Weight Control Problem VIII

Since junior varsity swimming ended, I’ve been going to the gym regularly. I’ve lost a few pounds, gotten a little stronger and feel better about myself. I’ve gotten my weight down to my previous heaviest from last year, which is sadly an accomplishment. My big boy problems are still quite persistent: shirts are too tight and the ass-seams in my pants are still ripping – even my new pants. On a good note, I’ve been eating less fast food and following Life’s Highway’s suggestion of subtracting one fatty thing from what I normally eat (i.e. no sour cream on tacos, no French fries, etc.).

My new problem is that my thighs chafe when I run. While I don’t run far, I’m run-walking for 45 minutes. Between my stupid Shuffle ear buds falling out of my ears and my gut hitting the stop button on the treadmill, I don’t need an uncomfortable stinging between my legs to boot. (By the way, the second to newest iPod Shuffle is the biggest scam in the world. The only way it works is if you have THEIR headphones… er… earbuds. Also, what’s the difference between the old Shuffle and this one? The shape is the only difference. I hope Apple starts reading my blog, so they know how annoyed I am with them.) It’s like the cosmos are plotting against me by throwing every obstacle known to man at me. Next thing you know, I’ll have to run on a treadmill with no TV playing what I want to watch or, even worse, have to run next to that guy that always talks to me.

As I was having a beer and watching the football games two weekends ago, it crossed my mind: football players have big legs. How do they avoiding this annoyance? And then it hit me: eureka! Their pants are slippery! The next day I went to the gym eager to try out my new slippery plan. I applied a copious amount of lotion between my thighs to create the needed viscosity. It worked for a minute or two but quickly became slightly uncomfortable and then really uncomfortable. It felt like the lotion was creeping into off limit crevasses. So I went home and actually looked it up on the internet. Apparently, people wear things called compression shorts when they run. Compression shorts became my new obsession. I researched and researched and found the right pair. When I put them on, it felt like a whole new, funky world had just been opened up to me. My legs were touching but they slid right by each other as I ran – as if in perfect harmony. Some people call them bicycle shorts, but my wife is just immature. Now instead of the uncomfortable pain of chafing, my legs just make a smooth sound like a spandex grasshopper preparing to make love.

My compressor shorts are most prized possession now, and I treat them delicately. I refuse to wash and dry them with my inferior other clothes, so I wash them separately. My wife has graciously showed me how she washes her brassieres (wow, spelled that right on the first try – everything has been coming up Johnny lately!). Now, when I go to bed, I create nice, little hot bath for my compressor shorts in the sink and wash them with the tenderness of a mother using special bra soap.

Weight Control Problem VII

It is official: I’m addicted to fast food. Well, I’m not addicted, but I really, really like fast food. I’m not a get-a-double-quarter-pounder-and-eat-it-on-the-toilet-so-my-wife-won’t-see type of addict. However, one time, I went to Wendy’s on the way home from work and ate a full meal. Two hours later, I went out to eat with my wife and ate again so I wouldn’t have to admit to her that I already ate some fast food that day. I deliberately didn’t watch or learn anything about Super Size Me or Fast Food Nation when they came out because I wasn’t ready to end my love affair with fast food. Sadly for me, times have changed. When I was younger, going to the buffet at Long John Silver’s was cute (right?). It didn’t matter because I would go lift weights for 2 hours or play basketball for four hours. Now, I’m lucky if I can lift and run for an hour. Well, I’m getting to fat. My clothes are too tight, and I’ve gotten to the point when I suck in my belly, it only upgrades from hamburger eating contest winner to French fry eating contest winner. My fingers are getting too chubby to even type. Most of my sentences end up looking like this: I casn’t dop thisd anmynmore. Youi don’ty knopw hjow freustyartiing iot is tyo go bafck anjd haweve tro rethwrite evfbgerything conssdtantly.

In all honesty, somewhere in my mind there has always been this feeling of guilt with eating fast food. It makes me feel like a fat, disgusting bastard, like I have ketchup and horseradish stains on my shirt, crumbs in the corners of my lips and French fry grease in my hair. It’s time for me to embrace those feelings and become disgusted with myself! No longer will I eat fast food twice in one day! No more will I order extra food so I can eat it on the way home! No more will I get annoyed and sarcastic when the person behind the counter asks if I want to up size my combo! I will order the small diet soda instead of opting for the jumbo chocolate milkshake! No more will I stop off for a pre-meal snack! And, I will… (Gulp)… cook food at home… food that’s… good for me. Just writing this is making my heart beat faster. I wonder if that is because of the cholesterol clogging my veins or the excitement of my new found fervor – only time will tell!

