I Did It

On January 16, 2012, I weighed 237 pounds. Today, a mere 4 ½ months later, I weigh 177 pounds. I’ve lost 60 pounds, or over 25% of my body weight. I wish I had some secret magic formula to share with you that explains how I did it, but the truth is pretty boring—I exercised a lot, I ate a lot less, and I believed in myself (an iPhone app called “Lose It!” was a huge help, too). The interesting part—to me, anyway—is the effect that my body transformation has had on almost every aspect of my life.

First of all, I feel great. Amazing. Outstanding. Magnificent. Every aspect of my physical being has improved as a result of my weight loss. My digestive system feels better than I can ever remember it feeling (probably because I’m not stuffing it with absurd amounts of carbs and other toxic crap), walking and moving around feel almost effortless, and my sleep is deep and peaceful. (I also tend to get chilly more easily, and because there’s a lot less padding on my formerly ample ass, I’m learning anew how to sit comfortably.)

My appetite has changed as well. I still enjoy sweets and cakes and ice cream and other rich foods, but I enjoy less of them. I’m fairly certain that my stomach capacity has shrunk and that I’m far more in tune with my internal organs, so I’m much better at estimating how much food will make me full—before I’ve actually eaten it. And that’s definitely a good thing. Because, in the past, Big Jim (that’s what I’ve chosen to call the pre-January 16^th me) wouldn’t realize he was full until he’d already eaten more than enough to make him full. Now, when I do get full, I’m more likely to load up on fruits, vegetables, and high-protein foods. Fear not—I promise not to become a macrobiotic food Nazi.

I’m now addicted to physical fitness in a way that would have horrified sixth-grade Jim, who trembled in abject terror when it came time for gym class. If I don’t break a sweat at least once a day, if I’m not cycling 15-20 miles (often more), or if I’m not lifting weights, my body just doesn’t feel right.

I’ve also noticed that people I encounter are much nicer to me—they treat me with more respect, smile at me more often, and are just more pleasant in general. Now, I’m not sure if this happens because I happen to be in a much better mood nowadays and they’re just responding to my increasingly charming demeanor or whether they’re simply treating me better because I’m in better shape. Whatever the reason, it’s proof that our society is biased toward fit, attractive people (shocking, I know).

My transformation has also triggered some introspection. I’m now training myself to think of myself as Fit Jim rather than Big Jim. Perhaps this is my version of a Mid-Life Crisis (hey, it’s a lot more affordable—and healthy—than buying a sports car), but it’s tough, at the age of 47, to alter my perception of myself. Yet I have no choice—I’ve donated all of my now clownishly large old clothes to Goodwill, I’ve purchased an entirely new wardrobe of clothes I never would have been brave enough to wear before January 16, and the mirror (which I seem to be unable to resist nowadays) constantly provides incontrovertible proof that I’m no longer the man I used to be. I’m now a much more fit and attractive—one might even say better—version of myself.

And I worry a bit too—not because I fear I might revert to my old ways and erase all the progress I’ve made. The habit change feels permanent, much like it did when I quit smoking over 10 years ago, and I enjoy the benefits of being fit too much to give them up now that I’ve worked so hard to achieve them. I worry that losing 60 pounds might not be enough. And I’m not alluding to a desire to lose more weight (although an additional 5-10 pounds would be fine). I’m worried that I’ll no longer have any excuses for being single. Full disclosure here—before I lost the weight, my default explanation for why I’ve never really been in love, why I hadn’t met the love of my life, why I’ve never really had a partner who was mad about me…well, I always figured it was because I was a chubby guy who might have been sexy in the abstract was never really physically sexy. Now that my inner sense of sexy is fairly accurately reflected on the outside—and let’s face it, I look DAMN hot now—I’m fresh out of excuses.

And so it’s with some trepidation that I face the future that awaits me as Fit Jim. I am quite excited to meet lots of people who never knew me as Big Jim, and I’m eager to kick off what I’m hoping will be a fun summer with this weekend’s trip to Chicago, where I hope to meet lots of hot men who will fall madly in love with me, throw themselves at my feet, and beat each other to a bloody pulp just for the privilege of my company. But I’ll be happy if just one good man is interested enough to want to get to know me.