Get Real Already

What do you think is going to change?

You're going to look different?
You're going to act different?
You're going to be better at something?

You're going to worse at something else?

It's all bullshit.  You are who you are, and no one ever changes.  The only thing that changes is how the world perceives you.  In one moment, you're talentless, and in the next, visionary. 

You already know these people, and you know how they think.  You cannot change them.  There are other people, though.  People who may get it.  I hold on to some sliver of something that tells me that they are out there, and that they will form the army that I see in my mind.  They will understand the importance and the historic nature of you.  They will tell their children, and their grandchildren's children will find photographs and do research, and love you from afar.  They will feel kinship and wonder what it was like then.  They will wonder what you would think about their modern issues.  Things that you never could have conceived of having to have an opinion on.

They will wonder what things would have been like if the world only understood you.

Chasing Manhood

It's probably true that every man (and many women) wonders at some point what it is to be a man.  Masculinity.  Testosterone.  Other buzzwords.  Some men think that masculinity is modern rape and pillage.  Some women think so, too.  Some men think that masculinity is being able to be a woman, sometimes.  Some women hope this is not true.  There are those of us who see and acknowledge a quantum leap between biological human men and the things that we are now.  While once we performed outrageous feats of strength and athleticism merely as a daily necessity, we now throw up after running 10 kilometres.  Do you hear what I am saying now?

One of my favorite blogs recently pointed out one of my favorite truisms.  Scientists and the such rebuilt Viking longboats and tried to replicate their, um, adventures.  They used Olympic rowers, but found that it was impossible to conduct the same things that the Vikings are documented to have conducted for hundreds of years.  It was too hard for Olympic rowers (considered the best rowing athletes in the world, apparently) to power Viking long ships.  It was too difficult to navigate with their technology.  It was too cold.  Is this registering?  Some of our best living athletes could not even temporarily perform the task that peoples of old routinely performed.  ROUTINELY.  There is something missing.

Has anyone thought about work?  What does this have to do with the world?  What does this have to do with being men, and being women?  What did your money...save?  Prevent?  Create?  I don't think there are answers to these questions, of course.  This is something that most everyone thinks about.  It is related to the question of masculinity.  I think that, biologically, it is very much related.  People like to think of the differences between men and women as being the differences between "Hunters" and "Gatherers."  I don't think that it is this simple, of course.  Cavewomen, as I will refer to them, probably hunted a ton as well.  They were bigger than modern women.  Most muscular.  More like what modern people consider men to be?  Don't know.  The point is that they were well equipped.  They were strong.  They were vicious and biologically inclined, and they killed.  Is killing the key?  I hope not.  Or, at least, if it is, I hope that nature does not abhor a metaphor.  Men killed too, of course.  Until civilization, men killed for dominance.  Men killed for food.  Men killed for sex.  Dominance.  Food.  Sex.  Not necessarily in this order, I suppose, but definitely IN.  To be a man, it appears that you must care about domination.  You must care about food.  And you must care about sex.  Don't be an idiot.  Nothing I ever say is literal.  Unless, I say it is.

It appears that every important thing any man has ever done that was great enough to be remembered by the collective consciousness was done for food, domination, or sex.

What would you kill for?

I am looking for something to dominate.
I am looking for food.
I am looking for sex.

"There must be something we can eat
Maybe find another lover...
...Try to see it once my way
Everything zen...
...There's no sex in your violence"
-Bush