Just to let you know, I am hovering around 248 right now. To put that in perspective, Ray Lewis of the Baltimore Ravens is my weight and height. I am no Ray Lewis.

 I’m starting to lean more towards Adam Richman from Man vs. Food.

I’m not going to turn this into a weight loss blog because that’s not what I want to do. Gaining weight : funny :: losing weight : not funny. Uh, does anyone know where Haratio Sanz is now that he lost weight? Anyways, I’m just getting this out there for myself. I will start a new page of my blog that will have brief weight and exercise updates. At the very least, it will be a journal for me (almost wrote diary… tee-hee!).

Weight Control Problem VI

I have a recurring problem that keeps me up almost every night: my boxers are too tight around my legs. Now, literally every article of clothing I wear squeezes me. I’m not normally claustrophobic, but I’m starting develop a case of it. I could be in an open field and feel closed in because of my stupid, tight clothes. To make matters worse, I roll around quite a bit when I sleep which creates even tighter boxers. I have to reemphasize that they are tight around my legs and not my belly because I’m sure you’re probably thinking, why doesn’t he just buy bigger undies? The problem with bigger boxers is they wouldn’t fit and would dip down below my waist. That would be a whole new can of worms. I could imagine going through my day and feeling my boxers inch down my body. I would constantly be tugging at them to keep them up, and eventually, I would need underwear suspenders. Then it’s like, what the hell am I doing? 

For the past 3 weeks, I’ve been cutting a 2 inch or so slit on the sides of my boxers before bed. It gives me a ton of more room to maneuver in my sleep. My comfort level has gone up 10 fold! I feel free and easy, and more importantly for the rest of you, I don’t feel like running amuck through the streets of downtown Houston, climbing buildings, and knocking machine gun shooting biplanes to the ground. Boxers with a slit in the side are my gorilla tranquillizer. 

A problem has occurred with this once viable solution. When I drop my keys or something and squat down to pick them up, I hear a riiiiip. Work legs at the gym. Riiiiip. Do a karate kick. Riiiiip. Do a broad jump over the hot dog wiener juice I spilled on the ground. Riiiiip. All of my boxers have turned into loincloths! Almost every pair is torn up to the elastic waist on both sides. Is this where things have gotten to in my life? The only way for me to be comfortable is to wear a loincloth for underwear. No, I mustn’t get down; I need to stay positive. Loincloths are cool. I’m freakin’ Shaka Zulu! *After reading about him on Wikipedia, it appears he wore more of a mini-skirt. I’m freakin’ Tarzan, maybe. I don’t know.

Seriously, let’s think about it. What is the point of underwear for men? Obviously, so your wiener doesn’t get caught in the zipper. Like, that’s the number one reason to wear underwear. Also, sometimes there is an errant drip that just doesn’t want to come out at the proper time (By the way, I’m sorry women: this happens. It’s a tad gross but it’s true. If you’re a dude and you’re reading this thinking, Oh my word! That never happens to me – you’re a liar). Anyways, undies wave their finger at that lone droplet and say, “Uh-uh! You ain’t getting on these pants.” Regardless, my loincloth serves those purposes plus isn’t a hindrance to the range of motion of my legs. The loincloth is superior!

 So if I ever get to a point where I’m running for office and a youth asks me the infamous boxers or briefs question a la Bill Clinton, I can look that young American in the eye and say, “Loincloth,” and then beat my chest like Tarzan or Shaka Zulu or a Sumo wrestler or whatever.

*Update: My brother came up with a better idea in my comments section. Check out his link.

Weight Control Problem V

Pants were a problem before, and now, my shirts are taking their shot. I’m pushing the point where XL isn’t big enough anymore. Could I really be an XXL? I have short arms though. I can barely scratch the back of my head. My arms just come to the end of my sleeves right now. I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I look similar to Frankenstein’s monster. I’m a collection of body parts that shouldn’t be together. J-Lo’s ass. The T-Rex’s (the bad guy from Jurassic Park) arms. Malakili’s (Return of the Jedi) belly (*It’s a nice Star Wars reference. He’s the Rancor trainer). Regardless, I refuse to become an XXL. 

