WARNING: THIS IS A REALLY LONG POST BUT I HOPE YOU WILL READ IT AS IT IS CLOSE TO MY HEART
I don't dislike the taste of hotdogs but I really don't like them.
Well that isn't a good start to my blog. I have started out by lying.
It isn't really that I don't like them. It would be more accurate to say that they don't like me. They never have. In fact, I think we are at war.
It probably started before I was in my early twenties but that is my earliest recollection of the start of the war with the hotdog.
It knows my weak spot and it knows how to get to me.
When I was in my early twenties I had a big crush on this guy. He had always been really nice to me and although he was a demi-god and I was, well, fat, I always thought I had a chance. How could I not? We were meant to be together! At least we were until the hotdog got in the way.
I remember going out to a club and dancing all night (it's not something you actually want to see...trust me) and I came out of the bar in the wee hours of the morning drunk and hungry. In other words...at my weakest point...and there it was...the hotdog stand...innocently beckoning me over. Of course I had to go...so I did.
"One hotdog please" I said.
I got my hot dog and was shoving it down my throat when the person I thought was sure to be my future husband walked out of the club with his friends. He took one look at me and said: "You take one more bite of that hotdog and you're going to explode". He and his friends laughed and walked away.
I was scarred for life. Thirty years later, thinking of that incident brings back all of the emotions I felt then...just as if it happened yesterday.
Chalk one up for the hotdog.
Then there was the incident when I really did meet my future husband. We bumped into each other outside a bar late at night the evening before pride and we simply started talking. We ended up sitting on a bench until it was really really late. Eventually we had to part but we agreed to meet the next day and watch the pride parade together.
I woke up the next morning a bit worried. I really liked this guy but he had only seen me in the dark. I kept thinking: What if he couldn't see me well enough to know I was fat?
I remember trying on a bunch of different clothes to find something that showed me to my best possible advantage before settling on an outfit. I don't recall the pants I chose but I will never forget the shirt. It was a fairly new navy blue t-shirt. Not too fancy and not too casual...just right.
I didn't eat much that morning and got to our meeting place about an hour early. In fact I was so early I decided to have something to eat before he got there...yep..you got it...the dreaded hotdog stand purposely placed itself right in front of me and I found myself saying "one hotdog please".
I took one bite of the hotdog and the mustard squeezed out the other end and dripped all down and all over my navy blue shirt. Navy Blue with lines of dripping bright yellow mustard...nice. I turned around and there he was staring me in the face: my future husband.
He loves telling the hotdog story and to this day he says he was totally stunned. He was indeed shocked by how much I weighed after seeing me in the daylight, but the site of me with a hotdog in my mouth and mustard dripping down my shirt was...well let's just say it gave him food for thought.
It is 18 years later and we are still together though.
You lost that round hotdog!
The thing is the hotdog knows that my biggest issue is that try as I may, I struggle with embracing my own body. I couldn't do it when I was large, and now that I have lost a lot of weight I STILL have trouble doing it.
A few years ago when I wrote my first blog, I set a goal of taking off my shirt and walking down the street shirtless on pride day.
Going out shirtless was something I never did and the thought of it terrified me. I had several months to do it, and the goal did motivate me, and yes...I did do it. I don't think many people have seen me shirtless since though.
It is true I have purposely placed a couple of shirtless pictures of myself permanently on the main webpage of my blog, but they were very carefully chosen. I am in top physical shape in one, and in the other I sucked it up and said "I can live with this". It is different from walking shirtless in public.
People joked about my being shirtless in Hawaii (someone even asked if I actually owned a shirt) but if you look back at the blog posts you will notice that you never see below the pecs unless I am very far away. Nonetheless I was proud of myself for going shirtless in Hawaii.
It was much easier there as I knew I wouldn't run into anyone I knew...and we had been talking about embracing our body at Weight Watchers so I decided to go for it. It was liberating for me...but knowing I knew no one meant I was in a safe zone.
As soon as I got home the shirt went back on. That made me think: What am I so afraid of? I should be proud of the fact that I have lost so much weight. Why do I hang on to all this baggage? Why do I STILL feel like that fat boy? I may not be the thin boy but I am certainly not the fat boy.
Today is pride day again and I decided enough is enough. I am going to go out without my shirt. On pride day there will be tons of people without a shirt on. I am going to do this...and I did.
Walking out the door I hoped I wouldn't run into anyone on my street. It is SO stupid but my heart was pounding over such a simple act.
I didn't run into anyone on the street (whew) and headed to the gay village. As I turned onto Church Street my first thought was "shit". I couldn't see a single person without a shirt on. It was just me in a sea of shirts. The thought running through my head at that point was: "I need a drink".
I was feeling hungry and thought about getting something to eat but I simply couldn't bring myself to be seen eating AND shirtless on the street.
It wasn't until I got into the thick of things about another block down that I started seeing other shirtless people. Soon they were everywhere. What a relief! It didn't stop me from feeling terrified though. I nervously walked through the street hoping I wouldn't run into anyone I knew...and I didn't for about 15 minutes and then I heard "Alan!". Shit.
It turned out to be a friend I hadn't seen in about twenty years. We had a nice chat and he didn't even seem to notice that I didn't have a shirt on. Go figure.
After that I walked around some more and not a single person noticed me. It was simultaneously a relief and depressing. It was then that I realized I had to blog about this and decided I needed to suck it up and take a picture so here it is:
I look at this picture now and I think: Damn...you're looking pretty good...but out in public shirtless...I still felt like the fat boy who was going to explode if he took one more bite of a hotdog.
It was then I realized I had to win the war with the hotdog once and for all.
It wasn't about eating good food or bad food. It was about embracing me and saying "yes...I AM eating a hotdog without a shirt on, surrounded by people I am afraid might judge me. So there!"
I defiantly walked up to the hotdog stand and said "one hotdog please".
I took a couple of bites out of the hotdog and I realized I truly had won the war. Not only could I walk down the street proudly taking a couple of bites out of it, I also recognized the fact that I don't like hotdogs enough to make them worthwhile. So I put the hotdog to bed once and for all.
As I was walking home I ran into my friend Tom and a friend of his. He DID notice I was shirtless and was so positive. I think Tom is a good looking guy and he said that seeing me shirtless he wanted to take some inspiration from me. That felt real good :-)
Then as I walked down my street I found myself heading toward three neighbours standing around talking. Triple shit!
One of them clearly noticed I was shirtless and said "wow" as I approached. I'm not sure if that was polite, a compliment, or he was just surprised that I was shirtless, but I am going to choose to take it as a compliment.
So what is the point of this blog post?
I don't know for sure but I know I had to share this story.
If there is a "point" in it anywhere perhaps it is this:
Embracing your body is hard but it is not going to get easier. You won't love yourself more when you lose weight, or gain weight, or get more muscular. You will simply find the things that are STILL wrong, and the baggage you have collected over your lifetime will always be with you. There is good and bad in that. I love the sensitive side of myself and I wouldn't be sensitive if I hadn't had the life experiences I have had.
It is important to embrace the new you as you travel on your journey through life and make positive changes, but the old you is not going to completely go away...ever.
What does that mean? It means that as hard as it is, the only way to move forward successfully is to try to find comfort in who you are right now...this very moment, because that "you" will always be with you.
We all carry baggage in life. Find friends who carry baggage that goes with yours and move to a better place one step at a time.
Alan
Full disclosure: I stole that last thought from my favourite line in a musical. The show is RENT and I think the line is actually: "Life's to short hun we all have baggage...I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine".
Life is indeed too short. Let's make the most of it.
