Matt's Weight Loss Odyssey: Part 4 (Back to Square One)

Last March, I went to the doctor and discovered that, in spite of my steady fast food diet and a total lack of physical activity outside of my normal grocery store job, I weighed the same as I did in high school: 300 pounds.

This encouraged me to keep doing what I was doing: no fast food and no physical activity. I thought that, by virtue of not eating out all the time, I would shed the pounds like crazy.

So when I went to the doctor in May to talk about some anti-depressant alternatives (I was on Zoloft at the time), imagine my surprise when I tipped the scale at 355 pounds.

I didn't believe it. I couldn't believe it. So the nurse weighed me on the digital scale, which corroborated the slide scale's reading.

I was incredulous. Had I gained 50 pounds in two months? No, the nurses told me, the slide scales can be "off" by up to 50 pounds. Which prompted the question, "what the fuck are they good for, then?"

Both the nurse and the doctor shrugged off the egregious nature of the sliding scale as if it were no big deal that I was 50 pounds heavier than I thought.

My visit turned into one long lecture about how I'm in "serious trouble" and I "need to do something before it's too late." I never got around to my original complaint: anti-depressants suck.

I scheduled an appointment for two weeks later. In the mean time, I gave up all my favorite fried foods from the deli, stopped drinking soda and watched my diet a lot more carefully.

It worked: I lost 4 pounds in 2 weeks. I was well on my way.

Right around that time, I graduated from Washington State University Vancouver. By June 1st, I would be out of the grocery store gig and into an all new office life, writing advertising copy for the same company. Instead of busting my ass filling shelves, running around the store, scooping up carts and cashiering, I sat in a plush chair and typed away on my computer all day.

And I'll admit, the job was nice early on. After two or three weeks, I started taking walks down by the Vancouver riverfront or at a local park to make up for the exercise I wasn't getting anymore. All the while, I had a membership at the company's in-house gym, which I used exactly twice at that point.

I did the two-mile walks three or four times each week. As the walks became easier, I stopped really breaking a sweat. I thought I was making progress.

Instead of walking more (or more often), I was content to stick with this routine. And, as a result, I would reward myself for doing such great work! The reward usually consisted of two hot dogs (for $2.22), a bag of Reese's Pieces and a Super Big Gulp Diet Coke (yep, back on the soda bandwagon) from 7-11.

Once or twice, I went by Wendy's for the Crispy Chicken Combo (biggie sized) with a Diet Coke. Somehow, I convinced myself it wasn't fast food: the chicken is healthy! There isn't much mayonnaise! The fries aren't greasy! It's Diet Coke!

Other times, I would go by KFC and buy three of their "snackers" (bun, chicken, lettuce and sweet secret sauce), a side of baked beans/cole slaw/potato wedges and a Diet Pepsi.

Whatever "no fast food" declaration I had made was effectively moot. I guess it's not that bad in moderation, but when it came to fast food, I just couldn't contain myself: I needed it all the time. I lied to friends about my meals. I wasn't eating at a rate of three or four times each day, but I was still eating it five or six times each week, easily.

I woke up one mid-October morning and noticed something I'd never seen before. A second chin. Every time I nodded to myself in the mirror, I felt like tucking the fold underneath my first chin so it wasn't as obvious. It didn't seem to jive with the whole idea that I was losing weight. I wasn't feeling any better. I was starting to buy 4xl shirts.

Something was terribly wrong.

To be continued ...