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Fiction by K.R. Martinak

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Archive for June, 2009

Fat Dude Vs. Food – The Plan!

Posted by Kyle Martinak on June 23, 2009

Here I am, and I am so very, very fat. This is my new weekly blog, which I plan to collect at the end of the summer and call “BLOBblog,” after I’ve lost a few pounds.

Step #1: My name is Kyle, and I really wish I weighed less. I used to wish I looked good, now I’m beyond that. I just want to feel better. I am not gargantuan, or by any means in physical peril (I don’t think), but I wheeze when I go up and down stairs. I huff and puff like a tug boat when I bend over to tie a shoe. And I’m kind of scared. No medical condition, no self-loathing “I’m killing myself with food” nonsense…but I’m frightened that I wouldn’t survive without my precious chocolate and sausage everyday. I’m very much psychologically addicted to food, and that is why I’m calling this “Fat Dude Vs. Food.” My hunger, it isn’t a pet to be scolded…it’s a monster. I must guard this monster’s cage, and when he gets out, I must fight him back in. This is my quest.

Now that I got all that out, where do I start? Should I weigh myself, feel bad, do ten push-ups and call it a day (remembering to celebrate with a Big Mac and a barrell of Coca-Cola)? Naw. The fact is, I have no discipline. I can’t expect myself to gain military-like restraint and vigor. And programs don’t work. Weight Watchers, Slim Fast, and all the other trademarked products of our wanton society only serve to mock me and siphon cash from me.

What I need to do is formulate a plan or two…that’s what Brian Boitano would do. Sorry, I had to type it.

Step #2: Planning to eat less is easy, because I have no money for food. I have less than a thousand dollars to last until September. The problem is, I need to let my monster out for a snack every once in a while, particularly when it is planned out and/or a free meal. Therefore, I’ll have to do what die-hard dieters call “cheating.” I don’t think eating a plate of eggs and bacon is on par with adultery, or card-sharking, or any other form of cheating, so I will do it. Just not often.

I’ll be eating yogurt or fruit in the morning…after walking to the store to get it. This is a return to primitive man working for his food, and that comforts me. Also, it will give me an incentive to exercise daily…my hunger. Here, I’m harnessing my monster, and making him work for me…take that, man-boobs!

For lunch and dinner, I’ll have to count calories, and form habits. I know I can form eating habits…that’s what got me here in the first place. Now I just need some good habits. Salads, nothing fried, nothing fatty (except me). Drink sugar-free fluids only…diet soda, tea, or good old-fashioned water.

As for exercise, I refuse to over-exert myself. The reason I hate exercise is because everyone wants me to push myself right from the start. I say, as a fat person who possesses logic, that’s a bullshit plan. I should begin by just remembering to get off my ass and move daily. After that, we can talk about pushing boundaries.

Step #3: Okay. Here’s hoping I can do this. I know I joke constantly about being a fat guy, but I honestly hate it. I wish I fit into medium-sized clothes, and I wish I felt comfortable at the pool without a shirt. If I joke about my weight, let me. Jokes are my only defense when the monster takes over. They keep me in perspective. But now, after admitting my problem and acknowledging my fight with the monster (Step #1) and writing a battle plan for keeping him at bay (Step #2), I need your help. If you are reading this, I need your help. I need you to keep reading, every week. My updates will be short, and I will try to be amusing, but if I have an audience, I will have incentive to continue with THE PLAN. If I were in Alcoholics Anonymous, you would be my sponsors. The monster, while being an enemy, is my higher power. I can’t defeat him. I can only contain him. I must respect him.

If you will be my sponsor, leave your name…and wish me luck.

Hello, my name is Kyle. And the whole time I wrote this…I wish I had some pudding.


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