Tight fitting clothes frustrate me more than anything. I can remember when I was a kid growing out of pants but still wearing them because they were my pants. I’d walk around constantly yanking and pulling at my crotch and periodically yelling and waving my arms in the air as fast as possible to blow off the building frustration. The idea of tight-in-the-crotch fitting pants makes me want to explode just thinking about them. I’m one of the most laid back people you’d ever meet but you better not put some tight pants on me because I’ll FREAK out!

Today was the perfect storm. First, I have to mention that I wear gym clothes to work in the morning because I have swimming first period, so I change after first period to my teaching clothes. I only bring one shirt in the morning, so I only have one option. Well, this morning I grabbed a shirt that was too small. When I put it on, I could instantly feel I was going to rip it in multiple places; sadly, I’ve done this before. In fact, I’ve ripped a shirt, worn it home, forgotten about it, put it in the hamper, and worn it again. Pretty classy, huh? 

I put on the shirt only to find that it had French cuffs – with broken buttons (they couldn’t stay folded in half). The cuffs on my sleeves were 10 inches long and went about 4 inches passed my hands. I looked like a guy trying to pretend he lost his hands in the movies. If you’ve read my blog, you’ll be surprised to find that I’m actually quite fashionable and stylish. I know the whole not wanting to shower or brush my teeth points to the opposite, but alas, I care about the way I look. Back to the point, I rolled up my sleeves to the middle of my forearms creating two sweet, little tourniquets. I made it through most of the day controlling my anger and frustration. My shirt was slowly suffocating me and my arms were losing feeling; I literally had white spots all over my arms. When I reached the boiling point, luckily no one was in my room because I ripped the shirt off, stuffed it into a ball, punched it and threw it against the wall. 

I felt a little better but I still felt like I was being suffocated. Later, I learned that I was wearing the other swim coach’s undershirt (a large) the whole day! I was being freakin’ tag teamed. Undershirt shared the same grisly fate as normal shirt. BAM, into a wall. When I finally got that shirt off, I felt normal again. My anger subsided and the townspeople were safe.

By the way, the button up shirt made a bruise on my arm. I mean, seriously, does this happen to other people?

Weight Control Problem IV

I wouldn’t say I have a huge ass; it’s just bigger than most guys that I know. That’s not saying much because all of my friends have rear ends that are more concave than convex. I’m an observant guy, and I notice that some of my friends look like they are always about to sit down, like this:

So, why do all of my pants rip at the seam (here’s the previous post about it in case you’re new)? This is a question that has plagued me since I started working and wearing slacks 90% of the time. I purposely never squat; I do a split kind of move to pick things up, like so:

I’ve even contemplated making my own fashion line that focuses on helping people with this unique concern. I figure I could make a pair of slacks with elastic for a seam, like this:

Inspiration stuck me the other day, and I figured out what very well could be the problem – my wallet is too big. 

I know what you’re thinking, is it because of the phat money he makes teaching? No, no, good reader. I keep that change in the console of my car. Here is a simple breakdown of the things in my wallet by category (besides the necessities like my ID, insurance cards, etc.):

2 Best Buy Reward Zone Cards: When I go to Best Buy, all I end up buying are packs of Gummy Bears. They ARE very rewarding but am I building up enough points to need two?

3 Old Hotel Keys: I am nostalgic about my last trip to a Hilton wherever it was.

4 different food places: Uh, the Freebirds one got me a free t-shirt.

Broken University of Texas Credit Card: A casualty of my… carriage.

The Sandals charge card from my wedding: Didn’t actually know it was there. It was stuck to…

One of my 3 ID badges from work – one is from 2004!

Here are the random individual cards: Blockbuster, AAA, Barnes and Noble, Borders, Babin’s Gift Card, Finish Lines Shoes, Bear Creek Golf Course Membership, and one for Kroger.

22 extra cards! What am I to do?!? I can only get rid of 3 – 4 tops. I better get started on elastic ass-ed pants!

Weight Control Problem III

When I was a kid, I used to watch Dr. Phil with my mom when I got home from school. The main thing I learned about losing weight was that a lifestyle change was a key component.

When I go to get fast food, I usually buy my meal and an additional item or two off the value menu. I eat said value meal on the way home because I can't wait and then try to conceal the empty container at the bottom of the bag for fear my wife will tease me. So, I eat a little meal on the way home before I go to eat my real meal at home (like a 5 piece order of nuggets on the road before a hamburger at home). Is this an example of a lifestyle change that needs to be made?

P.S. She always finds out I did this.

Can I Have Comfort and Style?

