Rebuilding a broken house: losing weight, changing my lifestyle and never looking back
By: Matt Harmon
May 12th, 2016
May 12th, 2016
This article is dedicated to anyone and everyone who helped me on this journey. No one should have to walk alone through a challenge, and I certainly did not. So to all the people who encouraged me along the way, and reminded me I could lose the weight, thank you! I couldn’t have done it without you.
My entire worldview was painted by being overweight. I didn’t know anything else. For as long as I can remember, I was always the heaviest guy amongst my group of friends.
Like all kids, plenty changed for me from elementary, middle and high school all the way through college. But one constant always followed me like a nagging shadow: my weight issues. The worst part was how much I embraced that shadow, accepted it and even loved it like an extension of my personality, an inseparable portion of who I was.
My parents are both in great shape for people their age. My dad is handsome as ever in his mid-60’s and could probably kick your ass and mine. Mom was always playing tennis, golf or just staying active throughout my childhood. She tried harder than anyone else to get me to be healthy. She encouraged me to eat less, tried to coax me into going to the gym and always reminded me that we don’t have forever to get started. Her father passed away when she was a teenager because he was overweight and didn’t take care of himself. I’m sure she saw some of my grandfather in my choices, wisely identifying that my habits were trending down the same path.
Here’s the simple truth though: I didn’t give a damn about any of that.
I loved food, especially all kinds that are unforgivingly terrible for you. Sports and physical activity didn’t interest me. I would play outside with my friends, of course, but anything beyond that wasn’t for me. I dabbled in some sports growing up, but quit my last baseball team in the 8th grade and never gave it a second thought.
The way I packed on pounds was my fault, and mine alone. I can’t blame my parents, there’s no fingers to point at “society” or modern technology. I stayed fat because I wanted to. I didn’t know how much I hated it, or the way the negativity of my consistent weight gain consumed me, until much later in life.
I’ve always tried to be a funny person, whether I naturally am or not is up to the people that know me. That was the easiest tactic I could default to in dealing with my weight gain. Being the funny fat friend was my way of navigating life while carrying the growing burden of the insecurities brought on by my weight.
I can recall one vivid memory of my best friend and me riding around the Outer Banks during a mutual family vacation. “We don’t really care about the quality of food anymore, just as long as there is a lot of it, and it gets to us quickly”, we said in the backseat of the van. While it was a mostly innocent comment made by a couple of goofball kids, who also both happened to be overweight, it was an overarching thematic representation of my feelings toward health from that point onward.
I wouldn’t say I was ever truly bullied as a kid at any point. So many more people had it far worse than me, and have darker stories to tell in that arena. I always related well with a wide range of friend groups. I even prided myself for years on being a “social chameleon”, until realizing as an adult that was actually causing me more problems than offering solutions. Throughout my school days, I mostly got along with everyone. However, I certainly took my fair share of verbal abuse for being overweight.
Middle school is the first time many kids have to face changing clothes in a public setting in front of others. For someone drenched in their own insecurities like me, that was terrifying. No surprise, my fear was met with teasing about being fat. Looking back, I can’t tell you what they said, or who it was that even said it, but I can certainly recall coming home in the sixth grade upset and hurt by comments sent my way in the locker-rooms.
Like most boys, my friends and I made fun of each other. Others groups more relentlessly than others, but it was a theme throughout. I dished out my fair share, please believe, but I took it too. It was almost always about my weight. In fourth grade my friends made a song about me ending with a line that said “Matt, you are fat. And there’s no denying that.” To their credit, the tune was quite catchy. That sort of teasing continued all the way through high school. It was never anything major, but it was always there.
I don’t recall these stories to get you to feel bad for me, so please don’t. Rather, this is meant to illustrate just how little any of that did to move me. My grandfather dying at 49, mom’s constant pleas and encouragement to get active, any sort of teasing about my weight and my own mounting insecurities—none of it even began to spark a change. I cannot emphasize enough how much I just did not care.
