pores start working overtime. A contractor once handed me a bottle of water while I was in the middle of my presentation. He said "Watching you is making me feel dehydrated." We had a laugh. Yesterday a guy gave me a roll of paper towels to address my 'situation' with. I thanked him and did so, with more laughs. Fortunately, these guys have seen worse and so while I get the fat face, it's the fat face minus the disgust, which is nice. I tell them that my job is my summer weight loss program and we chuckle about it.
I'm not sure why I'm sharing this with you, I just realized that this is a part of my life and that maybe others can relate in a way. We all have things that we are self conscious of, and we have experiences where those perceived shortcomings have clearly been annoying to some but hopefully we have more where those shortcomings are accepted. The fun thing for me is that I've been blessed with the ability to laugh whether or not people are laughing with me. I think this is the only thing that gets me through the fat faces and lets me sweat in front of strangers.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Humiliation at Holiday World
I don't know how much I weigh (the scale and I are not on speaking terms). But for those of you who haven't seen me in a while we will use, among others, the word 'hefty' to describe my current state. http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/hefty for those who want the full picture. The synonyms are heavy, weighty, massive and (my favorite) ponderous. The antonyms? Light and weightless.
This prologue is necessary to set the stage for what I am about to relate. My trip with my wife to one of the best water parks in the world: Splashin' Safari at Holiday World in Santa Clause Indiana. I crap you not, those are all real places. This water park is in the top 5 water parks in the world every year. They have two water coasters (yes you read that correctly, coasters and slides are different and yes they are AWESOME) and a variety of other water based attractions that thrill and delight. And for those that are massive and/or ponderous a special delicacy awaits: shame and humiliation.
The Lazy River
There is nothing lazy about this river! My wife took her tube, and gracefully hopped in posterior first and enjoyed a trip down this canal basking in the sunshine. I thought to myself 'looks easy enough' and gave it a go. Half of my butt hit the hole in the tube where it was supposed to go, the other half, in rebellion, refused to fit in. My position was precarious, I felt like an Orca trying to balance on an inflatable teacup, but I tried to maneuver in a way as to get into that reclined and relaxed lazy river type attitude so as to enjoy the beginning of this beautiful day. This was not to be. Instead I was thrown off the tube backwards landing on my ear and shoulder in the 2 1/2 foot deep shallows. This process was repeated no less than a dozen times. At first my wife laughed. A lot. By the time I was done she was begging me to throw in the towel and just lay across the tube on my stomach. When I tried that I was once again, thrown into the water for good measure. Crushed and defeated by the lazy river we moved on to a slide.
I am no physicist, but I couldn't help but recall Newtons Laws while climbing the Tower of Babel that had the slide at the top of it. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. With as much force as I was using to get up to the top, the prospect of that much force being applied to getting to the bottom was a little intimidating. The tubes for this ride are four person ordeals shaped like a four leaf clover. I rode with my wife facing me and some random skinny kid sitting to my right. Once in position it was the task of an inordinately small, female 'Slide Attendant' to move us to the mouth of the tube and give us the old heave ho down the slide. By virtue of the improper distribution of weight on the tube it spun around until I was going down the slide back first. We gained speed and kept gaining speed. The skinny kid made a comment on how unusually fast we were going. Now I don't know about you, but being overweight and uncoordinated has caused my mind to evolve in a way where every scenario is played out mentally before it happens, to help me be aware of dangers that are coming. The scenario in this instant was that of me falling backwards off the tube, being run over by the tube carrying my wife and the skinny kid and then my lifeless and broken body being ejected into the final part of the tube, which was incidentally shaped like a toilet bowl, where I would tumble around in the water until finally coming to rest in the exit pool below. For a better visual on the slide check it out at: http://www.holidayworld.com/rides/bakuli . This did not happen, fortunately. I survived and enjoyed the ride, although we did go around the bowl about two more times than the average group of riders due to our speed and momentum.
