I couldn't think of a particularly catchy title unfortunately. 
Decided to make this thread just to explain what i've been doing for the last 10 months or so. As many of you know, i've been rather busy in the gym. I guess i'm typing this, mainly to document my own progress(not a brag, srsly
) and in the hopes it may inspire others who are struggling, not only physically, but mentally. Guys like Emmet, Lurker etc have posted really good Logs with exercise plans, diets etc. This thread/blog/ramble will focus more on the mental feelings and where my mind has been in the past 10 months. I'm fully aware this article will come across as rambly and self-indulgent, but it is not intended that way. Someone who has never been as morbidly obese as I was cannot appreciate how awful such an existence is so perhaps it can give a different perspective to the many people out there trying to clean up their act. If even one person reads this and takes something from it, happy days.
So to start from the beginning. February 2010. For about 3 years now, i've been piling on the weight. As a 17-18 year old, I was quite fit. I played football, I played hurling. I was probably 12-13 stone at a guess. Heck, even in 2007 I was pretty fit;
According to FB, I uploaded that pic in June 2007(I think the pic itself is older, not sure)
So, what happened? How did I end up looking like this? Fast forward to Feb 2010
3 years, lots of junk food, lots of minerals(I drank at least 2-3 2 LITRE bottles of minerals a week), crisps, chocolate, processed crap. Anything you can think of, it went down my festering, miserable mouth. I knew all along what I was doing, that I was shortening my life, heading towards diabetes, heart disease, 46 inch waist jeans, XXXL shirts. Walking into a clothes shop and realising the biggest size they have doesn't fit, not much made me feel more worthless, more useless. Yet I continued to eat. If anything, I ate more.
So what happened? What was it that woke me up? It certainly wasn't everyone I know begging, pleading with me to get my act together. It wasn't anything I watched on TV, read on the Internet, whatever. It was January 1st, 2010. Recovering from the previous nights exploits, where I drank copious amounts of alcohol and feasted on pizza, passed out into the bed at stupid o'clock. 11am the next morning, i'm woken up by an ambulance crew, informing me that they are taking my father to hospital as he's just suffered a major heart attack. My dad is not over-weight, he has always eaten pretty well. Yeah he likes his drink, but certainly not George Best here. My reaction was about what you'd expect. Shock, you know that numb feeling where you sit there like an idiot, wondering what the fuck to say. My dad recovered, he had surgery and is still with us, alive and well. But even this was not the trigger.
No, the trigger was walking down the cardiac unit to visit him. An endlessly long, corridor, a grim corridor. I wanted to be anywhere else in the world but here. My dad's room was right down the very end. Then it happened. Being a curious George, I felt the need to look into every room. And every room I looked in, the person in the bed, hooked into any number of horrible devices, didn't look much older then me. I must have seen six or seven rooms like this. A man in his mid 20s, his life forever changed for the worse. Then it snapped, you know that feeling when you're young? That feeling of invincibility? All of that just evaporated away in that moment. I was struck with fear and terror in that moment. The realisation that this could happen to me, and it could happen a lot sooner then I might expect. It was that moment, walking down that corridor of horrors that it dawned it me. And I decided this was not going to happen to me. No fucking way.
So, I started walking. You need to realise, 3 years of sloth, inactivity and negligence take their toll on onself. I was practically immobile. I could barely walk 200 yards without my knees screaming 'enough!', my back cramping up and just general exhaustion kicking in. So I started small. I walked around the block, I started reading up on diet plans, what I should be eating. And I started eating it. There was no decision to be made, all the crap I had been polluting my body with had to go. And it did. Over time, I got fitter. A walk around the block became 2 walks around the block. Then 3. The the local park was worth tackling. About a month passed. Already I felt better, but every time I looked in the mirror, every time I looked at myself, I still saw a seemingly endless ocean of fat. There were moments when I questioned whether or not I could do this, whether it was worth doing. Then I remembered how I felt in the Cardiac ward, how i've felt anytime i've walked into a clothes shop and nothing fits me. Watching people look at me like i'm some sort of useless freak(I was). There was nothing that would stop me from doing what I had to do.