One More Time, With Feeling

Today was different.  In a physical way, it was different because I began using NOX as well as Creatine.  It was different in a preparedness way, because I brought a gym bag and used a locker.  I don't think that I can really overstate the gym bag.  In my mind, it is extremely important.  I think that the thing that has been stopping me from being successful in this aspect of my life is a lack of ritual.  I used to have this mental calendar, and the gym was not even officially represented on it.  A doctor's appointment would be a red bar.  A work shift would be a long blue bar.  A social outing would be a green bar.  All of these would have white words superimposed on them, explaining what they represented.  However, the gym was different.  It was just a black space.  No words.  Just a blackness.  Sort of like sleep.  In other words, it was an unavoidable certainty in my life on that day for a particular span of time.  It was not a rescheduable (neologism acknowledged) event.  Part of this inevitability was due to a ritualistic process immediately before and after the actual gym-going.  I would wake up, and immediately begin to make my breakfast - 1 cup oatmeal with two scoops of protein - and drink an enormous cup of water.  I would already have a gym bag ready to go with my wrist straps, weight belt, and towel.  My wallet, keys, and phone would get added to that bag.  I'd already be dressed by this time, and be on my way.  This whole process took nearly an hour, but it was an important part of my morning, I think, because it gave me time to prepare mentally for the upcoming workout.  The gym bag would also carry my water bottle for when I used one of those, and my post-workout shaker bottle thing.  Sometimes, I'd bring some pills or whatever I was taking immediately post-workout.  When I used a journal, it went in the bag, too.  This point has to be made by now.

So tonight, when I pulled out the bag, I felt something shift.  The water in the moon's surface melted a little bit and the surface slid slightly to the left.  The tides of the earth's oceans then ebbed and flowed in response, and retook the lands which used to be their floors.  Something in my mind clicked, and I felt stupid.  I felt stupid for not recognizing earlier something so obvious.  You cannot expect to be a serious gym-goer if you do not take going to the gym seriously.  You cannot just throw your keys and wallet and such in your pockets and head over whenever you feel up to it.  It must become a black bar of hellish seriousness.  You cannot take this too seriously, frankly.  You cannot be afraid to sound like a loser or a nerd because you make this a priority. 

Tonight, I have visions of a piano player.  An older man with tearful expression hewn into his medium-level talent which he displays regularly for friends and others in bars and the such.  A man for whom the world has become a sad display of a regrettable truth.  Now, amputate this man's hands.  Remove his only means of expression and connection.  Re-isolate him in a very real way.  Give him two years to realize that the human being is only so adaptable, and that once one loses one's ability to connect with other humans, that ability is truly gone.  It does not shift from music to suddenly being dance.  We all have only one way to say anything important, and it certainly can go away.  After two years, give him his hands back, and watch as he sits back down at the piano to express himself.  The past two years will come out in a soft approach.  Nothing as impressive as he played before, but a certain reminiscence will be undeniable.  A familiar sound will waft through his most used chords and melodies.  His blood will pump again, and his clothing will become cosmic dust.  

Much Ado About Something ... Again

It recently occurred to me that most people appear to get more and more crazy as they get older, but with the exceptions of senility and dementia I think most people stay the same and society just moves away from them over the years.

Also, I wonder if for those people who really DO go a little crazy, do they know it? Do they recognize it happening? I can so easily see myself becoming more and more obsessive and getting to a point of insanity somewhere in the not too far off future. I have shockingly little control. I mean, I have many times more control than the average person (arrogance), but I also have exponentially more to control. In other words, if they have X amount of control to exert over Y amount of whatever, I have 5X control, and Y^10 amount of stuff to control. Does that make sense? I'll do more with what I have than most people who stretch themselves to their absolute maximum. I'll do that, but I'll leave quite a bit undone, and I'll always wonder why I didn't save the world. Or maybe I'll wonder, "When will the world know that I've saved it?"

I'm looking forward to that calm that I so desperately hope comes with certainty of purpose. I mean, I'm certain that I HAVE purpose, but I don't really have any specifics. Great American Novel? Musical Revolution? Medical Breakthrough? Something much, MUCH smaller? I don't know.

I try to comfort myself with the idea that so many great people didn't become great until very late in their lives, and even then only after doing many horrible things or failing tremendously dozens of times before. I haven't really failed YET, but I see the obstacles already piling up and waiting for me. I feel at once that I have both to choose correctly the path to fortify myself (medical school? peace corps? work at a gas station?) and also to let everything just happen. I mean, I am trying my best to convince myself that this really is a matter of destiny and that I will accrue the necessary tools naturally and in that way will find the exact thing that I am to do.

I sometimes run in to other people who speak like this. People who feel such a tremendous tug towards greatness that they've stopped denying it, and stopped hiding it from everyone. Unfortunately, it's clear that most of these people will probably never achieve what they hope for. I hope that is never me. I can't really imagine much else worse.