The next ride did not go as well. It was a fairly nondescript slide, a straight shot with two dips. It was the Ron of the Otorongo attraction. I followed my wife to the top carrying a conventional two person tube shaped like an 8. Once at the top my wife looks at me and says 'Are you going to be riding the tube in front, or in back?' I reply 'In back.' She chuckles..... nervously. We put the tube in position at the top of the slide and begin to get in, my wife in the front first. After she gets in I make my attempt and start to swamp the rear end of the tube. The tube rebounded after a second and then we were ready to go. Once again an inordinately small 'Slide Attendant' grabs the handle on the tube and tries to move us into the mouth of the slide. Instead she nearly yanks her arms out of her sockets trying to get us going. Sheepishly I say 'Sorry, I'm fat.' She looks at me and says 'Yeah....' So I put my arms down and using my hands help move us forward, but with all of this happening at the same time we get to the slide at an awkward angle and our tube goes up the side of the slide a bit and gets stuck. Now our slide attendant is behind me, kicking the back of the tube trying to get us to go down. She alternates between doing this and splashing water on the side of the tube, much like one would do when trying to get a beached whale out to see. Eventually we break loose and get going down the slide. Fast. At this point it dawns on me why Nikki was laughing nervously after I said I would sit on the back. We were moving towards some relatively still water while traveling at a high rate of speed, which means that I would probably not be able to maintain position on my inflatable teacup. I would then either accidentally kick my wife or she would be wearing my butt like a hat. Neither option ended well for either of us. Realizing this and seeing the literal light at the end of the tunnel, I knew there was only one thing to do: I ejected off of the back of the tube, rolling backwards and closing my eyes while praying for good fortune. As I hit the slide my skin and the slide made a sound reminiscent of the squeal of aircraft tires when landing. I then rolled and flailed down the tube like a 300 lb. rag doll until I splashed into the exit pool. While underwater I did a quick systems check. I was alive, all fingers and toes were moving, I made sure my shorts were pulled up and my swim shirt was pulled down. With all that done I stood up to survey the wreckage. Nikki was looking bewildered and then laughed hysterically when I stood up. Her sandal was clear across the pool and her sunglasses that she was wearing were gone. We never found them, or evidence that they even existed. I personally believe that there was a wormhole at the end of the slide that opened just long enough for her sunglasses to go through. As it turns out, my unceremonious exit from the tube ejected my wife off of the front of it. The tube ran over her on its way out of the slide, thus her bewildered state. With shame in tow I carried our tube to the designated spot and we found less eventful means of entertainment at Holiday World.
This is a long story, but it has a purpose. When we fall off the wagon, we need motivation to get back on. This, among other things, is mine. Starting Monday, a new era of weight loss begins, and with it, more posts on the Life of a Fat Man.
This prologue is necessary to set the stage for what I am about to relate. My trip with my wife to one of the best water parks in the world: Splashin' Safari at Holiday World in Santa Clause Indiana. I crap you not, those are all real places. This water park is in the top 5 water parks in the world every year. They have two water coasters (yes you read that correctly, coasters and slides are different and yes they are AWESOME) and a variety of other water based attractions that thrill and delight. And for those that are massive and/or ponderous a special delicacy awaits: shame and humiliation.
The Lazy River
There is nothing lazy about this river! My wife took her tube, and gracefully hopped in posterior first and enjoyed a trip down this canal basking in the sunshine. I thought to myself 'looks easy enough' and gave it a go. Half of my butt hit the hole in the tube where it was supposed to go, the other half, in rebellion, refused to fit in. My position was precarious, I felt like an Orca trying to balance on an inflatable teacup, but I tried to maneuver in a way as to get into that reclined and relaxed lazy river type attitude so as to enjoy the beginning of this beautiful day. This was not to be. Instead I was thrown off the tube backwards landing on my ear and shoulder in the 2 1/2 foot deep shallows. This process was repeated no less than a dozen times. At first my wife laughed. A lot. By the time I was done she was begging me to throw in the towel and just lay across the tube on my stomach. When I tried that I was once again, thrown into the water for good measure. Crushed and defeated by the lazy river we moved on to a slide.
