Strip Poker

In the autumn of 2004, I was 240 pounds. Not a very provocative way to begin, I know, but trust me – it gets better. Now, I know what you’re thinking: “5′10″? 240? Wow, he has a weight problem.” (Of course, you’d probably only be thinking that particular thought if you knew how tall I was, but I digress.) You would be correct in your reaction, however, but I didn’t have nearly as negative a response to my situation. Why? Because – at one point – I was 340 pounds.

(And I was a bit shorter then, too.)

So, as you might imagine, most of the time I was generally thrilled to be 240 pounds. Granted, I fluctuated between 235 and 250, but all I had to do was think about how far I had come, with just a bit of exercise.

Most of the time, that is. On this particular evening, however, this knowledge was insufficient. On this particular evening, we were playing strip poker.

(Incidentally – you’re going to learn a lot about me, as you read this blog. Probably much more than you’d ever really wanted to know about anyone. Trust me, this is just the tip of the iceberg, and it’s generally as painful for me to tell as it is for you to read. Oh, and sorry for the aside – you’ll probably grow to hate these, but that’s the price you pay for such a non-linear method of storytelling/journalism.)

The details of how we decided on such a pastime are unimportant – in fact, to the best of my admittedly hazy recollection, there was only one girl playing, so I’m not sure why we were engaging in the activity in the first place. (I’m not in any way suggesting that me playing a game of strip poker was anything seedier than jovial, stupid fun. I mean, if you think about it, what could be less sexy than sitting around on wooden chairs with a group comprised mostly of guys, sporting beer guts and cans of PBR, in various states of undress? Bah – you could be playing with the cast of Charlie’s Angels and it wouldn’t be enough to make that scenario titillating.)

I apologize again for the digression; there I sat, playing a 2 AM game of strip poker desperately not to lose, lest I be required to show to my friends my great detail of mass. Well, if you know anything about gambling, you’ll know that usually, the more desperate you are correlates inversely with how well you do. Tonight was no exception. It didn’t take long before I was faced with a choice: do I remove my shirt, or my pants?

It’s funny, too; for a heavy guy like myself to even consider strip poker, I would have had to be in some sort of heavily inebriated state. Yet, I could have had a thousand gin and tonics and still been yanked back to clarity when faced with such a decision. Perhaps I should spell out the ramifications of this choice: do I pull off my shirt, and expose my gut, which was more like an innertube than a spare tire? Or do I remove the pants, and chill in the briefs I wore because boxers were so goddamn uncomfortable and awkward?

I actually chose a third option. I slinked off, quitting the game and finding somewhere to lay my head – which actually turned out to be my bed, since this entire ludicrous adventure took place at our home. No one seemed to mind that I was quitting without honoring my final bet; perhaps they knew that I was ashamed or uncomfortable (although I imagine it’s probably more likely that I just wasn’t the object of everyone’s attention – which was fine by me.)

Next morning, most of the remnants of the previous night’s activities were expunged: floors were swept, cards put away, glasses (and, perhaps, vomit) were cleaned. But the game of strip poker weighed heavily on my mind, and by the end of the day I had come to a fundamental realization: although at that time I had probably lost around 100 pounds since my heaviest point in high school, it wasn’t enough. I still wasn’t happy with myself. I exercised frequently, but had stalled on my progress. I needed to do something. I’m going to show you what I did.

In the coming weeks and months, if you’d like, you’ll learn what it’s like to weigh 340 pounds when you’re 16, 260 when you’re 20, 295 when you’re 23, 240 when you’re 25, and, as of December 27th, 2005, 177 when you’re 26. I’ve done it without drastically altering my diet, or getting stomach stapling surgery – although, if you have a fear of exercise you should probably stop reading right now. It isn’t easy, but it can be done. Let’s talk about how.