What does the "Ideal You" Look Like and How does S/he Live?

Is the "ideal you" like celebrities or supermodels?
Or is the "ideal you" who you are now?

I write this blog for the benefit of myself and for people like me: the very overweight. I know a lot of you are sick of me going on about how exercise "saved my life" and are wondering when I'm going to talk more about eating. I've got lots to say about my eating issues and I promise to open up about them as I discover and think about new revelations.

The fact is, though, I feel pretty good these days. I rarely feel like I have anything wrong with me. My only annoyance is going to stores and trying to buy clothes that fit. I'm still too big for even oversizes available at department stores.

Honesty is a central part of my blogging. I like to spill my guts and not hold back. So I have to tell you that it bugs me to hear people talk about that next pound they're trying so hard to lose.

My question to you is: Why are you trying to lose weight?

It's a legitimate question and I'll give you my honest answer at the end. Is it because you want to be more healthy? If that's the only answer, then my response is, based on what happened to me, you'd get more healthy by going for a walk every day than starving yourself and worrying about every calorie.

Let me make a list of reasons of why I suspect people want to lose weight. I compiled this list from discussions with people struggling with their weight and from reading I've done recently (about what people struggling with their weight say.)

• I want to fit in.
• I want to be attractive.
• I want to be loved.
• I feel like a failure being fat and it's embarrassing.
• People think I'm a joke.
• My doctor says it's not healthy.
• Society says being fat is wrong.

If you've been overweight all your life like I have, then you've probably had some of these things ingrained in you. It's hard to change your own attitude after so many years of believing something. It's like being told up is down and down is up. It simply can't be true that being fat is okay.

I lost most of my excess weight once (295 to 170 pounds.) I felt great but I was disappointed in the skinny me. Contrary to my life-long expectation, being skinny didn't solve all my problems. It didn't give me happiness and it didn't give me all the babes I thought I deserved because I was now a stud! Being fat, it turned out, wasn't my problem. So as you can guess, the weight started to come back on.

What does the ideal you look like? Have you envisioned him or her? Is s/he the same person as you are now or a different person? Is s/he just a skinny version of yourself who also sits on the couch all day but is somehow happier? Does the world somehow change if you're thin? Is the sky the same colour if you're thin?

Are you more loved? Are you a better person? Are you more respected? Consider these questions and think about your true feelings on the ideal you.

I'll share with you some thoughts I've had over the years on the ideal me. The ideal James is the happy man in TV commercials. He rock climbs, kayaks and he hosts social gatherings (possibly with ice-cold beer.) He has sexy barbecues. He travels. He may even skydive, because the ideal James lives every moment to the fullest. He has many friends and is the perfect father. He is loved by all. All women want to have his babies.

The latter, of course, is not a very realistic goal for anyone. Is Brad Pitt any happier because most women find him hot? Confidence in one's sexuality does not equal happiness. I think of all the horrible women over the years I might have ended up with if I looked like Brad Pitt. Fortunately, my wife (the best woman in the world) has modest standards (or gets drunk far too easily, you decide.)

Does the perfect you exercise? Is the perfect you a fitness freak? The best looking people in the world, as well as the most powerful tend to be fitness enthusiasts. They tackle life by doing things--fun, exciting things that go far beyond sitting on the couch. 

So if I may presume that the ideal you is a person who moves her or his body a great deal, why can't you do it now? Why do you have to obsess about weight when right now you could be going for a walk and building on basic fitness that can improve a little every day? Right now, you could be doing what the ideal, thin you would be doing. You could be living your life, even if that means a short walk to the light post down the street and back is all you can do. At least you're getting some fresh air and doing something huge for yourself. There might be a dozen reasons why you ate poorly today but, if you're at all able-bodied, you probably don't have any valid reasons why you didn't do something physical for yourself.

If you love yourself, set yourself free and get moving! If you don't love yourself, see a counsellor and begin working on what's really wrong with you, because it's not your waist.

