Monday, July 12, 2010

The turtle...and the other turtle.

My fiance is obese. He's always been a big guy, when we met he was maybe 20kgs overweight for his height, but I didn't mind. My ideal physical type is Seth Rogan, or Drew Carey....I like the chubby guy with glasses. But now, three years later, he's not just cute and chubby anymore. He's the real deal, properly fat. I am not sure how much he weighs now, to guess I'd say he's maybe 40, even 50 kgs overweight now. He snores so loudly we can't share a room, and god only knows the last time he saw his own penis. His t-shirts are size 7-XL and hanging them out to dry makes me die a little. His chin is obscured by a neck roll that makes him look a bit like a toad blowing.

I hate it. I love him so much it hurts, and he's doing this to himself. Sometimes I think he's doing it on purpose. Killing himself 'cos it hurts so good. Death by fried chicken.

In May I talked him into coming on a 4k charity walk. I really hoped it would be too hard for him, and wake him up. For christ's sake, he sweats if he does the dishes, so I figured 4k might wreck him just enough to admit that maybe he has a problem.

I didn't figure on pride, which he has in spades. While he bitched a fair bit, especially during the infamous Anderson St hill, he made it. He could barely walk for three days because his quads are so weak they were all torn up from the hill. When he whined I said it was his fault he hurt, for not having even a basic level of fitness. You could say I was a bit pissed off that my plan failed.

In my heart, I understand how someone can get this heavy. I've been this heavy, and I remember that I was overweight, then really overweight, then all of a sudden I couldn't walk around the block. I remember being pretty grossed out by myself. I walked and starved off 50kgs is nine months, and I have stretch marks and loose skin that I'll have for the rest of my life.

Maybe I feel so badly because I'm frightened of fat. It seems to me like a disease, like a virus or parasite that comes along and eats people. Leaves them depressed, debilitated, and unable to get their ass off the couch. It kills families and eats physical potential.

On the other's not like he's ever done much to ward off this monster. He adores all fried food, loathes exercise in all forms, and likes to lay down instead of sitting. His demon is Coke. Enslaved by seven-X, he drinks over a litre of this sugary concoction daily. Without it he suffers headaches, feels ill and is grumpy. He won't drink the sugar free stuff. He also won't eat most vegies, or rice, or any of the healthier things I know how to make. Although he does like my mashed potato.

I'm probably not the best or most patient person. My methods of motivatio involve pointed asides, invitations to come for walks, dissappointed looks when he refuses to come for walks, refusing to eat the saturated-fat laden food he prefers, begging, crying, and asking him why he cares so little for our future that he'd rather live this way. Or why he cares too little for me to make an effort.
The upshot I guess is that things didn't get this way overnight, so they probably won't change overnight either. Inconclusive.....but the vent blew off some pressure, at least.

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