My eating habits were a disaster. What I ate was so awful it actually makes me angry to even think about now. Despite that teasing I took in middle school, I came home almost every single day, from eighth grade up until my freshman year of high school, and made myself a chicken sandwich with crispy Tyson’s crispy fillets on white bread with cheese. That was my “after school snack” in those days. What a lovely follow-up to the complete joke of abominable unhealthiness that most school lunches are.
My entire worldview was painted by being overweight. I didn’t know anything else. For as long as I can remember, I was always the heaviest guy amongst my group of friends.
Like all kids, plenty changed for me from elementary, middle and high school all the way through college. But one constant always followed me like a nagging shadow: my weight issues. The worst part was how much I embraced that shadow, accepted it and even loved it like an extension of my personality, an inseparable portion of who I was.
My parents are both in great shape for people their age. My dad is handsome as ever in his mid-60’s and could probably kick your ass and mine. Mom was always playing tennis, golf or just staying active throughout my childhood. She tried harder than anyone else to get me to be healthy. She encouraged me to eat less, tried to coax me into going to the gym and always reminded me that we don’t have forever to get started. Her father passed away when she was a teenager because he was overweight and didn’t take care of himself. I’m sure she saw some of my grandfather in my choices, wisely identifying that my habits were trending down the same path.
Here’s the simple truth though: I didn’t give a damn about any of that.
I loved food, especially all kinds that are unforgivingly terrible for you. Sports and physical activity didn’t interest me. I would play outside with my friends, of course, but anything beyond that wasn’t for me. I dabbled in some sports growing up, but quit my last baseball team in the 8th grade and never gave it a second thought.
The way I packed on pounds was my fault, and mine alone. I can’t blame my parents, there’s no fingers to point at “society” or modern technology. I stayed fat because I wanted to. I didn’t know how much I hated it, or the way the negativity of my consistent weight gain consumed me, until much later in life.
I’ve always tried to be a funny person, whether I naturally am or not is up to the people that know me. That was the easiest tactic I could default to in dealing with my weight gain. Being the funny fat friend was my way of navigating life while carrying the growing burden of the insecurities brought on by my weight.
I can recall one vivid memory of my best friend and me riding around the Outer Banks during a mutual family vacation. “We don’t really care about the quality of food anymore, just as long as there is a lot of it, and it gets to us quickly”, we said in the backseat of the van. While it was a mostly innocent comment made by a couple of goofball kids, who also both happened to be overweight, it was an overarching thematic representation of my feelings toward health from that point onward.
I wouldn’t say I was ever truly bullied as a kid at any point. So many more people had it far worse than me, and have darker stories to tell in that arena. I always related well with a wide range of friend groups. I even prided myself for years on being a “social chameleon”, until realizing as an adult that was actually causing me more problems than offering solutions. Throughout my school days, I mostly got along with everyone. However, I certainly took my fair share of verbal abuse for being overweight.
Middle school is the first time many kids have to face changing clothes in a public setting in front of others. For someone drenched in their own insecurities like me, that was terrifying. No surprise, my fear was met with teasing about being fat. Looking back, I can’t tell you what they said, or who it was that even said it, but I can certainly recall coming home in the sixth grade upset and hurt by comments sent my way in the locker-rooms.
Like most boys, my friends and I made fun of each other. Others groups more relentlessly than others, but it was a theme throughout. I dished out my fair share, please believe, but I took it too. It was almost always about my weight. In fourth grade my friends made a song about me ending with a line that said “Matt, you are fat. And there’s no denying that.” To their credit, the tune was quite catchy. That sort of teasing continued all the way through high school. It was never anything major, but it was always there.
I don’t recall these stories to get you to feel bad for me, so please don’t. Rather, this is meant to illustrate just how little any of that did to move me. My grandfather dying at 49, mom’s constant pleas and encouragement to get active, any sort of teasing about my weight and my own mounting insecurities—none of it even began to spark a change. I cannot emphasize enough how much I just did not care.
