Eliot becomes Buffalo Bill

I am so in love with myself.

I’m pretty sure any reader who doesn’t know me at all would groan and scoff at a statement like that, attributing all sorts of guido- or muzza-personalities to me and assigning descriptors such as “douchebag” and “full of himself asshole” to me.

I’ve been called worse.

The reality of it is that the above sentiment of acceptance, respect, and pride in my being is a rare alien emotion to me. I don’t recall a time when I’ve ever looked in the mirror and told myself that I look good without knowing deep inside that I’m ignoring the fact that I’m “faking it til I make it”. Oh sure, there are times when I’ve complimented myself for looking as good as I can, all things considered (and the majority of the things needing considering were about 50 pounds of obesity). I could shine a turd enough to pass military inspection, but today I feel drastically different. Today, I’m not a piece of polished excrement. Today, I look in the mirror and truly like the person staring back at me.

Sunday afternoon I was texting a few people to find something to do outside. It was a gorgeous day in the 80s, not a cloud to be seen. I had mowed my lawn earlier that day, and quite happy that I got that task out of the way. My eventual plans came unbidden from one person I’d have never expected: one of my friends from California was back in Minnesota unexpectedly and invited me to go the lake with her. A very immediate acceptance took me up to McCarthy State Park. Their beach is famous for how gradual a slope it has; their farthest buoys are out 100+ yards from the shore, and the water only comes up to my chest.

As I park at the beach, I hear my name called from behind my truck. Lo! And Behold! Two more of my friends - these two girls I know from karaoke - just happened to arrive at the beach at the same moment I did!

So here I am at a beach, surrounded by girls I don’t know, in immediate vicinity of very attractive girls I do know, and I shamelessly take my shirt off.

Three months ago, I didn’t believe the people that espoused the benefits of exercise to a person’s emotions.  I’m a smart, learned man, and I have a firm high school diploma’s grasp on human physiology and chemistry. Yet somehow knowing the difference between serotonin and dopamine didn’t prepare me for the discovery of just how much regular exercise carries my moods.

Granted, I only run, and only 3 to 4 times a week, for about 30 minutes each time, so I don’t pretend that I’m doing anything more than the bare minimum. I’m preparing for a 5k race, and following the Couch to 5k program (currently re-doing week 6 to make up for a week of not running). But even just 90 minutes of exercise a week has done wonders for this couch potato. And if I don’t run? I legitimately feel depressed, prone to munching on junk food to fill the void, losing all desire to go out and see people or even to feel the sun.

My self-aggrandizing up there isn’t just a huge example of patting myself on my back, but an attempt to reach out to someone who might be like I was. I hope to give someone some encouragement that might fit them personally. I mean, I’m not perfect. I’ve got a long ways to go. Hell, I still way over 300 pounds! But I feel that I can do more with 305 pounds today than I ever accomplished at just 250 pounds 6 years ago.

I like myself that much now.

So yeah, I’ve got people dumping frustrated posts on Facebook about how I will not shut up about running or playing sports. Sure, I’ve occasionally been that guy that talks a lot about fitness. But I feel like I desire to because I’ve come from the other side, I’ve laughed at those people and never understood why they feel like rubbing it into my face. Now that I’m on my way, though, I understand that it’s such a good feeling to see results, to get compliments, to get attention from more and more people, that I can’t help but shout it from the rooftops in hopes that I might help just one person on the edge to get up and start improving themselves.

If you’ve ever looked in the mirror and wished you could believe yourself when you say “I look good!” then please take it from me: you’ll get there, if you work at it. Look up nutrition (a subject I sorely lack in, even yet at this point in my life), develop some simple exercising programs to get you moving even just three times a week, and stick with it. The boost you’ll feel is incredible, I guarantee it.