Fatso Manifesto

And so I woke up fat. Funny like that.

And that given morning, a morning like any other, i just couldn’t believe my eyes: the mirror had to be broken. Or demonically possessed. I was fat. The line had been crossed.

After 7 million chips and 967 pizzas, my body finally decided to react in accordance. I was freaking fat! Fat. Fat. But how? How on Earth? I’m not even American, for crying out loud. I thought these things only happened to “oh, those poor others”, but never me. Never.

I guess I was wrong.

To honour the truth, it wasn’t Such a surprise. It was gradual, yes. I slowly gained more and more weight, mistakenly relying on my love for jogging, which I was about to retake “any minute”, to loose those pesky extra pounds.

But time passed by and my beautiful jogging routines were replaced by cake and ice-cream, by chocolate and frozen meals. And so came that morning. Me, a 28 year old male, displaying a sad spectacle by turning the closet upside down, much like a teenage girl, in search for a pair of trousers that would fit. Sad, indeed. I couldn’t find any. And it all started to dawn on me hard:

• I could no longer see my pipi when taking a pee;
• the love-handles made every single piece of clothing that I wore seem desperate for an exorcism;
• the belly bugged me crazy and literally “got in my way” even for the most basic things, like putting on my shoes;
• my thighs rubbed against each other in the most uncomfortable manner, peeling and plucking hairs from each other;
• and my hips and ass, just like a mother of six, were victim of the most abominable cellulitis. Not quite an agreeable picture.

I won’t rant on how on Earth was it that I got so low, for I believe is somehow pointless. All that matters in such a circumstance is the here and now. I’m disrespecting my body, putting myself in a position prone for shitty diseases and causing myself quite some social distress.

Concerning this last point, I have to say I haven’t been able to make my peace with the fact that I’m fat. Not remotely. I’ve been thinking extensively of those fatsos, specially the Yanks, who learn how to “accept themselves as they are”, and to be perfectly honest: I’m repelled and disgusted by the idea. If the choice is putting some led in your head, then accepting yourself as you are sounds rather agreeable. But that is not the only choice. Us fatsos seem to forget the most obvious one: reclaim our natural bodies.

It should not be such a horrid task, should it?. I mean, if you want a car, you have to work for it. If you want to earn someone’s trust, you have to work for it, as well, This is how the world works, right? Effort and a little sacrifice is, in most cases, the only way to achive your goals. No rocket science here.

A very simple metaphor would be getting a loan to buy a house and once deep in debt, choose to accpet the fact that you owe money instad of paying it back. What the hell is that? You overspent and now you have to pay for it, period. No other way around. Be that in Euros or calories. Yet, fat people tend an awful lot to “accept themselves” rather than accepting this very basic, unavoidable law of nature and nowaday’s society. I refuse to surrender to this general confusion of taking something that’s wrong for right. I won’t put denial on a pedestal. Being fat is not natural, it’s quite harmful in both physical and psychological ways and it is self-destructive.

Now, many believe that this is boloney, that we are all beautiful and that we should not cave to the idiotic dogmas of beauty that society imposes on us. While that’s a lovely philosophy and I very much like it, it sounds more of an excuse not to get on a freaking diet than anything else. I’m a guy and I don’t intend to become an anorectic model or a cover magazine bodybuilder, but the fact remains that there is absolutely nothing good or positive about being fat. Except maybe for the fact that you can eat pretty much whatever you want … but at what price?

I won’t go deeper into this subject either because it’s not the purpose of this experiment and because I’m aware that I am, yes, oversimplyfing the subject a lot. Instead, I will focus on me, and the truth is: I suffer horribly being fat. I hate belonging to this segment and having to cope with a number of infuriating tribulations I never even thought fatsos would go through:

• I realized girls no longer look at me. While I’m not an adonis, they used to do so when I was thin;
• sex is not remotely as good as it used to be. The lack of oxigen, elasticity and endurance do represent a clear set-back in the quality of sex;
• I feel much more tired and depleted than when I was thin and in shape. While exercising can get you tired at first, the benefits of an accelerate