Years ago and somewhat against my will (a story for another day), I was training for the Hartford Marathon. It was a gorgeous morning in early September, and I had just finished a nineteen-mile run. I staggered down my street, drenched in sweat, my knees and ankles aching. A neighbor was out watering his lawn—I saw him frequently running in the neighborhood doing his own four- and five-mile runs. We’ll call him Dan.
As I passed, Dan called to me: “Just finished running?”
I paused and he walked over. “Yeah,” I said.
“What did you do?”
“Nineteen,” I said.
“How was it?”
“Meh,” I said. “I stopped more often than I wanted to and went slower than my target pace. But I got through it.”
“It’s tough,” he said. “You know, if you just take it easy and build up, that helps. Maybe jog a quarter mile, walk a quarter mile. That sort of thing.”
Huh, I thought. Odd advice. “I see you out and around. How far do you normally go?”
“I try to do four a day at least.”
“Do you do any races?”
“Some 5k’s now and again. Those are really good to train for when you’re just starting out.”
“Yeah,” I said. “This was a training run for a race.”
“Which one?”
“The Hartford Marathon.”
“Oh wow. When is that?”
“Next month.”
“How far did you say you went?”
“Nineteen miles,” I said.
“Ohhhhh,” he said with a laugh. “I thought you said nineteen minutes. You don’t need any advice from me. Good luck!”
I headed home puzzled and laughing. Nineteen minutes of running … and I am staggering home drenched and limping on a sixty-degree morning? Do I look that hopeless? How tragic must I have seemed to him? Damn. This poor guy. Can’t run for nineteen minutes straight, and he’s a wreck!
I quit Noom last week. When I got married, I was 175 pounds. Today, I am 225. Go ahead, make me feel better by telling me, “I know you work out. Muscle is heavier than fat. You probably bulked up.”
This is objectively false. At 175 pounds, I maxed 225 on the bench press and 315 on the squat. At 225 pounds, last summer I maxed 225 on the bench and 335 on the squat. An increase of twenty pounds on the squat is not twenty pounds of muscle gained in my legs. How do I know?
My friend Jay once told me I am shaped like a frog. My friends in high school told me I have chicken legs. My mom told me that my shoulders were so skinny when I was a kid that my hips were wider than my shoulders were and it was only high school weightlifting that shifted the proportions somewhat. My kids have made fun of my calves for years. One of them bet another I had the skinniest calves in the family. They got out a tape measure to settle the score. Sigh. Only Graham’s calves are skinnier. My wrists are tiny too. I have a medium Apple Watch band, and I have to tighten it to the last hole.
So, dear readers, I am not big-boned, I have not bulked up. I work out an hour or more per day five to six days per week, and those workouts range from heavy lifts to long runs to circuit training to track sprints. But I am overweight.
This bothered me for a long time for all the obvious reasons. So I have tried Bill Phillips, LoseIt, WeightWatchers, and now Noom. My primary care doctor told me for years he was not worried about my weight given my fitness, but that didn’t stop me. He moved hospital systems two years ago and I wound up with a new doctor. She was a touch more concerned and suggested all previously tried remedies except Noom. Most of my previous efforts ended with no movement but those that did … well, my body passed the Build Back Bigger Act, and …
So I felt some pressure to act and Noom is supposed to be great with psychology and what not. I set a goal of 200 pounds and did everything religiously. Six weeks later, I pulled the plug—I don’t need to pay a couple hundred bucks per year to do all the work and lose nothing.
The good news is that my doctor took tons of health measures and her algorithm says I have only a 2.2% chance of dying of a heart attack in the next five years. So I don’t need blood pressure or cholesterol meds. For now.
I saw a thing online today in which the WeightWatchers CEO opted to apologize for stigmatizing weight struggles. Naturally, this “apology” comes as the business is threatened by semiglutide drugs, and they have invested in a firm dealing those drugs. So you’ll forgive some skepticism about the sincerity of said apology. But then again, who am I to judge? So on that note, WW, thank you for stepping up. I accept your apology. And while we are here, can we discuss my calves, wrists, and shoulders? And how about the fact that, despite not needing meds, I am due for a colonoscopy?
I’m waiting.
No? Nothing to say?
I have only one reply to your silence.
Ribbit. 🐸
His Smile Lit Up a Room and Other Things to Say at My Funeral 