So I took on the park. And I won. Progress was being made. I had a seemingly limitless supply of energy, I slept better, I felt better. Clothes got looser, and this encouraged me to push on. Then I decided to start going on long walks, 3 months down the line, my daily routine consisted of breakfast, walk to town(4-5 miles), lunch, another shorter walk, dinner and then tv for the night and an early nights sleep. Then I hit the wall, the scales stopped going down. It was time to join a gym. As terrifying as this prospect was, I could not stop now.
The gym. The place where many aspiring fatshedders motivation goes up in flames. Intimidation? Looking around and wondering what the fuck they should do? No plan? 3 good reasons why such a thing happens. And I did feel this way for a long time. I was still resolute, but it felt like I was banging my head off a wall. Then I did some research and I came across a name. Bryan Kavanagh. I read his website, read some articles. This guy seems to know what he's talking about. The entire time, I had people suggesting I see a personal trainer. I always refused, some stupid pig ignorant pride that I wanted to do it 'alone' as if this magnified any stupid sense of accomplishment or some other foolish feeling. While aimlessly working in the gym, my will and resolve did not waver. But I felt directionless. I needed direction. So I went to see Bryan. He put me through the ringer, to this day i've yet to have such a brutal workout, but he gave me direction. He showed me what I needed to do, gave me focus.
And it began to work. The new exercises started to pay off. I felt the weight dropping, I felt myself getting stronger as the weeks went by. I knew what I had to do and I was going to do it. I again, woke up and forgot about any stupid feeling of pride and asked for help. There is no shame in asking for help. So many people falter and refuse to see a professional, and they lose heart and cycle continues. This was not going to happen to me. Any foolish feelings of pride were far outweighed by the need for focus and direction. And those feeling were washed away as I got stronger, I got fitter and the weight began to fall, and fall fast.
And thats where I am today.
The shambling wreck of a human being, drowning in his self-loathing and worthlessness, is well and truly dead. Doing all this has made me feel useful again. I can walk into a clothes shop now and know i'll find something that fits me. I can walk around and not feel completely ashamed of my appearance. Remember that feeling of invincibility I spoke about countless rambling paragraphs ago? It's back.
And it feels fucking brilliant.
Decided to make this thread just to explain what i've been doing for the last 10 months or so. As many of you know, i've been rather busy in the gym. I guess i'm typing this, mainly to document my own progress(not a brag, srsly
) and in the hopes it may inspire others who are struggling, not only physically, but mentally. Guys like Emmet, Lurker etc have posted really good Logs with exercise plans, diets etc. This thread/blog/ramble will focus more on the mental feelings and where my mind has been in the past 10 months. I'm fully aware this article will come across as rambly and self-indulgent, but it is not intended that way. Someone who has never been as morbidly obese as I was cannot appreciate how awful such an existence is so perhaps it can give a different perspective to the many people out there trying to clean up their act. If even one person reads this and takes something from it, happy days.So to start from the beginning. February 2010. For about 3 years now, i've been piling on the weight. As a 17-18 year old, I was quite fit. I played football, I played hurling. I was probably 12-13 stone at a guess. Heck, even in 2007 I was pretty fit;
According to FB, I uploaded that pic in June 2007(I think the pic itself is older, not sure)
So, what happened? How did I end up looking like this? Fast forward to Feb 2010
3 years, lots of junk food, lots of minerals(I drank at least 2-3 2 LITRE bottles of minerals a week), crisps, chocolate, processed crap. Anything you can think of, it went down my festering, miserable mouth. I knew all along what I was doing, that I was shortening my life, heading towards diabetes, heart disease, 46 inch waist jeans, XXXL shirts. Walking into a clothes shop and realising the biggest size they have doesn't fit, not much made me feel more worthless, more useless. Yet I continued to eat. If anything, I ate more.
So what happened? What was it that woke me up? It certainly wasn't everyone I know begging, pleading with me to get my act together. It wasn't anything I watched on TV, read on the Internet, whatever. It was January 1st, 2010. Recovering from the previous nights exploits, where I drank copious amounts of alcohol and feasted on pizza, passed out into the bed at stupid o'clock. 11am the next morning, i'm woken up by an ambulance crew, informing me that they are taking my father to hospital as he's just suffered a major heart attack. My dad is not over-weight, he has always eaten pretty well. Yeah he likes his drink, but certainly not George Best here. My reaction was about what you'd expect. Shock, you know that numb feeling where you sit there like an idiot, wondering what the fuck to say. My dad recovered, he had surgery and is still with us, alive and well. But even this was not the trigger.
