Derailment

The hospital sucks. Not the actual hospital I was in, just being in one for more than a few hours really sucks. This is not to say the people at Chester County Hospital weren't great, they were, but after 4 days and nights in the clink, I was convinced that either they let me out on the 5th day, or I was going to commit seppuku.

On about May 30th, I was thinking how I had already lost 15lbs, and how stoked I was that things were going well. I wanted to lose at least 50 lbs before going to Vegas in early September, and it looked like even more was possible.

Then on the 29th... the World got bent. I woke up shivering under a fleece blanket in 74 degree house. The room was spinning. The dogs heads were changing into a thousand snakes. The Penguins lost a game in the Stanley Cup Finals (In your face, DETROIT!). Everything was truly warped.

But each day that passed, I felt better. However, my already plump leg seemed to getting larger, and redder. The doctor told me it was probably Lyme disease, and sent me on my way. By Thursday the 4th, I had barely eaten anything in a week, couldn't put alot of weight on my left leg, and had gone thru a whole mess of Advil. That's when I decided it would be a good time to go back to work. My work experience that day lasted three and a half hours, when my wife informed me it was time to go to the emergency room.

The joke was on me. 5 days worth of good living in room 176. I had Lifetime on the television, and Sirius/XM Spa available if I was so inclined. I was very happy.

Thanx to a week of not eating, between home and the hospital, I was down 20lbs.

However, I was told to take it easy. No workouts. No pool. Just sit with your leg up and take bag after bag of IV medication. Yeah, that was fun... IV's in the home. They gave me a direct line, and told me I wasn't allowed to put scotch in it. How rude.

So, I've gone over a month now with no exercise, and my metabolism has gone to shit. I'm pretty sure I've put most if not all that weight back on. I feel like I have. I don't know, because the scale that can weigh me is at the gym.

Sooner or later, I will get back there. Just not for at least another two weeks.

The not so interesting post scriptus: This was just a leg infection, that no one seems to be able to identify where it came from. It could've been a bug bite, I couldn't gotten it at the gym, I might have got it from work. Who knows. It's not yet 100% healed, as my leg still likes to swell up, and can be red at times, but I'm almost there. You will know when ground starts shaking, that King Hippo is back in training to take on Mike Tyson.

Commitment

Forget all that nonsense that proceeds this. I had no idea how high the stakes were. I've been making $5 bets into a $700 pot. At the risk of sounding trite and cliched, its time to move all-in.

It's now time to rise up against myself.

Why should you believe in me now? I pretty much lied to anyone who read this blog for the better part of last year saying I was going to change things, saying I was going to do something about it. I thought I was trying. Then I quit. I can't tell you why, but I did. It pisses me off that I did. But nothing could prepare me for how pissed off I was about to be at myself.

Two months ago, some of the people around the office started a "Biggest Loser" pool... sounded like fun, until the stiffs from higher up put the kibosh on it. But it really got me wondering how to tackle an old problem, Finding out my true weight. Someone had to have a scale that went of 400lbs... its not as if everyone in the world tops out at 399. So I took a suggestion and put in call to the local Jenny Craig office, who obliged me to come in because their scale went to 600 lbs. When I arrived, they told me it actually only went to 500 lbs. No matter, I was going to hop on and I would be just over 400.

Then... BOOM went the dynamite.



I couldn't even comprehend that number. That couldn't be right. "Take off your hat, dummy"... step back on... still 485... I felt like crying. I actually did a little in the car on my way home. I almost was too big for their scale. What the hell had happened to me?

There really is no way around it... I am sick.

Since that day, I've come to terms with that number, who I am, where I want to be. I think we have all known, for some time, that a total transformation was in order, I've just never been able to motivate myself properly. I have my motivation now. I've made it OK to be this big for too long. I've done my best to keep my maximum comfort level in mind, so my feelings don't get hurt. Maybe, hurt feelings are what I have needed all along.

So, this is my rallying cry. My call to arms. It's time to declare war on myself. No more excuses. No more lies. No more quitting.

Who's coming with me? Don't we all have something to prove to ourselves? Do it with me. Help yourself too. Who wants to be in my posse. I need all the help I can get. It's going to happen, don't you want to say you were a part of it?


