Fit2Fat2Fit (8 page)

Yet the dimmed lights could do only so much. Drew's feelings were probably hurt when I asked for the lights to actually be off, but since I needed the adjustment, he adjusted.

Like many young families, we have various night-lights scattered through our house. We pretend that it's for the kids, to keep them from getting scared in the dark. In reality, it's to help overtired parents avoid tripping over toys, pacifiers, and baby clothes and falling down the stairs.

One evening, Drew and I came to the realization that the physical attraction and connection that had been so strong for us had somehow splintered through this journey. That night, after he had turned off the lights and climbed into bed, I had gently asked him to turn off the night-light, too. That's when I realized that my “close my eyes and think of England” approach to our current sex life wasn't working miracles for our relationship. The spark was barely burning anymore.

Despite my comparison to salmon and peanut butter, to say that this change in our relationship was due only to some added weight and body hair would be unfair to both Drew and me. Yes, he looked different—but the physical changes caused emotional changes in my husband. And
they
made the superficial adjustments hard to bear.

My husband has always been a humble person. The old Drew never flaunted his body or his fitness, even to me. He was more critical of the further “work” he needed to put into his body than he was complimentary of the results he had earned. The new Drew's self-esteem had completely disappeared, taking “humble” to unplumbed depths. It was as if his waistline and confidence were on the same sliding scale.

At first it was bearable, even cute. Drew had started to ask the question I considered reserved for girlfriends and wives looking for some male support: “Does this make me look fat?”

But questions turned to complaints. And the complaining evolved into whining. Some days, I felt like I had three children living in the household. Trying to keep my husband's self-worth above water was now a full-time job. And with the initial lack of followers on his blog discouraging him, my attempts to help him feel better about himself seemed less and less effective.

Drew carried himself more heavily these days. Back in the day, when I dated men who were heavier, or those who hadn't heard of manscaping, they had been comfortable with how their bodies looked. Their weight didn't bring them down.

In contrast, Drew's weight brought both of us down. I loved my husband as much as I ever had, but I wasn't nearly as attracted to him as before. Drew didn't believe in himself anymore, and I was struggling to believe enough for both of us.

When Drew first changed his diet and exercise habits, I believed that we were in for a glorious six months. I was going to party openly and enthusiastically, no longer needing to sneak desserts into the house on a weekly basis.

Maybe it was the fact that my desserts started disappearing before I had a chance to eat a bite. Perhaps the sight of my once-fit husband sporting a gut that would make Santa Claus jealous affected me more than I'd expected. For whatever reason, we started to switch roles. Not only was I backing away from the foodie in me, but I started working out regularly!

The more Drew damaged his body, the more self-conscious I was about what I was doing for mine. I started following his old meal plans, and even pushed myself to compete in local races. I tried to understand what the changes in our marriage had triggered within me.

I wondered if balance was necessary in any relationship, especially as it relates to finding long-lasting health. Our old system had worked, I concluded, because two approaches helped create that delicate equilibrium. Every time I would get a little out of control, Drew would pull me back. And every time he resembled a military general, I turned on my date-night charm.

With the roles reversed, our marriage was now completely out of whack, and I found myself in the role of obsessive health nut. While I couldn't force Drew to eat better, I could ensure that my children and I ate responsibly and got enough exercise.

Is this why so many people fail when battling against being overweight? Perhaps they lack a counterbalance to pull them back on track when things get rough.

It's possible that this is the cause of many personal trainers' inability to understand what it's like to be overweight. They aren't surrounded by the same temptations, and don't understand what it's like to be comfortably sedentary.

My birthday is three days removed from that of our two-year-old.

Our joint party was held at a local activity center. We had upwards of 25 people on the way, and the amount of coordination for what seemed like a simple party was absolutely overwhelming. The day started out simply—getting the kids ready to go, making sure that we had our reservation, the cake, presents, and plans.

Trying to coordinate multiple children in a crowded place comes with challenges. Even as you're hosting, you don't want to miss a minute of your child's day.

In the joint birthday world, you're also opening presents yourself, thanking everyone for taking time out of their day, and trying to enjoy yourself. And at this activity center, I was also on point for teaching my daughter how to roller-skate, helping her up after face-plants in the bounce house, and teaching her some skills in the arcade.

Drew, on the other hand, got winded easily and thus chose to avoid the various activities available. In fact, every time I looked over at Drew, I saw him eating. I didn't know whether to be annoyed or jealous.

I woke up the next day feeling like I hadn't slept at all. Standing in the kitchen, attempting to get the household moving for the day, I tried to explain my exhaustion to my husband. His answer was what had recently become the norm—a competition to show who was the more exhausted/tired/overworked one. Drew complained that he hadn't slept either and that just walking up the stairs made him tired, let alone keeping the party together the day before.

This triggered my meltdown. It had probably been coming for months. Drew and I had fought more in these last six months than we had in our entire six-year marriage. But at some point, everyone reaches a limit.

I told my husband that if I didn't keep reminding myself this journey was temporary, I'd be having serious thoughts about getting a divorce attorney. Yes, it was just a marital fight, but I was ranting at a person I didn't recognize, let alone like very much. This fight, our low point, cast a harsh light on the true effects this journey was having on our marriage.