I am no physicist, but I couldn't help but recall Newtons Laws while climbing the Tower of Babel that had the slide at the top of it. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. With as much force as I was using to get up to the top, the prospect of that much force being applied to getting to the bottom was a little intimidating. The tubes for this ride are four person ordeals shaped like a four leaf clover. I rode with my wife facing me and some random skinny kid sitting to my right. Once in position it was the task of an inordinately small, female 'Slide Attendant' to move us to the mouth of the tube and give us the old heave ho down the slide. By virtue of the improper distribution of weight on the tube it spun around until I was going down the slide back first. We gained speed and kept gaining speed. The skinny kid made a comment on how unusually fast we were going. Now I don't know about you, but being overweight and uncoordinated has caused my mind to evolve in a way where every scenario is played out mentally before it happens, to help me be aware of dangers that are coming. The scenario in this instant was that of me falling backwards off the tube, being run over by the tube carrying my wife and the skinny kid and then my lifeless and broken body being ejected into the final part of the tube, which was incidentally shaped like a toilet bowl, where I would tumble around in the water until finally coming to rest in the exit pool below. For a better visual on the slide check it out at: http://www.holidayworld.com/rides/bakuli . This did not happen, fortunately. I survived and enjoyed the ride, although we did go around the bowl about two more times than the average group of riders due to our speed and momentum.
The next ride did not go as well. It was a fairly nondescript slide, a straight shot with two dips. It was the Ron of the Otorongo attraction. I followed my wife to the top carrying a conventional two person tube shaped like an 8. Once at the top my wife looks at me and says 'Are you going to be riding the tube in front, or in back?' I reply 'In back.' She chuckles..... nervously. We put the tube in position at the top of the slide and begin to get in, my wife in the front first. After she gets in I make my attempt and start to swamp the rear end of the tube. The tube rebounded after a second and then we were ready to go. Once again an inordinately small 'Slide Attendant' grabs the handle on the tube and tries to move us into the mouth of the slide. Instead she nearly yanks her arms out of her sockets trying to get us going. Sheepishly I say 'Sorry, I'm fat.' She looks at me and says 'Yeah....' So I put my arms down and using my hands help move us forward, but with all of this happening at the same time we get to the slide at an awkward angle and our tube goes up the side of the slide a bit and gets stuck. Now our slide attendant is behind me, kicking the back of the tube trying to get us to go down. She alternates between doing this and splashing water on the side of the tube, much like one would do when trying to get a beached whale out to see. Eventually we break loose and get going down the slide. Fast. At this point it dawns on me why Nikki was laughing nervously after I said I would sit on the back. We were moving towards some relatively still water while traveling at a high rate of speed, which means that I would probably not be able to maintain position on my inflatable teacup. I would then either accidentally kick my wife or she would be wearing my butt like a hat. Neither option ended well for either of us. Realizing this and seeing the literal light at the end of the tunnel, I knew there was only one thing to do: I ejected off of the back of the tube, rolling backwards and closing my eyes while praying for good fortune. As I hit the slide my skin and the slide made a sound reminiscent of the squeal of aircraft tires when landing. I then rolled and flailed down the tube like a 300 lb. rag doll until I splashed into the exit pool. While underwater I did a quick systems check. I was alive, all fingers and toes were moving, I made sure my shorts were pulled up and my swim shirt was pulled down. With all that done I stood up to survey the wreckage. Nikki was looking bewildered and then laughed hysterically when I stood up. Her sandal was clear across the pool and her sunglasses that she was wearing were gone. We never found them, or evidence that they even existed. I personally believe that there was a wormhole at the end of the slide that opened just long enough for her sunglasses to go through. As it turns out, my unceremonious exit from the tube ejected my wife off of the front of it. The tube ran over her on its way out of the slide, thus her bewildered state. With shame in tow I carried our tube to the designated spot and we found less eventful means of entertainment at Holiday World.
This is a long story, but it has a purpose. When we fall off the wagon, we need motivation to get back on. This, among other things, is mine. Starting Monday, a new era of weight loss begins, and with it, more posts on the Life of a Fat Man.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Hitting the Reset Button
First, seeing as how the very first thing that people do when they see that there is some sort of video on any given page is watch said video, I will explain it: I have no affiliation with www.pmemusic.com, they just have there website on this video, and it's a video I like for a variety of reasons, so I'm using it anyways. No, that poor soul is not me, I have never been even close to that big, but I do feel as though he is a kindred spirit. I say this because he knows he is large, but that does not stop him from having fun with it. We both take a look at some of the lemons in life that we have grown for ourselves or received, sells those lemons at a farmers market and buy banana cream pie with that money. Lots and lots of banana cream pie.