If your excuse is that it's too much work, I ask you how is it that you are willing to diet? Dieting is one of most difficult and complicated things people embark upon. Losing weight and keeping it off is complicated. It's a giant pain in the ass to obsess about it night and day. Improving your fitness is simple and fool-proof. It's easy by comparison.


Unlike dieting, the less you think about it, the better.

Why not start being the ideal you today and re-examine why you want to lose weight in the first place? I'm not saying you shouldn't lose weight. I'm not saying you shouldn't eat the best you can. But one part of what you need to do is complicated and one part is easy. One thing is prone to failure, one thing is fool-proof.

Having said all that, in full disclosure, I do want to be smaller. Here are the reasons I currently want to lose body fat: I feel if I have less excess fat on me I can move around even more and therefore do even more in my recreational life. In other words, I can have even more fun. Secondly, I want to buy clothes that fit more easily. Shopping for clothes is the only time I feel abnormal nowadays.

In every other way, I'm ideal.

I Felt Like I Was a 1000 Pounds in Grade School

Stop thinking that purple shirt and red tie wasn't stylish. I cruised right into the disco era when it peaked in grade six.

I was at an assembly at my son's school today and could see all the kids spread out before me. My first impression was, "Boy, there sure are lots of fat kids." My second impression was, "The fat kids are really overweight."

When I was in grade school I was considered the fat kid. There might have been one or sometimes two other kids in the class that classmates referred to as overweight, but I felt really, really fat. As I got older and looked back at old photos, the images don't match my memories. Some years I could barely be considered "big boned" for crying out loud. I was certainly not obese, no one in my school was that I can remember. But there's all kinds of kids who are obese now.

Some of these kids must be approaching twice the body weight of their peers. If they're like this now, at age nine, ten and eleven, what are they going to be like when they hit adulthood and sit behind a desk all day? They need intervention at as early an age as possible. I can't help but think that it's already too late for these kids. I see misery and hardship before them.

If I had to speculate on what I saw today, I'd say the poorer kids are more likely to be the ones with weight problems. I think statistics back that up. So why is that? I know they always say fatty food is cheaper but I have to think it has more to do with the parents' education and dedication to their children's upbringing.

But what do I know? All I know is that there are a lot more kids with weight problems than there were when I was a kid and being a kid with a weight problem isn't that much fun. I can say that with great authority.

Overweight, Male and Having to Be Shirtless

Not me.

I've been blogging in some form or other since 1997, mostly for an audience of my friends. I've explored everything from bowel movements to public nudity, but this is the one post I kinda wish my friends wouldn't read. I've finally found a line that is difficult for me to cross. But for some reason, it's easier to tell strangers.

One of the most difficult pieces of writing I've done was telling the story of being diagnosed with chronic anxiety and realizing I suffered from it all my life. Because it gets into the stigma of mental illness, I feel like some friendships haven't quite been the same since. Yet, I have no regrets. Disclosing everything is what I do.

Some things, however, are embarrassing to admit. But today an overweight man confessed to me that he'd like to take up swimming as his much-needed physical activity but was afraid of the embarrassment. I decided then that this blog post was long overdue.

I have suffered tremendous anxiety over the issue of taking off my shirt in public over most of my life and have missed out on a great, great deal of things because of it. And I remember vividly the moment it started.

I was somewhere between the age of six and eight years old. It was a hot summer day and my best friend came over to play as he did almost every day. We were already inseparable friends for life at that point. We decided to play under the sprinkler or go in a paddling pool (I can't remember which.) He went home, got his bathing suit and returned. After he rang the door bell I showed up at the back door in my bathing suit and he laughed at me. I was starting to become overweight for the first time in my life and he had said something about me starting to grow breasts.

A switch went off in me. I said calmly, "I don't want to swim today" and I closed the door, changed into my clothes and we played something else. I'm not sure I swam in public again in public as a kid. Maybe a time or two at the beach with my dad but I was very self-conscious.