I just finished sorting, folding, and putting away our laundry, and while I mentally zoned out doing this, I couldn’t help but think about all of the clothing options my wife has for work. Oh, how I envy her. She can wear skirts, dresses, pants, and even short pants like Capri pants and culottes. Well, probably not those but she has stuff. I’ve seen it!

I have four pairs of chinos from Banana Republic that I just bought because of the seat splitting epidemic that’s been going on with me. I have khaki, dark khaki, light green, and black. That might as well read: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Luckily, I can wear jeans on Fridays and thank God for that because my Friday pair’s mending thread is holding on for dear life. They look like a bunch of tiny rickety bridges from The Temple of Doom just daring to be tested.

Regardless of having to buy new clothes, I wish I had more options. Every day, it’s just chinos and a button up shirt. I think some macho men designers (oxymoron?) need to come up with some new clothes for men to wear. I don’t mean completely new; I’m sure everything has been tried, but at least, bring back some old styles that would work. We also need someone tough and rugged to wear them so other men will think its okay. Where’s John Wayne when you need him? Sorry, Tom Cruise.

The idea that flashes in my head like a neon sign would be to bring back robes – robes of all kinds. Men could wear robes for all occasions. Going to a fancy dinner? Judicial robes. High school wanting to look different than the man? Graduation robes. Cult? Religious robes. Going to play a little Dungeons and Dragons with the crew? Wizard robe. I can’t even imagine how comfortable this would be! Also, no more embarrassing split pants. I can see it right now: get home from a long day’s work, unzip the old wizard robe and relax in the tighty whities with a cold beer. Xanadu. Xan-a-du.

P.S. Whoever is reading my blog from Europe, give me shout out on the comment section! I just finished teaching Beowulf to my students, so… you know… go Danes and Geats!

Weight Control Problem (Part II)

One of the main issues I have with this weight control problem is that I’m really impulsive, almost out of control impulsive. If I want something, I have to have it now... and two of it! I don’t really think about the consequences. Now, obviously this is referring to run-of-the-mill, everyday activities – not criminal activities. I don’t think, hmmm, I want some money. Let me get my gun and go to the bank. It’s more like, gummy bears sound good. I think I’ll get this tub, or I need a new shirt; these three will do. In the moment, anything can sound like a good idea. As you can imagine, this gets me in a small amount of trouble quite often.

Today, I had some time off during work and I went to Subway. Yes, the same Subway that over served mayonnaise to me. I was going to be assertive and specific and tell her I only wanted 4 lines of mayo (Subway, we have to end this petty little tiff!). By the way, if you don’t get what I mean when I say lines, I’m referring to the squirt bottles of condiments they use. They just squeeze and run it from side to side making lines. I pulled up to the Subway and I had money to buy a foot long, Italian sub for me (changing it up, baby!) and a meatball sub for my friend. As I was getting out of the car, I noticed a lady sitting inside of the donut shop next door eating her breakfast. I hesitated to get out of the car because I wanted to hear the sports radio guy’s opinion about the Texans, and I looked up and coincidentally met the lady’s eyes for a second longer than I should have – a second longer than society’s universally accepted contract allows. She knows me now.

I went in to order my food, and the whole time my thoughts were pulsating: Get donut holes. Get donut holes. As I am ordering food, all I can think about is buying donut holes. My Italian sub will be good but the donut holes would be even better. I hastily went through the line forgetting to give her directions about the extra mayonnaise. She didn’t give me 6 lines like last time, but she did hold it and squeeze for far too long. When she first started putting the mayo on my sandwich, she must have gotten shocked by something or had a mini-stroke because she squeezed and didn’t let go; she made a puddle of mayo the size of a Coke can top. I gagged when I ate it later. One day, I’ll learn.

I got my food, walked out of the Subway, and put the sandwiches, drinks, and chips in my car (I got the combo in case you were wondering). Then, I stood up, faced the donut shop, and calmly walked in pretending like I didn’t just buy food from Subway. The lady was still there and our eyes met again and a second too long this time too. I saw that a dozen donut holes were only $2. I always feel bad when I purchase items at a mom and pop place like that and spend $2. How are they going to put their kids through college? I ordered 2 kolaches to make it a bigger purchase. I was outwitting everyone there, I thought. I smugly paid for my items, began my walk out, and made eye contact with the lady again. I paused for a second and muttered to her, “These aren’t just for me.”

I started my 3 minute drive back to work and ate half of the donut holes and both kolaches before I got to work. I offered them to some of the people I eat lunch with and no one wanted one. I guess they were just for me.

