It sucks being the only fat man in San Francisco. I was there for work last week — squeezed into a conference hotel with a thousand skinny fucks.
A bunch of vegans and vegetarians with food allergies surrounded me. Even in the few moments when I escaped the hotel, the streets were packed, the restaurants and bars had these tiny chairs and tables stacked on each other like legos.
It was like being in the middle seat on a cheap flight for 5 days straight. I pulled in my shoulders at all times. I turned sideways to get through every door. I couldn’t take a deep breath for a week.
You would think these damn people would look up, see a bear-like creature and get the fuck out of the way. Nope, not a one of them. Like a bunch of junior high kids who don’t realize they have grown, they pushed into these squeezes between people and dared to “touch” me.
Jesus, don’t fucking touch me.
Day two, the strangest thing started happening. I believe my body started to shrink to fit its new environment.
The Bear had ironed 2 pairs of dress pants, because it’s too embarassing for her when I do it. I brought 4 dress shirts. That’s right, white male privilege — we can reuse dress pants. They all look the same anyway.
Don’t be a dumbass and spill anything on your dark blue (or black or whatever the fuck color they are) pants, and you can wear them again. HA!
If I wasn’t married, I’d probably try the same with underwear. But when I get home, she will count the used pairs. Yep, it’s too bad ladies, but this man is already taken.
Day two, the pants were looser. I had to tighten the belt a full notch. The shirt didn’t squeeze my chest. I could almost breathe in that half monkey suit. Yep, fuck it, I’m not wearing the tie and the jacket to go the full monkey…
Day three, even the clean underwear was “looser.” I went down another notch on the belt. And I had to cinch the pants just a little bit to keep them up. I could half folded over an inch if I wanted.
I’ve lost weight fast before — crazy ass zone diet or just having the flu for 3 days, but this is the most I “felt” weight loss. In San Fran, I was eating when I had the chance. I was skipping my trips to the gym or night-time bike rides. So I wasn’t getting any exercise.
I had been “doing better”, the past couple of weeks and eating less shit that will eventually kill me. Before I got on the plane, I was pretty pissed off that my efforts for the past month had ended in a stalemate.
Could it be the latent results of my muted form of self-discipline? Could it be that just standing around most of the day and god forbid talking to new people at this venue be that much of a calorie burn?
Maybe. But I think it’s more likely my body was just trying to get the fuck out of everyone’s way. You don’t bump into as many people with a few less inches of blubber.
After four days, I got back on the plane and came back to Arizona. Checked the scale and had actually lost 15 pounds compared to the day I left…
I easily have 5-10 pound weight swings in a week — just depending on what I eat and how much I cycle. But 15 pounds in 5 days without trying was a personal record.
Shit, could this be cancer? Don’t people with cancer have unexplained weight loss?
Ahhh don’t worry Fat Biker fans, the pendulum swung back — away from the crowds and skinny fucks, I grilled burgers and hot dogs in the backyard and had enough space to expand. I quickly found those lost pounds by Easter supper with the Savages.