In grade eight I signed up for the wrestling team, coached by the same friend who was now in high school (I had to repeat grade two.) At the weigh-in, people laughed when 200 (pounds) showed up on the scale. I was nearly six feet tall and I wasn't that much overweight. I was fine with the whole school knowing I had hit a landmark weight that no one else had reached. I was told I would have to compete in a rare weight class.

I could train for wrestling with my shirt on so I was fine but I knew when the completion day came, I would have to take off my shirt. I was consumed with this for every waking moment of my life leading up to the competition. When the day finally came and I was tagged to get into the ring, I wasn't sure I was going to do it. But I took off my shirt and a great weight lifted from my shoulders. I had done what I had spent too much time dreading. Turns out I got dropped on my head moments into my match by a strong giant of a young man, but hey, I had faced shirtlessness and competed as an athlete for the first and last time in my life.

I got a second place ribbon because there were only two people in the city in that weight group. I still have it to this day and it's a source of pride. I'd like to tell you that I got over the issue then, but I did not.

I signed up for optional gym classes in high school but dreaded--really dreaded--days when "shirts" played "skins" in sports. I don't know if the teachers sensed my anxiety but I managed to somehow avoid being on the skins team dozens of times. The couple of times I was on the skins team, I was paralysed by embarrassment and anxiety. No fun was had.

Then came the most shameful episode of shirtlessness. When my gym teacher announced we'd be going swimming for two months of weekly classes, my insides almost fell onto the floor. I started jogging on my own time trying desperately to lose weight but without any education on the matter. I had no idea what I was doing and it was impossible too lose very much weight in a short period of time anyway.

I skipped the swimming classes, one at a time. It was easy to skip gym class. The teachers rarely reported you. But I knew I had to show up for class eventually, there were just too many swimming outings to miss. I came up with a plan at the last second, and out of all the stupid things I've done in my life, this was right up there. I decided to manually rip the inseam in my bathing suit at lunch time and claim I couldn't swim that day when I was already at the pool. No one would catch on, I thought. They did. My George Costanza-like  plan fooled no one. I was deeply ashamed and decided to swim anyway with a ripped and revealing bathing suit, tense body and arms folded over my fatty bits.

Of course, I always really liked being in water. Almost all kids do. A lifetime of excuses and anxiety over shirtlessness entailed. I'm not the only one. The internet is full of stories like mine.

When my wife and I bought our first house, I got the idea to save up for a steel above ground pool. I was freelancing at the time and had the opportunity to take on extra work. I worked for 60-80 hours or more every week for several months so I could buy a pool. In the end I spent several thousand dollars on it including a heater.

I remember the early summer day when it was ready to enter. Walking into the crystal clear, luxuriously-warm water sent waves of happy childhood memories through me. And the realization of all that had been lost in my life.

Second Night In a Row...

I had another incident on my walk this evening, this one of a violent, verbal nature that's left me feeling less comfortable on my streets than last night.

In almost the exact same spot the incident last night came to an end, a young man dressed in a hoodie, smoking a cigarette kept staring at me as I crossed the street and walked toward him wearing my over-the-ear headphones. He repositioned himself to intercept me.

This sort of manoeuvre bothers me. Not only do you feel threatened late at night on an empty street but it's also just something people wanting money from strangers will do as well (like I have any to spare.) Fresh in my mind was a recent incident of someone doing just that but holding a bicycle to block us while my son and I biked down a busy street. On that occasion I told the man I couldn't stop, I had my child with me. He didn't take it well at all, but that was that.

Also fresh in my mind, of course, was last night. I was more than a little uppity about being hassled on the street in any way. I ignored the young man as he spoke to me. Then he raised his voice after I was past him and, for some reason, my brain told my mouth to say, "Sorry, Buddy, I can't help you."