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Shakabuku

Debi: You know what you need?
Martin: What?
Debi: Shakabuku.
Martin: You wanna tell me what that means?
Debi: It's a swift, spiritual kick to the head that alters your reality forever.
Martin: Oh, that'd be good. I think.

More to come, VERY SOON.



"All good things start on a Monday" - Kevin Smith (http://www.twitter.com/ThatKevinSmith)

Whatever happened to that blog???

Something strange happened tonight. An unexplained sighting of sorts. And I don't want to scare any of you, but:

I shouldn't be sugar coating anything, but, this picture is a bit unfair, as I look immense.

This just goes to show, the road I was on last year was long, this year, the road isn't any shorter.

xoxo
bb

Bopper's Guide to Creating Fervor, and Dissapointing People

Step 1: Cut a hole in the box.
Step 2: Create Blog with greatest intentions of improving oneself.
Step 3: Get people interested in what you are doing and what you have to say.
Step 4: Overpromise, underdeliver.
Step 5: Go to Vegas for mini-vaca, and abandon all you have done for yourself. Tell No One.
Step 6: Use Vegas trip and summer activities as crutch for inaction.
Step 7: Lose any steam you had going.
Step 8: Attempt to put things back on track.

More to come... soon. Please leave comments of disapproval below.

... And Don't Call Me Shirley!

Hi Loyal Reader,

I hate the summer, the heat, the bugs, the humidity.

If your wondering things weren't as well as expected one month ago at the Doctors office, and well, if I am completely honest, things have hit a wall physically and mentally since. So I'm going away for the weekend to Vegas. When I come back, I have a plan. It will involve renewed commitment to getting healthy, and will have me using and updating this blog as I intended.

So I have to get on a plane tomorrow, and I am nervous. Sadly, its not because of a fear of flying. But I feel the anxiety and consternation building inside of me. The two things that fill me with these feelings are

1) Using the toilet on the airplane - It looks small, and not much operating room, and well, I like to take my time, and this is a lot of info you don't need, lets just say I prefer not to use it
B) Crushing the person in the next seat - Usually this is my wife, but as I am flying out to meet her, I'll be solo. I know everyone hates sitting next to the fat guy. I get it. I hate it too. And let me tell you, its not picnic for us either. We'd much rather fine a less 'oppressive' situation.

Well, I gotta run, kids. I have to make the final checklist and be done with it.

See you on the flip side.

Finding Dan O'Connor

I'm in here somewhere, inside this tub of goo. I just cant seem to find me. This isn't an existential crisis or anything, I literally cant find myself in this body. After weeks of working out, and trying to eat right (Not all the time, but a hell of a lot better than I was), I don't feel different. I don't look different. No one is bending over backwards to tell me I look better? And before you pick up the phone or think about it, don't, if you've seen me and thought I looked better, you'd have said something, and going forward, now I'm going to doubt anyone who tries to compliment me.

One of the problems with being a big guy is even when the guy in mirror changes, it's hard to tell. We'll find out soon, the Good Doctor is going to make me get on a scale next week. If you remember, the scale at the doctors office wasn't big enough for me at 400lbs., so I can say with out fear of overstating: If I don't come in at least at 399lbs., I am going to be distraught beyond belief. I cant believe I'm that big to begin with, so to have worked at it for at least 7 weeks and visually, emotionally, and statistically have no proof, is nothing short of a failure.

This morning I got dressed for work, and I stood in the mirror trying to look for something to give me a clue I'm headed in the right direction. I could only find myself finding more things wrong than right. maybe I distorted my own self perception to see something more bulbous and rotund than I am, but I cant stop doubting myself.

Thru it all, I've been torturing Jessica... she's gone most days to the gym with me, and if you just ask her, her GUNS are quite breathtaking. Ask her why she's called the Thesaurus. But since we've started, I can see a difference in her. She looks better than when we started this, and is becoming more beautiful each day.

It's hard to see Jess garner these result while I am still looking into the mirror and wondering what I am doing wrong. I know how to work out, I'm pretty sure. There's not much I can do between now and W-Day next week in terms of losing copious amounts of weight.

I guess, for now, I'll keep looking into the mirror... for something that resembles me...