Metamorphosis

Documenting Change

Beginnings

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Photo by Joe Green on Unsplash

Change can be scary or exhilarating; large or small; good or devastating. Viewed from outside of the process, changes may seem incremental while on the inside it can be felt as sudden, a blinding epiphany bursting through one’s defenses while it has been happening for a while.

The change I will be writing about can be like all of the above because it involves both the outer appearance and the unseen inward things that pop like a flashbulb, illuminating in its strobe-like blast the changes as they occur.

My journey as an obese person hits many of the high and low points involved in being an “other”, that person who doesn’t quite fit into the melding of society. We, as obese citizens, are more aware of the fat-shaming. Somewhat like racial discrimination, it’s not a new thing that we’ve discovered this year, the new flavor. No, discrimination based on size also has institutional roots, ingrained societal notions, and attitudes that most perpetrators don’t acknowledge or even recognize. Perhaps, and worse, they excuse their comments, perceptions, and actions as being “real” or “truthful”. Don’t believe it? What do you think of when you hear the word “fat”? Do you envision some “poor slob” who weighs so much s/he cannot get out of the house or even leave the bed on their own? How about the obese person you encounter on the plane or bus trying to get into a seat? Did you know that plaid is the official camouflage for obese men? Check out the clothing racks.

I began life designated as an underweight baby, the doctor urged my mom to fatten me up a bit. She did her job and I joined in with reckless abandon. I have never known myself as other than overweight, husky, fat; except briefly in the Air Force when I caught the bug for running and weightlifting. I cycled for fun, I ate low to no carbs before it was a thing. I lost sixty pounds in the first eight weeks in basic training, and running became an unenjoyable but necessary lifestyle; weightlifting came a bit later and I liked it very much. Unfortunately, I cured that disorder upon separation from the military and took up weight-gaining along with a sedentary lifestyle. It was easy to excuse because the effects were slow to take place, I began college which called for a fair amount of walking, but the fat continued to pack on because my diet had degenerated into a free-for-all. Ever hear the joke, “Seafood? Yeah, when I see food I eat it”? I lived that.

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I once was denied a job in the company I worked for, after commendations for a well-run lab, because I was “too fat” to perform that duty according to the hiring manager. Over time, size and lifestyle changed me into an unwieldy person, my balance was affected, and falling in public, which was intensely embarrassing. Then Type 2 diabetes entered the fray; the diagnosis, recommendations, and lifestyle. Scared and ashamed, I went on an obscene weight loss program at a local clinic where my daily intake was limited to six hundred (600!) calories per day. After two weeks, this was increased to nine hundred (yes, 900) calories per day with the blessed addition of one diet soda per day. From a daily intake I would approximate was in the 2,500 to 3,000 calories per day, I dropped to three-tenths of that. No wonder the weight fell off even though any physical exercise was counseled against. Too similar to cruel and inhumane punishment, I suppose.

If the numbers on the scale were the only score kept, then that plan was extremely effective: I lost seventy-five pounds in twelve weeks! My hair started to fall out, as well and that was such an unwelcome development, I got off of that ride immediately. After a couple of years of maintaining that final weight, the pounds started piling on yet again. Weightlifting again came to my rescue, and I slipped back down to that same final weight after the starving diet and maintained that for several years.

As I turned 48 years old, many changes happened nearly at once exploding my still-largely sedentary life. My employer of more than ten years went under. A hasty move to another company in the same business went beyond sour, an old friend came back into my life, and I had an epiphany to become a nurse. But, academic indiscretions in my youth came back to haunt me. Having once expressed a desire to be an engineer, I enrolled at the University of South Carolina (USC). Over time, poor test performances and missed classes at the on-campus pub contributed to that egregious lack of success, the accompanying lowered GPR, and the subsequent flight to friendlier educational environs. Eventually, the realization of my behavior as the root of my spectacular crash-and-burn blossomed in my head and I went on to earn a Bachelor of Arts Degree in Interdisciplinary Studies from the University of South Carolina, scoring high grades.

However, when the folks at The University of North Carolina-Charlotte reviewed my application to the upper level of nursing studies, whatever I had done since did not cover the sins of my wastrel years at USC. I had attended the UNC-C nursing program for two years with high grades; they got lumped in with every academic success and failure since high school, resulting in an unacceptable GPR. My old friend relationship flourished into love and we married. She lived and worked in Lexington, South Carolina, so I decamped there, enrolled in the nursing program at my alma mater, and successfully navigated that set of studies. My achievement was recognized when I was inducted into the nursing honor society, Sigma Theta Tau.

After nursing school, happily married and working in the Emergency Room of my local veteran’s hospital, the weight crept back on, untreated diabetes finally resulted in a stroke (happily, mild; if you got to have a stroke, this is the one you want. I don’t recommend it, mind you). Returning to work after eight weeks of recovery, it was only a few months before a sleep disorder, obstructive apnea, was diagnosed. I did not want to wear a Continuous Positive Airway Pressure (CPAP) mask, so it would take me several years to acquiesce. Surely, I’ve mentioned how hard-headed I am; I’d put a Missouri mule to shame!

The decline continued with cataract surgery on both eyes and finding my propensity to exhibit atrial fibrillation (afib) before I fully grasped the danger of my lifestyle. Upon retirement early in 2019, I continued to do nothing.

The big realization was that there was no way that either my spouse or I would be able to keep up with the grandchildren on a family trip that had been planned for a year! Time was short, what could we do?

Enter OPEX, The Last Gym You Will Ever Join

This gym came recommended to us by two friends from our church. One had worked with the owner, Scott Brewster, at a different place, the other had met him as the owner of his OPEX facility. We decided to at least check it out, talk with people there and make our evaluation.

After reviewing their philosophy on exercise, food, and the general lifestyle of an OPEX trainee, we joined. The experience has been great and we are receiving the personal coaching that we both need to stick with it and begin to see changes in ourselves. Make no mistake, after decades of sedentary living, the weightlifting and aerobic routines rudely awakened long-dormant muscles. We are both nurses and studied anatomy in school, we were sore in places we had forgotten had any muscles!

Yet, we felt so much better all-around by the end of the first week. Our bodies had craved exercise, we reasoned, and now that we were satisfying that craving, our bodies thanked us.

This is the first in a series about these changes, what is going on within, and why it is happening. Stay with me and witness this metamorphosis as it develops.