A year ago, I published an essay called “214 lb. Nathan.” With a tap of the enter key, I publicly confessed some challenges I had been wrestling with concerning my weight, body image, and plans for correcting the course of the ship.  

Your response to that essay was overwhelmingly positive, supportive, and everything I could have asked for when I shared something so personal. It inspired me to begin a journey back to better health; a journey I shared via a series called “A Dream Realized.”  

By revisiting this essay today, I would like to reflect on the last year. For myself and anyone who struggles with their weight, I am attempting to answer three questions: What changed? What remained the same? What is next?  

Reflecting on this life of mine, I realize I have never held a positive view of my body. At five years old, my first pair of glasses framed my face. Those first frames were brown, bulky, plastic, and square. They didn’t drip with an ounce of cool. Heading south, when I smile, I am overly conscious of my crooked teeth. As a middle-class family of five, there was never extra money lying around for luxuries such as braces. Zooming out further, I was not the tallest, fastest, or strongest either. As a total package, when I looked in the mirror, I saw the epitome of average. Others may have not viewed me this way, but it was my truth.    

The only attribute I possessed that felt like something to be held in a positive light was my weight. From birth to 25, I was that kid who could eat anything and everything in sight without gaining a pound. In fact, before the 7th grade, my mom wouldn’t let me join the football team unless I weighed a hundred pounds. At the start of the season, I hadn’t yet reached her goal, but she let me play, anyway. Throughout high school, I possessed the ravenous appetite of a teenage boy but bore none of the consequences of such an insatiable need to eat.  

In college, following the lead of a fraternity brother, I started working out and running for the first time. Quickly, and with little effort, my abs broke through in a beautiful six pack and my biceps took shape. Wearing contact lenses and in the best shape of my life, only my crooked teeth held me back. Confidence was taking shape.  

Then, something evil happened. Seemingly from out of nowhere, I stared in the bathroom mirror one morning. In a pair of boxers, I could see the extra weight hanging over my waistband. My abs packed up and moved elsewhere, and I could no longer see the outline of my ribcage. In shock, I knew my metabolism was slowing down. This extra weight was the first sign that my body was aging and betraying me. I could no longer eat with reckless abandon. In the 13 years since that realization, I am still learning that every choice I make has consequences. Every dessert, every workout skipped, and every shortcut ends in damning results for my body.  

 With every bit of confidence evaporated like rain on a summer sidewalk, I turned to last year’s weight loss journey. Before publicly sharing my weight loss journey, I had tasted victory. To prepare for the Pacific Crest Trail, I had dropped a bunch of weight. I knew I had all the tools to make a radical change. I kept telling myself, “You’ve done this before.” “Now, just do it again, and this time make it last.”  

And here we are today...  

A year after publishing that initial essay, not much has changed. I still weigh about the same. Medium-sized clothes are still being removed from my closet. I want to cry every time I am forced to buy pants with a larger waistband. A nutritionist would still question my relationship with food. I eat less fast food and drink less soda, but occasionally find myself overcome by weakness. I still hate the mirror.  

Let’s pause here for a moment and veer off course...  

As you read this, I hope we have advanced far enough as a culture to retire any notions about men and our challenges with body image. While we absolutely do not face the same pressures as women, we often struggle in silence because of societal expectations around masculinity. I dislike typing the following statement, but it is honestly how I feel...  

At 38-years-old, I can say I dislike the current iteration of my body. I feel overweight and unattractive.  

I say these words, not in some desperate attempt to fish for pity. This is not an essay seeking assurances or pep talks. I say these words because acknowledging the reality of the situation is how I change the conversation (for myself and others). It is also how I once again right the direction of this ship.  

From here, I see two paths before me. To the left of me is acceptance, and a life of attempting to come to terms with my physical form and learning to love who I am. To the right of me is change, and a life of hard work, dedication, and discipline. I stand at a crossroads. At this point in my life, heading left feels like settling with a date and fate I cannot bear. Heading right sounds like one of the most significant challenges of my life.  

There is no simple solution. There is no magic pill. Getting in the best shape of my life is not a sprint. It is a marathon made more challenging by the slow cruel hands of time. I stand here, still willing to try. This marathon is a race I know well. I need no more lessons on food, exercise, or the power of positive thinking. Now is the time to do the work. I sincerely hope the next time we revisit “214 lb. Nathan,” the story is drastically different.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan    

This website exists because of readers and supporters. If what you just read made you smile, please consider supporting the website with a monthly gift. Your support means everything and proves to the world that original content still matters.