Men are simple creatures; they're convinced that the key to being “desirable” is to be fit, handsome, or romantic. This is ironic to me. Particularly once you're married, isn't the physical attraction kind of a given?

What married women will tell you—their unwritten secret—is that there's nothing sexier than a man doing the dishes. And this is what was so attractive and endearing about the old Drew. He was always willing to go the extra mile, and not just on the treadmill. He claimed his share of “night shifts” with the kids and helped around the house every day.

This is what I said to everyone who asked me whether I was still attracted to my husband, without his washboard stomach. In truth, I would have preferred an actual washboard. Who was this man without self-esteem who seemed content to have the world revolve around his journey? And what had he done with my helpful and willing husband?

And while it was easy to feel fearful when doctors or friends mentioned the potential harm Drew was doing to his body, I was more scared of the impact on our marriage.

Later, I came to a realization, both about the journey and about my husband. In the end, Drew wasn't a different person at all. It's not like a few doughnuts had caused him to care less about our household, our children, or me. He simply
couldn't
translate his caring into action.

The effect of added weight goes well beyond needing marital reassurance or extra-large sweat pants. Weight gain changes a person's desire to do the things many take for granted, like playing with their kids, getting off the couch, or being motivated to help out around the house. There's a barrier that's not easy to see when you're healthy and fit—a physical and emotional barrier, the combination of which can stop even those with the best intentions from thriving.

Fit2Fat2Fit seemed like such an innocent idea when first proposed. I liked the thought that my husband could reach an audience so much greater than he could as a personal trainer. And I loved the fact that he decided to take a journey that would provide him deeper insight into himself and the most important aspects of his life.

But I was naive in thinking that the avenue to that goal would be a few extra pounds. Just six months later, my date nights were mundane, and I found that I was dealing with more fights and turmoil than I'd bargained for.

This was not just about the cost of a radical lifestyle change anymore. Being overweight is never a purely personal issue. It's not a struggle that one self-contains. It affects everyone, in one way or another.

I waited with longing for the old Drew to come back.

T
he reality of the situation had started to hit me the night before, but only now, peering into the garbage can, did I realize what I had just given up.

Don't get me wrong. I was excited—I had started dreaming of this phase. I dreamed about how good it would feel to get back to my healthy lifestyle, back to “me.”

Last night's activities had been Lynn's idea. She thought that it would be cathartic to have an official event where I went through the pantry, refrigerator, and various hiding places to get rid of the processed and unhealthy foods that had accumulated in our house.

Some things were easy to part with: I was quite sure that I wouldn't miss the SpaghettiOs or the little piles of “meatballs” hidden at the bottom of the can. And while they had been tasty, I could do without the peanut butter sandwiches (on white bread) and energy drinks that had accompanied me during lengthy car rides to and from work.

But I was having a hard time letting two items go. What would I be without my daily bowls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch? How could I function without my liter of Mountain Dew? And why did I let myself get to the point where I was going to miss these food items as if they were my third and fourth children?

Yet under the watchful eye of my wife, that's what I did. It was the loss of those two items that brought me to stare longingly into the garbage can on a freezing November morning. Clearly the catharsis of my wife's plan the previous evening hadn't been as effective as we had hoped it would be.

This day was also a celebration, I reminded myself as I closed the lid of the garbage can. I was going to get back to taking care of my body and treating it right. It was time to get healthy, this time from the starting point of being overweight.

The day seemed to go well early on. I did, after all, finally get to make and enjoy my signature spinach shake once again. This little concoction was my idea of heaven in a cup, designed to start the day off right and keep the hunger pangs away.

Ironically, I also was tasked with coaching in the championship game of the community Little League football team I helped with. What a perfect way to get back into the life of fitness—watching Mini-Me's battling it out on the frozen tundra.

Yet the day slowly became a never-ending parade of reminders of what had been easier times—when I was gaining weight on purpose.

It started when I was running on the field with my team. I didn't make it to the middle of the football field before I was winded. Clearly, just because I decided to be fit didn't mean that my heart, lungs, and body were immediately up to the challenge.

At halftime, one of the kids' moms offered me a steaming cup of hot chocolate. Out of reflex I reached for the cup and was moments away from drinking the delicious treat in one gulp.

The same mom asked, “Isn't this the first day of your Fat2Fit stage?”

I slowly lowered the cup of hot chocolate from my lips, embarrassed and annoyed. First, how could I have nearly slipped just hours in? Second, was she toying with me? Offering a cup of pure chocolate just to see if I'd fold under the pressure?

Next were the hunger pangs that I'd been sure my spinach shake would keep at bay. I wasn't even into the fourth quarter of the game when I could hear and feel my growling stomach. Worse yet, I knew that the snacks awaiting me had nothing to do with a cartoon character baking miniature pieces of cinnamon cereal, and had everything to do with furry greens and crunchy nuts.

The hunger was manageable, in part because I was somewhat prepared; I'd anticipated that problem as I got ready for my big day. But the headaches were a different story. Shortly after we lost the game (perhaps I would have been better as a self-indulging overweight coach?), the pounding began.

With each twinge of pain, the vision of my daily Mountain Dew floated before my eyes. It was calling to me—and probably mocking me—telling me that my body needed the caffeine, required the carbonation. I had never lived through drug-induced withdrawal, but this was the effect of a caffeine headache, and it wasn't pretty.