My Magic Number

During college I weighed somewhere around the neighborhood of 230-235lbs. And no, I didn't play High School football.

The Navy always said my "ideal" weight was about 164lbs. At the most I should be under 185lbs. I have NEVER hit that mark, not when I entered the Navy, nor even when I finished boot camp where I spent an extra 3 or 4 weeks in their "fat body" division where we exercised more times per day than normal divisions, were not allowed any sweets or sodas, and had to attend a once-per-week nutrition class where they used realistic models to show us what fat was supposed to look like. As I sat and stared at the wriggling, yellow mass, I thought to myself "am I ever going to get out of this "fat body" division?

So the weeks went on, and I dropped a pound here, a pound there, all trying to reach a magical number of 185lbs. so I could rejoin the normal folks and proceed with my military training. The big day came - weigh ins. I took my place on the scale while a pretty older lady watched the balance teeter back and forth... move forward or be cast back into purgatory. 186lbs. There was a moment when the woman looked at me that broke my heart, and it wasn't until later I figured out she looked that way because I had just broken hers. The look of desperation, depression and hopelessness my face portrayed at seeing 186 must have been too much for her to stand. She whispered "That's close enough." to me, and I watched as she wrote my magic number - 185 down on her clipboard. I was free. I was free.

When I graduated boot camp, I was between 186 and 190lbs. When my girlfriend saw me for the first time, she cried because she thought I was ill. Pale, thin, and with sunken-in cheeks, she honestly thought I was a terminal patient. I felt weak, even though I was in the best shape I'd ever been.

It wasn't long after boot camp that I started slowly creeping up and up, away from my magic number, slowly putting back on the lbs I'd lost. Size 36 pants got tight, and I was just about to slip comfortably into a 38 when I got accepted for Officer Candidate school - boot camp for officers. So back I went, marching, drilling, PT for 18 hours a day and when I left, I was around 190lbs. I felt good, I didn't look like I'd been starved to death, and I could easily pass the Physical Fitness Test (PFT).

Of course, good things never seem to last, and three years later I was approaching 220lbs and definitely needed the 38 pants. There was a trade off of sorts, however, because I was strong as an ox - could "max out" the push ups and sit ups requirements for the PFT, although I still only scored "Good" on the 1.5 mile run. I got around the weight requirements by having my body fat percentage taken, or the old "rope 'n choke" as it was commonly called, using a tape measure and a seemingly random chart. With a little bit of gut-sucking and neck expanding, I could make the requirement easily, making it look on paper that I was within standards.

In 2007 I resigned from the Navy, weighing a hefty 225lbs. That was the first of May. As I write this, July 30th, my bathroom scale announced to me that I am the proud owner of 242.5lbs of "fat body". Did I mention I'm 5'9" on a good day?

I often would see morbidly obese people (300-400 or more pounds) and wonder "Why did they let themselves get this way? Didn't they know this would happen?" Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have turned to face the mirror and realized I am standing at that hypothetical point I wondered about. I have gained approx 5 lbs per month since I left the Navy, and if I keep going, I'll weigh 265lbs by Christmas. This is simply unacceptable. I've got a 6 month old son that I won't be able to keep up with, or help if he is in trouble.

So as of today, my new magic number is 200. The Navy's number made me weak and pale, and I'm over 30 now, so I have to allow for a little bit extra. 200 should allow me to feel and look better as well as be strong enough to handle whatever activity my son wants to throw my way. This will not be easy. I am going to document my progress, win or fail here to keep track and make me feel it when I'm starting to give up. While 200 is my magic number, the true test is whether or not I can comfortably fit back into my XL shirts and 38 waist pants. The belt holes never lie, and I'm out to my last one.

Here's to 200. Let's do the work.

Sine Metu