FBD9

The Fat Bloke Diaries

Episode Nine – Reasonings

I thought that this week I’d talk about why I have suddenly, at the age of 43, decided to become somewhat less of a fat bloke. I know in Episode One I spoke about my partner’s unromantic bedtime “oomph”, and how it made me realise that my weight needed attention, but I still did nothing about it except feel sorry for myself and buy some tracksuit bottoms. For some time they kept the bottom of the wardrobe warm, but still had the labels attached. It would take another, even more embarrassing catalyst.

I could trot out the usual health related reasons, like I don’t want my partner to nurse me (or worse) after an early heart attack, how I’d still like to have functioning knees and hips by the time I reach 60, or that I don’t want to lose a much loved extremity to diabetes. These would be truthful, but they’re not the main reason.

There’s the silly answer, which is that I got stuck in the bath and found it difficult to heave my body out of the tub as the water did its best to drain away around me. I don’t think my bathroom carpet will ever recover from the mini-tsunami that burst forth when I finally dislodged myself. Again, this is true, but a secondary motive.

The real reason that I decided to get fitter and shift some weight is that Marvel comics’ green goliath, The Incredible Hulk, told me to. I know it sounds ridiculous, but stay with me on this one, OK?

It happened while I was in Florida, at Universal Studios’ ‘Islands of Adventure’ theme park to be precise. It’s one of the rollercoaster capitals of the world, if you like that kind of thing. As I quite do, I was really looking forwards to having my stomach thrown in fourteen directions at once (and being upside down for much of the aforesaid throwing) on one of the world’s finest coasters. It’s named after Bruce Banner’s emerald-skinned alter-ego, and I was as excited as an eleven year old at her first X-Factor Live! gig as I stood in line to ride.

Eventually I got to the front of the queue and climbed into the seat. It was a little snug, but I squeezed into the plastic wraparound bucket. The safety harness descended and… and it couldn’t fasten. I was too large.

What happened next isn’t easy to write. While it didn’t quite involve a warm spatula and a bucket of goose grease, it might as well have done. I had to be unwedged in a most undignified way by a team of young ride workers who made a phenomenal job of failing to hide their smirks as they manhandled me into an upright position. I had to wait forlornly at one side like a naughty boy on the naughty step until one of the ‘special’ seats for ‘special’ people came around. For ‘special’ read ‘fat in the way that only Americans can be’. The oversized bucket that they lowered me into looked absolutely immense, but sadly it hardly felt roomy at all. I still rode, but the shame spoiled my enjoyment. I had officially been branded a lard-arse and the world had seen it.

It may have taken a big green coaster to point out my dietary sins, but redemption will soon be at hand. I’m going back to Florida in May. Shallow I may be, but I can’t wait to let the Hulk hurl me around once again. And this time I’m determined to be riding in a ‘normal’ person’s seat.

So that’s why I’m in my current situation, churning tens of kilometres every week on my bike, and working with my Wii Fit balance board like someone will snatch it and gift-wrap it for their kids if I leave it un-stepped upon for more than ten minutes. Then there are the push-ups and sit-ups, the walks and the weights too. I’m still far too conscious of my size to be seen in a gym or pool, but I can feel a definite improvement within myself. I know that I’ve experienced a significant weight loss now, but the true measure of success is much more about how I feel inside.

With the help of ‘Derek’ – the devil’s representative on Earth who is my Wii Fit’s onscreen trainer – I’m starting to work on my core muscles. I’m not sure exactly where they are, but they’re apparently hidden under the wobbly bits around my middle. Apparently if I build these muscles up they’ll start to poke through the belly blubber or maybe even push it off. Not in one big lump, that would be silly, gross, and would leave a nasty stain on my shirt, but perhaps in little bubbly nodules that I can flick at people on the bus?

I’ve got to the point now where I can see a time in the future – a long, long way in the future admittedly – that I could become a shadow of my former self. Maybe then I’ll have to rename these personal logs. “The Slightly Stocky Shauny Stories”? “The Big Boned Bloke Blogs”? “The Less Lardy Lad’s Ledgers”?

I’ll have to give that one further thought, but I don’t think this column’s title is going to contravene the Trades Descriptions Act for quite a while yet.

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