My name is Matt. I'm 25 years old, from Chicago, IL,
where I've lived since I graduated from the University of Wisconsin-Madison in
2008, briefly before the economy tanked. Despite living in three states, as I
grew up in the Twin Cities, I've never lived more than 15 miles from I-94. That
Midwestern identity has defined me - as has my Jewish cultural background. I
grew up with proud Jewish parents and joined a Jewish frat in college, although
I've increasingly struggled with some aspects of that identity lately. Most
recently, running has begun to define me – but I’ll get to that later.
Directly out of college, again convinced that the
economic failure was about to crush my future and I'd be bankrupt if I failed
to find a job that I could learn immediately and easily (thanks, CNN and Dad),
I ended up in the hospitality industry. I now run a hotel during the overnight
hours, and I've done that now for almost four years. Most people who really
know me find it hilarious that I held this job down for so long, since my
personality is absolutely not suited for such a position; I can't think of a
single person I know who approves of it anymore. Being nocturnal – literally –
is a drag. It's difficult not to feel like an outsider when you're the only
person in a social circle self-denying the right to sleep after the sun has
set, although the lifestyle and job can, very rarely, have their advantages.
Overall, it has left me very dissatisfied with a major part of my life at the
moment… but I've made it work and have learned to deal with it effectively.
Usually.

In terms of my health and fitness particularly, I never
thought about the future repercussions of my daily diet and activity. I let the
issues build and hoped I'd never need to face them. That taking action for
successful change would require painful sacrifice, while not faced with dire
need, dissuaded me completely. I’d always been in poor shape. My parents
probably were too – my mom wasn’t the smallest person, my dad had a bit of a
gut, and friends loved coming to my house since it was always chock full of
sugary snacks we gorged on. The only brief time I acted toward getting in shape
in my youth was an outlier six-month period in middle school when my parents
registered me for swim team. As a newcomer, of course, I stunk. I lost every
single race I participated in, and suffered massive leg cramping on a regular
basis, which the coaches likely thought I was faking, in order to participate
less. Really, I just didn't wish to drown. Despite looking and feeling a bit
better, I didn't think about it much, writing it off as slimming down due to
height growth. That frustration, and inability to see any progress as earned by
my efforts, led me to quit as soon as possible. I went back to spending hours
online or playing video games, rarely getting outside.

Having ignored years of increasingly insistent warnings
that I needed to get in shape – which had no motivational impact – I faced the
first major manifestation of physical problems around that time. One day, just
walking around, I heard a snapping in my knee, and it exploded into
excruciating pain. The shooting feeling became persistent, though slightly
dulled, long thereafter. When I went back home for a break, the doctor informed
me the tendons in my knees had worn down. He guided me how to repair the damage
with very simple exercise. Leg lifts, three reps of 30, three times daily – not
hard. But the routine hurt. True to form, I did it for a short time, quit, and
chose to not think about it.

Graduating college a year early and proceeding to waste
the precious time I earned through hard work with a pointless hourly job for
the next few years; living on my dad's couch for 12 months and having no
friends in the state; then moving into the city and making superficial
improvements, but still feeling totally disassociated from the community around
me; and generally not knowing what the hell I could do to improve the situation
– if that hopelessness is not a rock bottom point, I can't describe what would
be. I ate total crap and drank pop nightly to stay awake at work, felt
co-dependent within a relationship that I came to realize wasn't a good fit,
and generally didn't care about anything except avoiding pain and seeking
positive immediate stimuli.
At that time, I probably weighed about 260 pounds. Maybe
more, maybe less. I thought I saw a scale read 270 once, but I hoped it was an
illusion.
Tomorrow: part two, his "last straw" moment...
9 comments:
Thank you for sharing this compelling story. Can't wait to hear what the last straw was!
Great post! I look forward to part two.
Wow… I am looking forward to the rest as well.
looking forward to the rest of the story!
Mad City is a great place. The UW lakeshore dorms there are awesome. I did not survive the beer bashes and the Ratskellar at the Union! Too much freedom all at once. This is special to see a tangent of Mary's life pop in blog style. Looking forward to reading part 2.
I'm wowed! Can't wait for the next post!
Damn you cliffhangers!
Thanks for the comments, everyone! Glad you're enjoying reading what I had to say.
- matt
@bluezy, as a matter of fact, the feeling of being in the rath was one of the reasons why i went to madison!
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