I caught this on Fark, and thought it too important to let it go. It’s the story of Roman Grandy, a guy who went from 415 lbs to… well, lower, though the article doesn’t ultimately say. (The last stated weight is 230, which is still pretty darn good.) I love inspirational stories like this:
Will. Discipline. Hard work. Five years ago, at 415 pounds, Roman Grandy dwelled in a cavelike place where none of [those] existed. It was a world of Oreos, fried pork chops, deep despair and self-loathing. Roman, now 35, had been headed that way for decades… [When he was 30], he ran into his childhood snacking buddy [and best friend]. Equally overweight, his friend was trailing an oxygen tank. A few months later, Roman’s mother said that his friend had died of a heart attack.
That last line tore at me, deeply. A lot of what this guy talks about in this story — the looks, the jeers, the squeezing in and out of cars — I’m all too familiar with. Though I never made it to 400 lbs — and I do thank God for this, because it wouldn’t have been hard for me to do, given my lifestyle — I know his feelings. (As he so aptly puts it, “It’s different for a thin person. They’ve never been where you’ve been. I know what it’s like to squeeze into a car, to squeeze out of a car.”)
Anyway, as regular readers know, one of my goals for this year is to drop 50 pounds in a healthy manner. Reading stuff like this makes me realize just how doable this really is, even if I’ve never in my life been what could be considered “thin”. I just keep reminding myself that after losing those 50 lbs, I’ll be the lightest I’ve been since 8th grade.