No, the trigger was walking down the cardiac unit to visit him. An endlessly long, corridor, a grim corridor. I wanted to be anywhere else in the world but here. My dad's room was right down the very end. Then it happened. Being a curious George, I felt the need to look into every room. And every room I looked in, the person in the bed, hooked into any number of horrible devices, didn't look much older then me. I must have seen six or seven rooms like this. A man in his mid 20s, his life forever changed for the worse. Then it snapped, you know that feeling when you're young? That feeling of invincibility? All of that just evaporated away in that moment. I was struck with fear and terror in that moment. The realisation that this could happen to me, and it could happen a lot sooner then I might expect. It was that moment, walking down that corridor of horrors that it dawned it me. And I decided this was not going to happen to me. No fucking way.
So, I started walking. You need to realise, 3 years of sloth, inactivity and negligence take their toll on onself. I was practically immobile. I could barely walk 200 yards without my knees screaming 'enough!', my back cramping up and just general exhaustion kicking in. So I started small. I walked around the block, I started reading up on diet plans, what I should be eating. And I started eating it. There was no decision to be made, all the crap I had been polluting my body with had to go. And it did. Over time, I got fitter. A walk around the block became 2 walks around the block. Then 3. The the local park was worth tackling. About a month passed. Already I felt better, but every time I looked in the mirror, every time I looked at myself, I still saw a seemingly endless ocean of fat. There were moments when I questioned whether or not I could do this, whether it was worth doing. Then I remembered how I felt in the Cardiac ward, how i've felt anytime i've walked into a clothes shop and nothing fits me. Watching people look at me like i'm some sort of useless freak(I was). There was nothing that would stop me from doing what I had to do.
So I took on the park. And I won. Progress was being made. I had a seemingly limitless supply of energy, I slept better, I felt better. Clothes got looser, and this encouraged me to push on. Then I decided to start going on long walks, 3 months down the line, my daily routine consisted of breakfast, walk to town(4-5 miles), lunch, another shorter walk, dinner and then tv for the night and an early nights sleep. Then I hit the wall, the scales stopped going down. It was time to join a gym. As terrifying as this prospect was, I could not stop now.
The gym. The place where many aspiring fatshedders motivation goes up in flames. Intimidation? Looking around and wondering what the fuck they should do? No plan? 3 good reasons why such a thing happens. And I did feel this way for a long time. I was still resolute, but it felt like I was banging my head off a wall. Then I did some research and I came across a name. Bryan Kavanagh. I read his website, read some articles. This guy seems to know what he's talking about. The entire time, I had people suggesting I see a personal trainer. I always refused, some stupid pig ignorant pride that I wanted to do it 'alone' as if this magnified any stupid sense of accomplishment or some other foolish feeling. While aimlessly working in the gym, my will and resolve did not waver. But I felt directionless. I needed direction. So I went to see Bryan. He put me through the ringer, to this day i've yet to have such a brutal workout, but he gave me direction. He showed me what I needed to do, gave me focus.
And it began to work. The new exercises started to pay off. I felt the weight dropping, I felt myself getting stronger as the weeks went by. I knew what I had to do and I was going to do it. I again, woke up and forgot about any stupid feeling of pride and asked for help. There is no shame in asking for help. So many people falter and refuse to see a professional, and they lose heart and cycle continues. This was not going to happen to me. Any foolish feelings of pride were far outweighed by the need for focus and direction. And those feeling were washed away as I got stronger, I got fitter and the weight began to fall, and fall fast.
And thats where I am today.
The shambling wreck of a human being, drowning in his self-loathing and worthlessness, is well and truly dead. Doing all this has made me feel useful again. I can walk into a clothes shop now and know i'll find something that fits me. I can walk around and not feel completely ashamed of my appearance. Remember that feeling of invincibility I spoke about countless rambling paragraphs ago? It's back.
And it feels fucking brilliant.
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