I need to find myself living somewhere else.

I'm cleaning out my garage

Parents bought me some plastic shelving, which is perfect. They are lightweight but heavy duty enough to hold hundreds upon hundreds of cd cases and old shirts and novelty underwear and whatever else is floating around my garage. It was important that they be lightweight so that they aren't a super bitch to move when our lease is up (my old shelving was super heavy chromed metal and it was awful to move).

I'm cleaning this garage up. It was already pretty bad, then Louis "cleaned" the house and basically just threw everything from the living room and main house randomly into the garage. So it was almost unbearably messy. Shit everywhere. I walked in and literally said, "Oh, my God. Shit everywhere. There's shit everywhere! Damnit! There's shit on the windows! Oh, my God! My house is full of shit! He shit everywhere! Look what he did! He shit all over the walls! There's shit everywhere!" Or something like that. I don't remember EXACTLY what I said. Whatever.

Anyways, so I'm cleaning that shit and finding crazy old stuff. Like pictures of me from back in the day. And of old friends. And other things. Old clothes. Magazines. Books. CDs. I miss some of my friends that I don't get to see much. I realize that there is a chance that I'll leave for Peace Corps while Leslie is off exploring the world in the way that she has chosen to do so. I found a picture of her from her prom when she wore a blue dress with black bow detail stuff and was very tan and Stevie sort of ruined the picture, but he didn't look all that bad honestly. I found pictures from Cancun of myself with my shirt off. I found pictures from Italy of me and Elizabeth and my hair looks like Anthony Kiedis' hair did a few years ago, although the picture predates that stage of his career. Prom pics with Julee and Co. Fun times. We looked good. That one picture that haunts me of me flexing in front of my dad's car after it was painted. To be back there. I hate not being able to stop looking backwards. Saying more than once that things will change is worse than never knowing that they need to in the first place.

Stranger Dazier

I am sitting at a window. A girl who looks like Chelsea is outside playing with her daughter and husband. The small orange trees outside the window move slightly because of the wind, and the flowers move even more. I'm hot. Espresso hits me like a flaming brick, and I just had two shots in a very quick drink. I catch a draft every so often from someone opening a door behind me, and I think that I'm feeling what the trees feel. I've decided that I like the sound of wind through pine trees. It is a nonviolent brushing noise that is like a very large man walking heavily. Intimidating for no reason at all. The steam wand makes a good attempt at impression, and I have to wonder about the serendipity of things. I look at friends often and think, "How can they still not know who I am?" It occurs to me that Leslie does, which is odd. We don't see each other, and I always feel like I'm sort of bothering her at least a little bit, or like she has so many fun friends and I'm always too serious. At the same time though, I really do tell her things. Not that all of my friends have betrayed me (most have not), but I really believe her when she says that she won't tell anyone. Maybe it's because we don't have any overlapping circles; rays pointed in different directions. She is moving to Tucson. I am sad about this for no reason. I don't see her now, even though we live within ten or fifteen miles of each other. I hope that she does well where she's going. Maybe I like that she does what I feel like I cannot do. She moves through her world with blinders on. She is just running straight forward towards nothing at all, not letting heavy people slow her down. She is living largely for her own purposes, which she isn't even sure of. She goes to California. I feel like I'm tied down. Like if I leave, people will die. I am in the crowd on which she is being carried, maybe. If I am rooted in the ground, blowing straight up with all of my breath, she is the person that I'm keeping aloft. The roots are what worry me. They aren't my body. They are the invasive tendrils of beautiful dying things. Little orange trees stand up against gentle winds, but they are in the pots that I put them in. I'm constantly nailing metal hoops around wooden pots. I need to make metal pots for more trees.

You Make Me Want To Puke

Here is a recent post from MODBLOG, one of my favorite blogs:

"Now THAT’S dedication to body modification
Tuesday February 26th, 2008 @ 12:33 PM
Filed under: BMEBoys

Paul writes,

I’ve been working on a weight loss/body sculpting *mod*for a few years now, and I’ve finally hit my goal, going from over 235lbs down to 155lbs. I’ve been self conscious for a long while, but now I’m happy with where I’m at. It’s funny how self hatred can drive you to self love.

