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Weighty Matters—More Thoughts on Living Large
Since announcing I lost 60 pounds
I’ve been deluged with people asking for weight-loss advice. Suddenly
I’m more popular than a porn star at a game of strip poker. But a
large number of even larger people have accused me of being fat-phobic.
Some bears even growled at me during Gay Pride.
I understand that some people find
it impossible to slim down, just as some people can eat a can of
frosting every day for breakfast and still look like a concentration
camp victim. But I am neither.
What I am is the kind of person who
lies to himself. I may reside in Oregon, but I live in a state of
denial. For instance, despite being 5’9” since I was 14, it was only
last year that I stopped justifying second helpings by saying, “It’s
okay, Marco, you’re a growing boy.” Yeah, width-wise perhaps.
Apparently I’m not alone. A 1992
study done at St. Luke’s Roosevelt Hospital in New York showed via
urine analysis that subjects under-reported how much they’d eaten by
half. That’s right, half.
In a culture where it costs just
pennies to Super Size your fast food, we’ve forgotten what constitutes
a normal portion anymore. Even healthy eaters are susceptible to
overeating, as witnessed by the fact that every time Floyd and I have
vegans over they clean out every cookie in the house. And just try
ordering a low-fat sandwich at Subway—the clerk will cheerfully offer
you such well-known diet staples as cheese, mayonnaise, oil, olives and
chips. A boy could gain a dress size trying to lose weight at Subway.
What finally motivated me to take
control of my weight was the “Who would play me in the movie?” game.
While I sat trying to choose between Robert Downey, Jr. and Matthew
Broderick my friends came to a swift and unanimous conclusion: Nathan
Lane.
I was on the treadmill the next
morning at 6. “How did this happen?” I panted to Floyd. “I thought
I was the slender wacky guy, not the pudgy one.”
“Nah, you’re more of a roly-poly
type,” he said, “y’know, like Harvey Fierstein.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You
don’t ever want to have sex again, do you?”
In my usual obsessive-compulsive way
I researched the various diets and discovered you’re better off eating
the books than reading them. Basically they all say the same thing:
reduce calories. If you’d like to reduce them in an informed, sensible
manner I recommend you read A Business Plan for the Body. I did and
I’m pleased to say, that after 20 years of yo-yo dieting, it worked.
But then something else happened.
You see, while my motivation had
been my pathetically fragile sense of ego, I started to notice I was
feeling better. A lot better.
In the same way I had convinced
myself that chocolate was a protein because it came from beans, I’d
also convinced myself that chafing thighs were a normal consequence of
taking a brisk walk.
What’s alarming to me is that
other people didn’t think of me as overweight partly, I’m sure,
because I hadn’t tucked my shirt in for five years, but also because
we seem to have lost perspective as to what a normal weight is.
If you’d like to know how much of
a strain being 60 pounds overweight can be, go into a gym and pick up a
60-pound dumbbell. Now bend over. Now stand up. Now call your
chiropractor.
You growling bears and the like
argue rightly that genetics play a part in determining weight. Of
course. If your parents are naturally substantial in size then Robert
Downey, Jr. or Matthew Broderick probably aren’t going to play you in
the movie. But that doesn’t explain why Americans are over ten pounds
heavier now than we were 20 years ago. And gaining.
Resisting that second portion is an
enormously difficult challenge. I know—I was the pudgy wacky guy. And
if you’re not ready to, or simply don’t want to, I understand and
respect that. But if, like me, you’ve grown thick and tired, I’m
convinced you can make a lasting change.
If I can do it, anyone can.
And
that, my friends, is The Gospel According to Marc.
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