Less than a minute later a tiny beater of a car blew past me from behind with the window open. A middle finger was thrust out of it directed at me. I instinctively returned the favour by doubling the offer. The car then did a U-turn and pulled around to block me as I tried to cross the next street.

I was a bit ornery to say the least but I also didn't know if I was about to die. I had no idea who was in the car. There was a grow-op busted this summer not 100 feet from where I met the dude. He started yelling at me. My response? I cupped my ear, still with headphones on, and said in mocking, almost Nickelsonesque voice, "Sorry, I can't hear ya!" and kept walking.

He pulled around again and parked beside me on the street, yelling and even more agitated, from what I could see. I lifted my earcup off and had a listen. Turns out he was looking for his dog. He lost his sanity and was screaming near nonsense, then came out: "Just because I'm eighteen you won't talk to me?"

I'm making him sound awfully polite and non-threatening. He was not.

I told him, "You'll have to forgive me, I was harassed on that very spot last night by a bunch of teenagers, so yeah, I didn't want to talk to you."

I'm making myself sound awfully polite and non-threatening. I was not. But I did say those words, just not likely how you think I did.

I then offered to help look for his dog. He went on losing his shit on me. I then informed him I wasn't going to help him look for his dog and continued home as he his tantrum progressed. Then he stalled his car by mishandling the clutch.

Sure, only I would have ignored someone like that to their face. Any other night, though, I would have talked to the guy. But this evening was set up to happen this way because of last night's events.

With him being eighteen, I'm not likely to encounter him wandering the streets again as long as his beater holds out. But I really, really wonder what's happening with kids today. They think they're so entitled. A lot of guys would have confronted him physically. He's lucky I'm a pacifist with anger issues.

Or maybe he thought I was a harmless obese person he could say anything to.

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Here are some excerpts of the remarkable feedback I got from friends regarding last night's post:

Reminds me of the first time I went for a walk with (my husband) after having the twins. Not two blocks out the door and a couple teenage boys yelled out "hey buddy, your wife's a fat, ugly &@$)*." I knew they were idiots, but damned if that didn't stick with me for awhile.

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I have been running on and off for 15 years and only recently stopped caring if people think I look like a dork while doing it. I know I don't look as good as I hope and I know I don't look as bad as I fear. I NEVER run alone after dark because I am afraid, and it pisses me off that I have to be afraid. I have considered running with bear spray but know that if it was ever turned on me I would be in a worse position than I was to start with. My defence is to stick to public paths and to only go in the daylight, preferably where if I scream for help someone will hear me. That means that someone will see me while running, and I'm a sweaty, red-faced mess when I run - but I feel freaking amazing.

I (and I think most female runners) are used to wolf whistles and cat calls. I have been mooned. I have been sworn at. I was swerved at once by a car. Depending on my mood, I might shrug it off or I might flip the bird (which only bit me in the ass once when I wasn't paying attention and it turned out to be a friend trying to say hi).

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When I was perhaps 20 and (my brother) 18, I was driving him to (a store). While I was slowly looking for a parking spot in the lot, an obese young woman (older than we were -- maybe 30) was walking out of the store. My...brother promptly started pointing and laughing, rolled down his window, and yelled out to her "Suuueeeee! Roll her in flour and go for the wet spot! Slap her thighs and ride the waves in!" 

Everyone in the lot looked first at him, then at this poor woman, who had done nothing whatsoever to deserve such a public humiliation. Some people laughed. I was horrified, and instead of stopping at the store, kept driving. When I expressed outrage at him, I clearly remember him laughing and telling me I should lighten up -- in his opinion, I was the one with the problem, not him. I never drove him anywhere ever again....

Street Mockery: A Possible Pitfall To Taking Up a Fitness Quest

It's been suggested by more than a couple of people that I write this blog to inspire others, not only the obese with looming health problems (like the recent me), but also couch potatoes everywhere who would benefit from exercise inspiration. I don't know if my potential for motivation is realistic or not, but I'd hate to think for one second that I would ever write something that would discourage someone from firmly grasping the reins of their life and yelling "giddy-up!"