Weight Control Problem (Part 1)

My wife and I went out to eat the other night, and it was a somewhat big deal because it had been a while since we went somewhere other than Freebirds or Olive Garden. My wife thinks OG is money because they split entrees in half for you. I don’t like that though. We ended up going to Texas Land and Cattle, which is a Chinese food place – no, just kidding; it’s a steak place. It was a nice, low-key night. We talked; we ate; we laughed.




We were going to go to the movies afterwards, but we both decided that we ate too much and going home was the best option. On the way home, we decided to stop by the HEB to get a dessert. The HEB by our house is more like a small village than a grocery store. We went to the “bakery side of town” and perused the delectables. I was in the mood for cheesecake and she was in the mood for brownies or something.


Here is the dilemma that came up: I was set on getting a slice of cheesecake with strawberry filling on top, but they only had plain cheesecake slices. The kind with strawberry filling only came in whole cake form. The solution came quite easily to me: get the big pie. I pleaded my case to my wife. I explained how I wanted the strawberry filling and it tasted soooo much better. I yawned as I showed her the boring, old plain slices. We even talked to the lady behind the counter and asked for a slice with strawberry. No resolution. So the two original options remained.


My wife expressed doubts that I would eat the whole thing, but I assured her that I WOULD eat it. I could even eat it all that night! It never occurred to me until today that she wasn’t worried that I wouldn’t eat the whole thing. She knew I would eat the whole thing, and that was the problem.


I relented and bought the slice and, like a two year old, held the ruling against her. In hindsight though, I can say with my head held high, “I did not eat a whole pie last week!”

Fat Guys, What’s up?

How do you do it? I would say I’m about 30 lbs overweight, but anyone who just met me wouldn’t think that I am. I had this philosophy in college that if my chest was bigger than my gut I’d always be okay. I started lifting weights after I graduated from high school. I’ve been lifting weights about four times a week since and I’m 30 now. The problem lies in the fact that I’ve about pushed the limit of my chest size. I don’t think it can really get any bigger. My gut, on the other hand, seems to be boundless. My gut seems to be in some sort of competition with my chest. The gut is beginning to win.




When I came back from New York, I weighed about 250 lbs. I figure for my height and body frame I should weigh about 220 lbs. I’ve been working pretty hard lately, and I’ve gotten down to 240 lbs. The main issue is that I think my once mighty metabolism has shut off. If I so much as eat a few pieces of fruit, I look like I just chugged 20 beers. When I eat even the smallest portions of the healthiest food I can find, my pants don’t fit all of the sudden. I can be comfortable at work, just doing fine, and after lunch, I feel like the button on my pants is about to shoot off like an X-Wing fleeing the Death Star.


Another big problem is that half of the pants I own are ripping at the seam on my butt. I don’t know what happened, but over the past year, I’ve had to retire several pairs of pants because of this problem. I try to sew them up but I’m a subpar seamstress at best. My pants just slowly start to spread apart as the workday goes on. By the end of the day, my pants actually feel more comfortable; however, it’s because they are slowly widening on their own. I guess they try to work with me – try to make my life more comfortable – but they simultaneously embarrass me.


Example 1:

This is the reverse-XYZ syndrome. XYZ means eXamine Your Zipper. Well, it’s not the zipper in this case; it’s my butt-side seam. Maybe at work people should say, XYBSS. Then I can quickly cover the opening in the back of my pants and slink out of the room blushing to the crowd and covering my behind.


Ex. 2

I’m an optimist and a problem solver, so here is the first solution that comes to mind: wear gym shorts under my pants at work, so when this happens it will by slightly less embarrassing. It’ll just be weird. I’ll be the guy who wears gym shorts under his slacks. Everyone will talk and gossip about it, but no one will remember there was a rip. The shorts will also remind me to go to the gym.


Here is the best solution: I’m not a 35 waist; I’m a 36! Just buy bigger pants in the future! Duh. This will require some time because I can’t just go to the store and buy a bunch of new pants. I can compromise though. We live by a bunch of Christian ministries and Salvation Army type stores. Maybe I could go in and stock up on big boy hand-me-downs. I can wear those until I am able to work in the new stylish pants that I buy from nicer stores. It’s win-win: I am comfortable with my ass seam intact and some poor people get some money. That’s how these types of places work, right?


Ex 3. These are my one and only suit pants. I had them professionally fixed :)