It’s one thing to sit under the tattoo needle for a few hours to modify your body, but I think we all too often write off the thousands of hours (and don’t get me started on the pain) it takes to transform ones physique like Paul has.

"

jeremy's blog

http://jeremygillitzer.blogspot.com/

in case you want to hear what he had to say about all sorts of stuff before he was taken by the officials

Jeremy Gillitzer

I read about Jeremy on http://www.queerty.com a while back, and was intrigued because he used to look pretty dope before he got into anorexia and bulimia, and the difference was disturbing. Well, I guess he is being held largely against his will now for treatment (he is obviously not of a right mind). I'm not sure where I stand on this. I'm very big into ownership of the body and the self, and this may be infringing on what I consider to be his rights. But he may be vulnerable to himself, so it's hard to say really. I think it's better that he is there now, but I'm not sure that I like the way that he ended up there.

interview about the whole deal @ http://www.queerty.com/health/jeremys-journey-continues-20071214/1/

BEFORE



AFTER

Strange Strange Time

Sometimes I like to fantasize about not eating. At all. For long periods of time, like political statement long. Just let myself whither away. Muscle. Fat. Skin. Hair. Nails. Teeth. Let it all beg for salvation. But just let it all die. I don't think that I'D die this way, rather, I think I see it as a rebirth. A way to shed all the muscle that reminds me how strong I USED to be, and the skin that reminds me how clear it USED to be, and the fat that reminds me just how fat I AM. A way to put a pile of plates in the ground and cover it in dirt. A way to grow daisies with memories, instead of dreams. Are pain and results directly proportional? They just might be. I'm sure that all things worthwhile are painful, but I'm not yet positive that the most worthwhile are also the most painful. Is there any way else that I could be? I don't think so. So for the ultimate birth, I guess I'd be needing the ultimate death.

"Give me love
Give me love
Give me peace on earth
Give me light
Give me life
Keep me free from birth
Give me hope
Help me cope, with this heavy load
Trying to, touch and reach you with,
heart and soul
O(h)m my Lord...
Please take hold of my hand, that
I might understand you
Won't you please
Oh won't you"

Give Me Love by George Harrison

I sometimes wish that I could flit in and out of people's lives unquestioned. That I was able to be there for a moment, make an impact, and then float away secretly lonely. This seems impossible though, as the more that I make myself emotionally available, the more people realize how few people are willing to do this. This realization is followed usually by an immense request. That's okay, that's why I'm here. But how great would it be to be KNOWN for being absent all the time except when you need it most? Would people demand less, but expect more? I'd love that, I think.

"I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping
Still my guitar gently weeps
I don't know why nobody told you how to unfold your love
I don't know how someone controlled you
They bought and sold you.

I look at the world and I notice it's turning
While my guitar gently weeps
With every mistake we must surely be learning
Still my guitar gently weeps
I don't know how you were diverted
You were perverted too
I don't know how you were inverted
No one alerted you.

I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
Look at you all . . .
Still my guitar gently weeps."

While My Guitar Gently Weeps by George Harrison

I rarely get overwhelmed, but sometimes I feel like giving up. It seems so silly to me that nothing bad happens to ME, but instead to all of the people in my life. Is this an indication that the universe really does revolve around me? I had a decent upbringing, never really wanting much more than I got. I wasn't abused or lied to. I didn't make any major mistakes, and I wasn't the victim of someone else's. I haven't wasted love, and I realize how big that is. So why don't I have cancer? Why aren't I addicted? Why haven't I lost the love of my life? What's the deal? Is this all build up until the major event that will truly destroy me? When it gets to be too much, I like to think that I have a strategy, but it mostly involves trying not to cry, even if I'm sitting alone.

"Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby

Golden slumbers fill your eyes
Smiles awake you when you rise
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby

Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby"

Golden Slumbers by The Beatles

I really like when sitcoms have dramatic episodes. For instance, I love the episodes of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air when Will's dad shows up and gets back into Will's heart, only to break it again at the end. In all honesty, and at the risk of sounding like a geek, this was the episode that proved Will Smith's acting ability. At the end, he breaks down, and everytime I watch it, I still secretly cry. The only thing that has changed since the first time that I saw it is that if I'm alone I'm not ashamed to cry. The series finale of Roseanne is also excellent. In the last season or so, the show gets really weird. They win the lottery, Roseanne/Jackie's mom comes out as a lesbian, Dan has a heart attack, Jackie starts dating the Prince of Moldavia, Dan cheats on Roseanne, Darlene and David's baby is delivered premature and is supposed to die but lives. So anyways, it sounded really like the show had jumped the shark, but the last episode reveals that the season was a creation of the character of Roseanne, who took up writing as a coping strategy after Dan's heart attack, which he actually died from. The rest of the season is basically her way of running away or fantasizing, which is why so much great stuff happened. What really happened is: Jackie is a lesbian, her mother is not, Dan died from his heart attack, Darlene's baby (with Mark, not David) was delivered premature and somehow survived, Becky had gotten together with David, and Roseanne had begun writing. Anyways, in the series finale, when she exposes all of this, she comes to the point of telling about Dan dying and she almost starts crying, and I almost do as well. There was also an earlier episode I think where Dan's dad dies or something, and Dan cries, and it's pretty hard for me to watch as well. Now that I think about it, there was another episode of Fresh Prince that makes me cry, but I can't remember what it was. There was an episode of Scrubs that did as well, but I can't quite remember it well enough at this point to talk about it. Maybe I'll make a post of the things that have made me cry in my life. I can probably remember just about all of them. Here's a teaser: Fresh Prince, Roseanne, Julee, Paul, Magnolia, Armageddon, About Schmidt, Castaway, and some other stuff as well.

"Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,
They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my open mind,
Possessing and caressing me.
Jai guru deva, om,
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes,
They call me on and on across the universe,
Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box
They tumble blindly as they make their way
Across the universe
Jai guru deva, om,
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Sounds of laughter shades of life are ringing
Through my opened ears inciting and inviting me
Limitless undying Love which shines around me like a
million suns, It calls me on and on
Across the universe
Jai guru deva, om,
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva"

Across the Universe by The Beatles

My type's phenotype

Bottom up:

Feet: Just SLIGHTLY larger than average, though not overly bone-filled or lean or sharp.

Calves: Larger than average, though not like fatty at all. I like a little muscle here.

Knees: No sagging.

Quads: Muscular shape, but no separation due to leanness.

Hamstrings: Muscle. Hook. It. Up. One of my favorite places. A nice curve. Mmm, tasty.

Butt: Thick due to muscular foundation, not fat. Cellulite not welcome here.

Waist: Smaller the better.

Stomach: I like to know that there is a six pack hiding under there, but I don't necessarily want to see it all the time. Just the side lines, and the oblique definition (another one of my favorite areas).

Boobs: Traditionally I pursue girls who are flat in the name of athleticism. I am not much of a breast man type (I prefer legs), but my ideal chick is otherwise athletic and lean with C cups. I don't like them too big. Although, Duffy might be edging up on some Ds. Side boob is one of the hottest things ever.

Arms: Um, what the fuck ever, so long as they aren't all flabby or trackmarked.



Here is a graphical representation of what I just described (my perfect female's body):



okay, so since it's apparently not obvious, this specimen is Jessica Biel

Julee II

I realized how little I entered about Julee. I think that this is because it's still a little too soon. I don't like reminiscing too much. It is slightly painful, at least. Instead of giving me an opportunity to put pieces together, it seems to push them farther apart. That's a lame expression, but it works. When I think about her, my brain does the same thing that it does when I think about The Lucky Eight: it induces massive sexual fluid release. Seminal fluid comes pouring out of every pore and covers those delicious chocolate-filled egg shell pirouettes like the delicious melted peanut butter/caramel and toffee bits that make me want to kill myself and holy shit that fuck hell was so good. So anyways, thinking about Julee is like December 2001, when we all WANTED to make terrorists/buildings/airplanes jokes, but felt like maybe it was still a little too soon for polite company to become aware of our truly pathetic selves. Real talk.