I worry that there might be someone reading this, now or in the future, who is sitting on the fence and might be scared off by something I write. So don't take this story as something to worry about. I don't. We fat people often have a thick skin anyway. I don't let myself get bothered by these things and I tend to forget about these types of incidents a couple hours after they happen, and you can too.

There are a lot of teenagers in my suburban neighbourhood and there doesn't seem to be much for them to do but roam the street in packs. When I got to the point in my walk (time-wise and geographically) where I start jogging I saw a pack of teen-aged girls walking a bit ahead of me in the middle of the street while I was on the side walk. I thought to myself that this'll be a test to see if I can jog publicly without being self-conscious. It was much earlier than I usually walk-jog so the streets and side walks were a lot more busy than I'm accustomed. Nevertheless, I had little hesitation about it since I've been getting a lot more relaxed hustling my large but ever-more capable body around these days on foot and bicycle.

I hit the button my my iPod for my "powersong" (the Nike apps have have a powersong you can jump to when you want to kick it up a notch) and I began jogging. Heart rate monitor attached, I tried to make sure my pace was nice and slow like I usually have it. I wanted to make sure I wasn't going too fast due to people watching.

I trotted along and kept an eye on the girls waiting for them to notice. With music blasting in my ears, I could still see their body language and understand what was going on. One looked back at me, told another, they all looked and it went on from there.

One girl broke from the crowd and decidedly wandered in front of me on the side walk and slowed down. A lifetime of being overweight conditions you to ignore things like this. However--and I blame my combative and troubled childhood for this--I wanted to punch her in the back of the head. Instead, I side-stepped her while attempting to ignore her and her friends, at least on the surface.

But they weren't done. Small groups of them mockingly started to run down the street then fall down, feigning exhaustion. By the time I got to the intersection of a main street, they had fallen down on the street, in the lane of oncoming traffic and an SUV stopped right in front of me, causing me to quickly run to avoid it. All told I had not kept my very slow pace that was usually no more than 78 percent of my maximum when I jogged, a fair way shy of the 85% I'm supposed to stay below.

By the time I left the attention-starved, hormone-laden teen girls behind (and a horrified driver) I had unintentionally got my heart rate 20 beats above my 85% limit, just 9 beats below my maximum heart rate. My chest was starting to tighten and I was sucking wind like crazy. I couldn't get enough air. At first I was stubborn and didn't want to cut short my jogging routine (6.5 minutes) but a few moments later, I came to my senses and started to walk again. It took quite a few moments for my heart rate to recover to a reasonable level. I was discouraged, pissed off and lucky I didn't have a heart attack.

When I first started exercising in the spring I was doing a 20 minute walk around my block (It's a huge block due to a green space and school.) One Friday night I encountered a large group of very hyper young teenagers near the school. I crossed to the other side of the street before I was anywhere near them but one boy had to notice me and get inspired. He dropped his pants and mooned me from about ten yards away. Once again, I had music blaring in my ears and it was all visual only, but I wanted to tell him I wasn't interested. He seemed desperate to impress the girls he was with and a comeback like that probably wouldn't have gone over well.

I'm a big guy. I'm six feet tall and apparently have anger issues. People should leave me alone. If you're a woman, maybe you might feel more vulnerable. But don't. I see overweight women walking alone in my hood every night. No one hassles them and if they ever did, they'd have to deal with me. I'm much more capable of kicking someone's ass now that I was five months ago!

If you are worried about these kinds of rude confrontations, don't walk late at night like I do. But remember, they're harmless. And we all know these little screwhead punks will grow up to be fat, sedentary and friendless.

Give them your pity, but not your attention.

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UPDATE: I have been touched and astonished at the anecdotes friends have shared on Facebook regarding this post. Apparently I'm not alone and there are some terrible, cruel people out there. But they're mostly kids who will one day know better.