Confessions of a Fat Bastard

That's eventually going to be the title of a new blog that I'll use to keep track of my fitness efforts, but for now, it'll suffice to sum up my opinion of myself. Over the last two months, I've gained 20 pounds! I would say that if measured on a aquatic mammalian scale, I'm now in the neighborhood of beluga whale. I'm trying to prevent an escalation to orca.

After a long year of halting progress in maintaining my fitness and diet routine, I finally realized in September that the only way I would be able to stay fit would be to stop trying to eat several (5-6) small meals per day and cut back to only 3 small meals. The heart of the problem is my work schedule. Over several months-long periods this year, I worked in excess of 80 hours per week.

When you can only manage 3-4 hours of sleep per night, it's tough to find the time and energy to work out. Somehow, the idea of lifting 60 pounds of steel over my head when I can hardly walk across a room without falling asleep seems just south of stupid. There's an obit you don't want your name on: "Franklin, 35, was found dead with a dumbbell lodged in his brain after the dumbass fell asleep during a bench press. His family, mortified at his idiocy, is forgoing a funeral and would like to donate his body to ballistics research. Thus far, most law enforcement agencies have declined the donation stating that Franklin was 'not a challenging target.'"

So, cutting back to three small meals with no snacking worked out really well. I was able to get back to a moderate 220 pounds. That sounds huge, but I'm 6'3", so I can handle it. I was feeling good about my new plan and my descent to walrus class. I needed only stick to the plan until my schedule allowed me to start working out again. At the time I was sleeping about 6 hours per night and working 60-70 hours a week -- not a busy schedule for me. It could get worse, and it did.

As I wrapped up the Alabama videos, I began to work 110 or more hours per week. I began sleeping, at most, four hours per night. Even though my workout had been on hold for several weeks, this change in my work schedule was detrimental. What happens when I work those kind of hours is an interesting study in psychology and physiology.

To successfully manage 18-20 hour work days, you have to drink a lot of coffee. The key to knowing when you've had enough to stay awake is to keep drinking until you can feel every cell in your body vibrate. If you're not that in tune to your body, lie still on a smooth surface. If your body begins to drift around like that creepy little pointer on a Ouija board, then you're there.

When you don't have time to fix more coffee, supplement with sodas. By no means should you drink water, because those additional caffeinie-free fluids will force you to spend too much time in the bathroom.

The second key to staying awake is food. Lots of it. It's 3am and you're trying to figure out how to keep going for three more hours before your morning nap. You've just finished off a pot of coffee. It's been four hours since you had your last snack. Time for food. There's no time to prepare something. The obvious choice is anything in the house that starts with "choco" or cleverly avoids the phrase "trans fats" on the label. I don't know why, but that's immediately what I crave. Some lady on a commercial with wireframes of roundisg human figures and way too much text on the screen tells me it's due to cortisol. A young man with an MD from one of Guatemala's finest educational institutions concurs. Cortisol or no, there's got to be some cake in this house somewhere.

I know some people who work out to support their food habit. I don't get that. If I'm carving out time in my schedule to work out, I'm not going to ruin it with Oreo's or a trip to Mickey D's. I have the opposite problem when my work schedule gets full. I'm sedentary, spending 18-20 hours a day behind the computer. I'm not working out. AND I'm eating too much of the wrong foods. There's this weird, fatalistic switch in my brain that says, "if I can't maintain a fitness routine, then I may as well eat as poorly as possible. It's the equivalent of driving your car off a bridge because you're low on gas. I can't explain it, but I wish I could change it.

A couple of days ago I got tired of sorting through clothes that I can't wear, so I cleared out the closet. It was sobering and depressing. Depressing because only two years ago I had to replace most of my wardrobe. I had lost down to about 205 from 242, and I had better muscle tone than ever in my life. I still wasn't in peak physical condition, but I was roughly at porpoise level, maybe seal. Now here I am, going in the opposite direction.

I hate when people suggest I have a weight problem. I don't see it as a weight problem, but a work problem. I had never weighed more than 185 until I was 26. That year, the combination of a divorce, a stressful work situation and, of course, 100-hour work weeks pushed me above 200 for the first time. (I had also stopped eating on a vegetarian diet, and my metabolism slowed down.) When I was 28, I had started doing cardio every day and was eating a better diet. I got back below 200. Kelli and I bought bikes that we rode every single day. In July of that year, I started a new company called Wannabe Films, and I haven't ridden my bike since.

Since '98, my weight has gone up and down -- up when I'm working too much, stressed out or when Kelli is pregnant. This year brought all three. My weight has gone down in years when I'm working only a moderate amount and our stressors are fewer, but those are also years when we weren't making enough money. So there's the rub -- make money or be healthy.

I suppose the only solution is to find a way to work smarter -- not harder. (Okay, I promise that's the last time I quote Successories on this blog.) I need to find a way to work, make adequate money to take care of my family and work 60 hours or less per week. I have plans and ideas, but at some point I have to rely on God to make them reality. Until then, my short-term goal is to get down to sea lion.