"How good it feels to be alive
And strive for your desire
Just cause you can't see your cage
Doesn't mean that you are free"

-Overcome (The Recapitulation) by RX Bandits

Bedrock

Is it better to have a relationship based on mutual reflection and examination of each other's pasts, or on hopeful anticipation of your combined futures? Or is it better to focus on the precise present; to have no recollection nor foresight?

A History in Pictures

So it occurred to me that I'd almost lost all of my previous bodybuilding and powerlifting related pictures when my computer crashed a little while back. So, I'm going to post some of my favorites for posterity.

APRIL 2004







These pictures are from essentially my smallest point. I'd been dieting and working out for about 5 or 6 months I believe.

AUGUST 2004



This was my thickest point, after a Summer of bulking and working out very hardcore.

APRIL 2005







These pictures were probably of my best combined form. I was thick, but also relatively lean. I would love to get back to this point. I was at this point, only a little more muscular, when I broke my ankle the following August.

"Take time with a wounded hand
'Cause it likes to heal, I like to steal
I'm half the man I used to be
This I feel as the dawn
It fades to gray"
Creep - Stone Temple Pilots

Does this make sense?

Girls tend to tell me, as Ashlee recently did, that i'm some sort of otherwise perfect guy. This usually boils down to me being an above average listener, a compassionate confidant, a preternaturally feministic full-on male, and not completely ridiculously hideous. Apparently, my views on sex and intimacy are more female in nature, which most chicks squirm about. However, with all of this in mind, no girls seem to jump at the opportunity to snag me, and none seem to want to set me up with their friends. I have a feeling that it's really the whole "not completely ridiculously hideous" thing, which translates to "eh, he's got a good personality," which then really translates to "he's really not that good looking." All girls will then refute this assessment, but come on now, you can't hide your lying eyes. This is the confusion that is my constant romantic life. All girls tell me constantly how they wish they could find a guy like me, or that they wish their boyfriend was more like me, or that they wish I wasn't seeing anybody (obviously, this happened when Julee and I were still together). Three wishes, no genies; consider it granted. Then why do I sleep alone in this cold bed? Why, now that I'm available, no one comes running, even when I ring that fucking triangle bell? No one says, "You'd be perfect for my friend." All I hear NOW is how I'm not their friend's type, or they're not mine. This is fairly frustrating, of course. Some of my friends try to explain this by saying that their friend isn't good enough for ME. This is bullshit. I don't believe it for a second. I wish that they'd just be honest and be like "listen, if you lose some weight and maybe clear up a little, then I'll consider it, but for now you just aren't cutting it." I can deal with that. It might even convince me to commit to changing, which I still have a few issues with. Stop lying to me.

"I'm ok, I'm alright
I ain't gonna face no defeat
I just gotta get out of this
Prison cell

Some day I'm gonna be free, Lord!

Find me somebody to love
Can anybody find me somebody to love?
Find me somebody to love."

Somebody to Love - Queen

Martyrdom

There are lots in life. Things that we are either destined to be or do, or maybe just things that we BELIEVE we are destined to be or do. Some people think that this equates to having karma to pay, that they are paying off a very bad action from a past life. Anyways, this is not true. This is not what karma is, and this isn't how it works, but that would be a journal in and of itself, so I'll let it go for now. The point though is that we seem to be given certain gifts and lack certain others that sort of shape or niche in the world. For me, I call this my martyrdom. It appears to me that I may live my life as a martyr. That I will constantly be laying myself down so that others may not be rolled over. I donate a good portion of my own energy to help others, sometimes to the exclusion of myself, or the detriment of myself.

This idea sometimes presents itself in a very literal way. If there is a girl that I am really in love with, who likes me, but loves some other guy, I will do all that I can to help her get him. This seems sort of floot mat. This seems pushover. It is not. If I truly believe that the other guy will be better for than me, I will help her achieve that, even if it means my continuing loneliness and lovelessness. If I must enter a state of true suffering for someone else to leave that state, then I will do it. I do not necessarily WANT to, but I feel that I have to. For why else would I be here? My gifts seem to point me in the direction of helping. Do not think that I'm saying we are built perfectly for some thing. No one is. We are all given pain to deal with. I seem to be unable to deal with some of my own problems, even though I can "solve" the same exact situations for other people in my life. I'm not sure what this means. I'm overly fragile when it comes to myself, but I'm indestructible when it comes to others. I am here to be used. I love that about myself. I love that about myself. I love that about myself.

