42 lbs. About three years ago I weighed about 200 lbs. Today I weigh 242 lbs. That's 42 pounds of fat. Holy mother of God.

Being fat sucks and not for the popular reasons. Being fat sucks because it's physically uncomfortable. For instance, I get winded walking to my car, none of my clothes fit, it's hard to get out of chairs, and I sweat all the time (a situation exacerbated by living in the weather armpit of the United States). By the way, I know exactly why I'm fat. I'm not big boned, it's not a hormone thing, my family's not big, and I don't eat because I'm sad or lonely. I'm fat because I eat a lot and I don't move that much. I like to eat, and the not moving thing just works for me because it's easy.

But I guess the party's over, it's time to lose weight again. That's almost a shame though. Even though it's exhausting and uncomfortable, I think I'm gonna miss being big. I've been told that in some countries being large is a sign of wealth and in some others it's a state reserved for royalty (I have really bad sources). I can believe that though, I often feel like a king. But I'm definitely tired of pulling my shirt out of the sweaty fold in my neck, so it's time to hit the treadmill again.

The only reason I wrote this is because when I realized that I'd gained 42 pounds of sweet fabulous fat, I wondered what 42 pounds looked like. I couldn't find anything that weighed exactly 42 pounds, so I weighed a couple of things around the house. Here are my findings.

Container full of shoes, 34 pounds


Toddler picnic table, 15 pounds


Pile of books, 30 pounds


Mini-Disc/CD Player, 14 pounds


Vacuum cleaner, 24 pounds


Phone Stand, 16 pounds


Mini-Me, 30 pounds

  ¶ 4:58 PM