Fat Guy here.

The year was 1999, and it was one of those lovely autumn days where it wasn’t too cold or too hot; the kind of day where you could wear a sweatshirt in the morning and then tie it around your waist in the evening. (That was the fashion.) I started the day in a good mood. I was much rounder and much heavier then, but I was happy. I didn’t notice my weight. I was content in my ignorance, but the bliss would soon fade once I got to school.

We started doing a lesson about mass. One by one, each student in my class would get on a scale and weigh themselves—something to do with comparing our weight vs. our mass. When I stepped on the scale, and it was far more than any student in the class, that’s when I noticed I had a problem. The other kids noticed too.  

I had never weighed myself before. I never really thought of it as a problem, but when I saw the difference between my weight and the other kids’ weight, I knew something wasn’t right. It didn’t help as I got older either. I started to develop nicknames because of my weight, nicknames that stuck. The one nickname that I decided to own was The Fat Guy.   

I carried that with me for so long, and it wasn’t until a couple of years ago that everything changed. 


A walk up stairs and being winded.

If you are like I was, stairs are your worst enemy. It was so bad that I’d walk further than I needed to find an elevator just to avoid walking up the stairs. Even thinking about it now, every step, lifting my heavy body seven inches twenty, thirty, or, god forbid, more times, makes me dread the out-of-breath feeling I’d have at the top. Not to mention the amount of sweat I’d be producing. After I climbed what seemed like a mountain of a stairwell, everyone would ask if I ran up the stairs. No, no, I didn’t. I slowly walked. I practically dragged myself up those stairs.

I was miserable. I didn’t have much luck with girls either. I once asked a girl out for her to respond, “I don’t date fat guys.” People may think that’s harsh, I did at the time, but I can’t fault her for telling me the truth. Her brutal honesty is one of the reasons why I’m no longer fat. But it’s not the only reason.     

A comment from a good friend.

He was an older man, and I respected him, a war hero who fought in WW2. A good man that at one point in his life turned down a career with the movie studio Paramount back in the early days of film. Instead, he chose to stay with his family and open up a drive-in theater. Now, if you asked him if that was a good decision, he would have said “Hell no!” but I knew, deep down, he was probably glad he was able to experience his life the way he did. The sole reason why I decided to change routines was because of a straightforward thing this man once told me. He said, “Hey Fat Guy (he didn’t really call me fat guy), you’re looking a lot bigger. Have you gained weight?”

That may not seem like much, but I respected this man and his opinion. For him to say something like that stung worse than that girl who rejected me. This wasn’t some girl I barely knew telling me I was fat; this was a well-respected friend. I sat there for a while and just thought to myself, what the hell am I doing?

The Keto Discovery.

I did a lot of reflecting after what the old man told me. Was he right? Am I getting too big? I’ve lived like this for a long time. I didn’t know what it was like to be thinner. Did I really want to give up shotgunning Mountain Dew? 

The conversation of weight loss came up when talking to a friend with whom I used to work. He was a much more fit individual and strong as hell. We had a concession stand at work, and to refill the ice in the soda machine, we had to shovel ice into the top. This guy would lift the entire bucket of ice over his head and dump it in the top of the soda machine. This buck was probably 120 to 150lbs. This guy was built like a brick house.  

During our conversation about weight loss, he told me about this diet that I’d never heard about before. A diet called Keto.  I did some research, read some books, watched some videos, and decided to give it a go.  I spent the next few weeks reading everything I could get my hands on about Keto and fitness. I even signed up for a gym membership. The gym was more expensive than I could afford at the time, but I learned a hell of a lot. The gym provided a personal trainer that taught me the importance of diet, exercise, rest, etc.   

I’ll admit that I struggled to balance social activities, diet, and sleep over the last few years. I wasn’t perfect. I even took a year break and lost all the hard work I had done, but if you want to ride the horse and you fall off, you have to get back up there and try again. 

Over several years, I achieved my goal. I was finally thin. Hopefully, making that old man proud. Unfortunately, I could not thank him in person as he passed away. Still, where ever he is, I am grateful for his honesty.   

What this means to you.

If you’re reading this and you’ve made it this far. I hope you realize that it’s never too late to start, no matter where you are in your weight loss journey. If you’re anything like me, I’d like to share my experiences with you to give you a jump start. Let me be that old man that tells you, “Hey, you’re looking a lot bigger. Have you gained weight?” Hopefully, you enjoyed my story, my journey, and let’s kick start this thing.