"A man came to the Prophet and said, ‘Can you tell me where I will go if I get martyred?' The Prophet replied, ‘To Paradise.' The man fought till he was martyred."
Bukhari: V5B59N377

Fear and Self Loathing

HISTORY:
I've been overweight my whole life. Not necessarily "fat" (I know this in hindsight only), as I apparently have always carried the weight well and come off as muscular, but overweight and certainly over fat nonetheless. I was 185 (at 5'8") as a freshman in high school, and I had not really ever worked out or anything previously, so it was a loose 185 (size 36 pants). I played football those two years and got up to about 190 or 195 (still size 36) during the sophomore season. I didn't play junior year and stuck around 195 (size 38) or so. I'd lost a lot of muscle because I did not replace the exercise I lost from football. On the first day of senior year (2002), I began a hardcore low carb diet and lost weight like crazy. I dropped 18 pounds in two weeks and eventually landed at around 165 in October or so. I joined the wrestling team and was asked to get down to 152. I did, no problem. I never once had a problem making weight. I came in at 151.5 (size 30) for the entire season (except State Finals, for which I was 153). I did well. I was one of the best wrestlers on the team, though I did poorly at State (8th). After the season, I finished out the semester at around 160 (size 32) or so.

After graduation, I stayed around 160. In August (2003), I joined a gym and made it to 161.5 and 11% body fat, which was my all time best at that point. I continued to bodybuild and powerlift (powerbuilding, essentially, with a bias towards bodybuilding). By the next spring (2004), I was about 170 (size 33), and rather muscular. I spent that Summer literally eating everything possible, and got up to 215 by the next Fall, though I was still more thick and muscular than anything else. In January 2005, I began to diet back down again, and in the Spring of that year I was about 180 and muscular. I spent the summer working at a bike shop, working out, and rock climbing a few times a week. I was about 185 (size 36, sort of loose though) and very muscular (for me) in August, when I fell from a bouldering wall and broke my ankle. I had surgery to repair it and was laid up for a few weeks. I had to withdraw from school, and I spent that semester gaining 40 pounds of fat (225lbs). I had trouble getting back in to the gym, even after I was given the all clear to begin heavy loading again. I hit an all time high of 230 (size 40, tight) that Summer. It was not a solid 230.

I went back to college that August 2006, and began to eat a vegetarian diet. I moved on to campus to accommodate my intense pre med schedule. I had trouble still keeping to a program (diet or physical). I stayed at about 225-228 that semester (size 40). I attended the pre-race convention for the PF Chang's Rock N Roll Marathon 2007 with Julee (who was running it), and was inspired by the energy. I enrolled in a Spring Half Marathon (Whiskey Row in Prescott), and a Summer Full (San Diego Rock N Roll). I had trouble really sticking to a running program because my schedule was even more intense than the semester before it. Spring rolled around and I had to downgrade to the 10k Whiskey Row, and I dropped entirely out of the San Diego race. Disappointing, but I still enjoyed the experience in Whiskey Row, which I ran with my brother.

At that point, I was between 223-225 (size 40). I spent the Summer working and occassionally running and working out. I started the Fall semester at 226. I've spent this semester battling various issues with food, though I've managed to work out and run and hike enough to find myself at 213.5 (size 36) and losing. I am enrolled in the PF Chang's Rock n Roll Half Marathon in January. I was recently measured to be 23.2% body fat at 214.5 lbs.

ETIOLOGY and EFFECTS:
My mother used to tell me to eat less, and would ask me "You don't want to be obese, do you?" However, I was 10 when she asked this. I had no idea what obese really was. I also didn't see the connection between eating and obesity clearly. I found myself feeling ashamed when she said these sorts of things to me, and I responded by eating even more. I spent a lot of time eating or finding ways to eat. I ate crazy things (american cheese and butter on a tortilla with ranch dressing). It got quite out of hand. I found that I was able to eat enormous quantities of food in single sittings, and this "talent" was encouraged by family when we went out to eat.