There is a reason for using this video beyond it's hilarity. This post is about trying to lose weight, committing and screwing it all up anyways. Some people call it backsliding. Now if I had the contact info for this gentlemen and his disproportionate water slide I would have requested a video of him sliding down it on his back (backslide..... get it?) But instead I will leave that aquatic adventure to your imagination.
For those of us that have lived through the joys of being rotund we know that the worst thing in the world is to fall off the horse. No, we do not hit terminal velocity faster than skinny people (a myth that I think is public service announcement worthy), but when our fall inevitably stops and our impact begins, more of us hits the ground than skinny folks. What do we do when we fall off the horse? Pick ourselves back up, dust ourselves off and clamber back on top of that comically small shetland pony. Simple enough for skinny folk, but again it's a little different for the large-and-often-not-in-charge. With greater mass we have more to pick up, with greater surface area we have more to dust off, and we feel for the shetland pony, but this must be done. We need to get back on.
So we hit the reset button and start all over. This time I've called in some additional reinforcements. I am dealing with plateaus but I've lost 20lbs. I've got 60-75 to go before I'll be happy with it. So, if you find that like our brother in the video you are slipping down a slide and your water:flesh:slide ratio is a bit skewed, know this. There is an end to the slide (enjoy the splash!) and after the slide is over you can get up and try reaching those goals again. See you on the pony.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Herman Melville Is My Swim Buddy
"There she blows!--there she blows!! A hump like a snow hill! It is ______"
Pop quiz!
1) Does the preceding line end with:
a- Travis
b- Moby Dick
c-something more clever than either I or Herman Melville could come up with
2) Was this sentence uttered by:
a- The 110 lb lifeguard at my gym.
b- Captain Ahab
c- Both
Whew! That was a doozy of a quiz. As you may be able to gather from the questions I went swimming for my workout today. Included in this post is an artists caricature of me doing so. Swimming at my gym is an interesting proposition. Yes, swimming is the low impact workout of choice for the girthfull. The problem is my gym's pool is situated behind very large, very translucent windows right next to the front counter where every person checks in. If you work out at my gym you pass those windows. Be that as it may I swam, and in so doing felt like I belonged at Sea World. I kept an eye on the lifeguard because I thought at any moment he would don a wetsuit and attempt to get me to leap through hoops for mackerel.
Swimming is exhausting. I swam and swam and swam, eventually my strokes went from a semblance of good form to inept slapping at the water. Stick a harpoon in me; I am done. When you are tired after swimming you sit in the hot tub, right? Not today Moby! Just as I was about to climb out of the pool a couple decided to climb into the hot tub and grow somewhat amorous. The little
devil on my shoulder told me to climb my fat butt into that hot tub and stare at the couple like a creeper (see accompanying picture of creepy guy) until they grew uncomfortable and left me in peace.
devil on my shoulder told me to climb my fat butt into that hot tub and stare at the couple like a creeper (see accompanying picture of creepy guy) until they grew uncomfortable and left me in peace. The angel on my shoulder told me to go sit in the sauna and leave the couple alone. Good storytelling dictates that I do the former, while in reality I did the latter. Oh well.
The sauna reminds me of the old Indian sweat lodge except with a lot less hallucinogens. You sit and you sweat, and as we all know the only thing more enjoyable the a mobile sweaty fat guy is a stationary one. After sweating it with some oldies for a while I took one last dive into the pool. Tired of feeling awkward I decided to turn the table on my fellow man.
"SCREEEEEEEE!!!" (direct quote) I screeched in best whale tone while breaching the water and entering back in with a thunderous clap. My best whale impersonation was pretty good. "SCREEEEEEE!!!!" I bellowed once more with yet another breech from the 4 ft. deep pool. Before I hit the water I noticed that the lifeguard and the other pool denizens were changing their looks of shock to that of laughter. I'm glad people still have a sense of humor. With a few more breeches and accompanying noises, I was spent and leaned against the wall of the pool pleased with my performance. The one guy in the pool who didn't think it was funny promptly pulled himself out of the pool and did literally 75 push-ups on the pool deck. While he took a shower I slashed his tires. (Only part of the story that is not true)
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