Drew Manning - Fit2Fat2Fit: The Unexpected Lessons from Gaining and Losing 75 lbs on Purpose

The Unexpected Lessons from
Gaining and Losing 75 lbs on Purpose

DREW MANNING

WITH BRAD PIERCE

I ts the snoring that does it. Lately, it seems to be the snoring that always wakes me up.

Almost out of habit, I glance over my shoulder to my wifes side of the bed, unsurprised to see it empty. I wonder how long she lasted through the tumult before retreating to quieter recesses of the house. My stomach growls loudly, matching the volume of the now-echoing snores that filled the house moments before, and I know its time to start the day.

These days it takes a strategic combination of momentum and gravity to move from the bed to a standing position. The next steps of my routine fall quickly into place: the staggered walk to the bathroom, followed by brushing my teeth just outside the view of the mirror, and then a shower, a shave, and the lengthy process of getting dressed.

I realize that I need new pants; the elastic on the waist of my current pair is stretched to its maximum. I sit on the corner of the bed, ready for the forced exhale as I try to tie my shoes. Even though I live through this each day, Im still caught off guard by being out of breath. I used to play full football games with greater ease and stamina, and Im already dreading the trek down the 12 stairs to the kitchen, though my stomach is protesting with every second of delay. By accident, I see my newly round image in the mirror. Caught by a strange mix of depression and acceptance, I reflect on how and why this happened. And as clearly as the slightly alarming reflection stares back at me, I realize Ive become the physical poster child of stereotypes Ive spent a lifetime trying to avoid.

There are certain stereotypes men are branded with that are probably a bit unfair. Insinuations that we have the emotional depth of a kiddie pool, consider our, ahem, needs before those of certain other individuals, and believe half the weekends of the year are our own personal opportunity to sit like a couch potato in front of the TV (for the sake of football, of course) are unfair to say the least. Sure, you have your bad eggs out there. But to paint us all with a broad brush is selling our gender short.

However, some gender stereotypes are undeniably true, and regarding these, we men can be painted with the broadest of brushes. Chief among them, and the cause of much of my current angst, is asking for directions. Im not sure why, but men, in general, think they can get themselves from Point A to Point B by divine intervention. Lick a finger, stick it in the air to determine the direction of the wind, and were off. We can find our own way. We must find our own way.

This is why the idea of a global positioning system (GPS) shakes all men to the core. First of all, a GPS device in a car tells the driver where to go; it doesnt suggest. It dictates every turn, stop, and change in direction. Second, it seems that the voice is always female. In my limited experience with an actual GPS device, I find myself taking the extra step of doubting the instructions she provides. I follow instructions initially as the disembodied voice tells me to turn left, turn right, go straight, but then I suddenly start thinking, How the hell did I end up here? I purposefully ignore the fact that the GPS will probably tell me to take a few more careful turns and Ill end up where Im supposed to be. Thats beside the point. Im convinced that men, as a gender, are hardwired with a GPS in the brain. Its the only logical explanation for why we react so poorly when direction or help is provided.

Today I feel like my inner GPS dropped me off in the wrong part of the neighborhood, and I have serious doubts about my ability to get home unscathed. Its unnerving to feel this lost in the one area of my life where I always knew the route.

Its hard to believe while looking in the mirror, but Im a personal trainer. And within that profession, my inner GPS used to provide easy directionskeep going straight. In fact, its safe to say that long before becoming a personal trainer, I was so devoted to my chosen route that I was addictedto exercise, and to having large muscles and six-pack abs. I was such a health addict that I invited the opportunity to both judge and attempt to help individuals who werent born with the health-nut gene.

Sadly, we live in a society with an ever-expanding waistline. It is estimated that one in three Americans is overweight. Yet, despite all of the potential health-related vices surrounding me, my waist remained trim, my muscles toned. And my attitudeespecially my attitudestood resolute. Anyone struggling with weight could, and should, drop the pounds. It was a choice; the ability to step away from the doughnut, the extra-large french fries, and the comfortable couch was within all of us, not the select few.

Whether I was working with an obese person who medically had to lose weight if he wanted to continue living, or a woman who could stand to lose the 15 pounds of baby weight long after pregnancy, the goal was the same. Get them to see that they were doing this to themselves. Then show them how to think, act, and live differently.

I wish I could say that the results were always stellar, that I always exhibited a strong enough will to show people the error of their ways, and that I managed to create my own breakthrough moments with such people every day. Were there successes? Absolutely. Certain clients listened to me, saw that I was trying to help, and acted on my advice. But more often than not, the response I got was less positive; many clients were full of doubt that I was truly there to help them overcome their struggles. They saw me as someone who didnt get it: I didnt understand how hard it was to set aside the food or how difficult it was to go to the gym and try to do 10 biceps curls while surrounded by prima donnatype gym rats. I didnt understand that weight loss was much more than overcoming the physical.

For a long time, I rationalized that this was just part of the problem. They were looking for someone to blame for their plight. As they saw it, it wasnt their fault they were overweight; it was society, emotion, self-esteem, and people like mepeople who just didnt understand.

Back then I believed that losing weight and getting fit were about simple choices. In this way, I was my clients worst nightmarethe picture of what they wanted to be, with all the judgment they already had about themselves as to why they were overweight and unhealthy. Yet now I can often be found sitting on our couch, which has perfectly molded itself to my XXL butt, eating Zingers and Pringles as if I were personally keeping both brands afloat.

I decided to do something that, lets face it, most personal trainers will never do. I accepted the small possibility that maybe my clients were right and I was wrong.

Im overweight. Im unhealthy. Ive started to think that my wife finds me as attractive as a dung beetle. Either that or she considers me to be an extra-squishy sofa, permanently added to our living room furniture. And the strangest part is that it was my choice. I made a decision that I honestly question a little each day. I decided to stop exercising, stop eating healthy, stop being me. I made the decision to embrace the habits I had spent years trying to eradicate.