In high school, my closest ring of male friends referred to me by the nickname "Fat." It was sort of intense to be called just that singular word so often, as a noun. As if it were THE thing that I WAS. I couldn't help but be affected negatively by this, even though I think that I was a fairly strongly willed person.

When I lost so much weight in Senior Year, I was flattered by the apparent circling concern among faculty that I was anorexic. People remarked to me, "You look so good now" and "Your face is built so much differently than I'd expected!" The word "now" from that first statement stands out to me. I take that to mean "You look good NOW, you didn't THEN." I was also able to finally convince Julee to date me, after months and months of trying (I started courting her in February 2002, and she didnt' go out with me until December in the Senior year (2002). EVERYTHING in my life seemed to get better.

I enjoyed bodybuilding very much, and I loved the way that my body looked, although I still felt like I had fat to lose. I was never satisfied, even when my friends told me how lean I was, or how excellent I looked. One girl (Korey, Danette's best friend at the time) even commented once while walking behind me, "Nathan, holy shit, you're so tiny! Your waist is smaller than mine!" But I couldn't hear these things.

When I gained the 40 pounds in the Summer of 2004, it was by eating anything and everything and working out very intensely 4 or 5 times a week. I was at my most muscular, though also maybe my fattest. I was not bothered by this though, as I felt like I was laying the muscular groundwork, and that I could diet the fat off later.

I broke my ankle at the end of the Summer of 2005, when I was probably at my all time most FIT. I was lifting the heaviest weights of my life, cycling to work (15.5 miles one way), rockclimbing, and doing other active things, too. So breaking my ankle was like falling off of a mountain. I had reached this awesome pinnacle of fitness, only to fall (literally) into a depressive inactive state.

I gained weight and gained weight.

Summer of 2006 hit me with 230 pounds and a tight size 40 pants. I was actually probably more like a 42, but I absolutely refused to buy a pair of 42 waist pants. This was the fattest AND least fit point in my life. I was mired in depression, and felt helpless. I struggled with eating issues. In the Fall of 2006, I found that I had to force myself to NOT purge, and that I was exhibiting symptoms of anorexia. I battled with it alone for that entire semester, not really telling anyone who could help me (I told Leslie, but she was limited in her capacity to help.

I've learned about anorexia athletica and hypergymnasia, which are basically when a person uses to exercise to overcompensate for food intake. Generally this is considered when someone figures "Ok, I ate 1000 calories today, so I need to do at least 1000 calories worth of exercise to make sure that I don't gain any weight." I didn't know it at the time, but I see now that back in Spring 2004 I did exactly that. I would say "I want to go out to eat with Julee tonight, and I think that I'm going to eat 750 calories, so I'm going to do 1000 calories worth of cardio before I go to compensate."

I still have issues with disordered eating. Lately, I've been refuting my body's desire to begin anorexic behaviors. Anorexia is either the absence or denial of appetite. I have had to force myself to eat a few times this past semester, and I'm finding that I'm losing weight for no apparent reason. I'm not really dieting, and I've not done very well to stick to an exercise program (even in light of the impending half marathon). However, this semester I have dropped from about 225 to my current 213.5. The past weekend (Thursday through Sunday), I ate poorly and excessively every day. I stepped on the scale on Tuesday just to see what sort of effect that had on me, only to find that I'd lost another half of a pound. I'm excited, but also worried. I'd like to be below 200 when I run the half, if that is possible, but I've decided to not focus on outcome oriented goals. Rather, I'm trying to set lifestyle or behavior goals, in the belief that the outcomes will follow.

I've spoken to Ashlee and Julee about my eating issues. I feel guilty because I never spoke to Julee about it while it was happening. But we are still great friends, so I feel comfortable talking to her about it. Ashlee is my girl, and she understands having issues with image and beauty, so I think that she gets me as far as this is concerned.

I feel ashamed of these things. I feel like I'm far too intelligent and aware to be victim to such silly things. However, I also feel like I can't affect my situation at this point. I'm a car with a full tank of gas in the middle of a faceless desert.

"Pray not for lighter burdens but for stronger backs."
-T. Roosevelt