My eating habits were a disaster. What I ate was so awful it actually makes me angry to even think about now. Despite that teasing I took in middle school, I came home almost every single day, from eighth grade up until my freshman year of high school, and made myself a chicken sandwich with crispy Tyson’s crispy fillets on white bread with cheese. That was my “after school snack” in those days. What a lovely follow-up to the complete joke of abominable unhealthiness that most school lunches are.
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When I got my driver’s license that was basically a free pass to go eat wherever I wanted without making my mom angry. My high school girlfriend and I ate out probably four times a week during our Junior and Senior year of high school. She was beautiful, thin and could survive being a little lax with her diet. Me on the other hand, I could ill-afford to pile on cheese fries and a burger at Glory Days, chicken wings at our favorite barbecue spot, Chinese food when we stayed in, or a burrito at El Charro Restaurant, multiple times on a weekly basis. Not to worry though, I made sure to lather up each of those helpings with an egregious amount of Coke every time.
By the time I left high school was ready to head off to college, I was 6’3” and 285 pounds. Leaving already well |
Left: a few days before high school graduation.
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overweight and with a balanced diet of a fried chicken sandwich for lunch and burger for dinner is a recipe for disaster. College only served to exacerbate my problems.
With college comes an army of temptations. A cafeteria filled with overall mediocre food, fell right into my qualifications of “as long as there is a lot of it, and it gets to me quickly” from earlier in the story. There was an on-demand soda machine, a plate of french fries available every day and no mom in sight to nudge me toward the salad bar or encourage a green vegetable. Weekend nights were filled with campus discounts on pizza deliveries and a sandwich deli shop that stayed open until 2:30 in the morning.
Oh and we haven’t even tackled the drinking yet. I didn’t party much in high school, it just wasn’t my scene, but that changed rather quickly once I was away from home. You forget how many calories you’re piling on when you’re knocking back double-digit Natty Lights a night, especially when you still don’t care.
I was assigned a random roommate at college. I intentionally chose to attend a school where I didn’t know anyone. However, Evan and I quickly became the best of friends and lived together throughout our time at Lynchburg College. We were inseparable all four years, and man, did we go hard. Binge drinking as much as we could at least three nights a week, eating late night meals and piling our plates at the cafe. We weren’t out of the norm for most college students, but that didn’t make it any less excessive. Of course, Evan played on the soccer team; he came to school in great shape and supplemented our wild lifestyle with dedicated work at the gym. However, if you’re following my story here, you should know better than to think I went along for that part of the ride.
Don’t get me wrong, I tried working out in spurts through my late high school to early college years. However, those stints would only last for about two or three weeks. I was quick to get discouraged, finding it easier to just sink back into a comfortable sedentary life of overeating than to actually try to get healthy.
I wanted to be thin and look better, especially in college. The vast majority of my friends were in-shape. No matter how drunk you are, it’s tough to block out the cloud that comes from walking into a party or a bar feeling completely unworthy of even talking to any of the girls there. I wanted to be rid of those feelings, but I had no interest in the work that was necessary to reach that destination.
So I’d piddle around at the gym without any real direction for two or three weeks at a time. But I’d quickly become disenfranchised when I would lose just a couple pounds in a month and didn't see a lick of difference in the mirror. I was also insecure about being the fat guy in the gym, like all the in-shape people were looking in my direction thinking “what the hell are you doing here?” That reminds me, don’t be the person who gym-shames. It’s fun to laugh at those goofy commercials, and yes, crowded gyms are not ideal for regular visitors. But that unspoken feeling of insecurity and shame kept me out of gyms for years.
All this to say, it takes a commitment and a lifestyle change to begin to re-start your existence in a healthy manner. There were times I thought and even declared that I was “trying”, but that commitment was never a factor.
By the time I reached my junior year of college, my weight and health was out of control. At my heaviest, I was 315 pounds.
With college comes an army of temptations. A cafeteria filled with overall mediocre food, fell right into my qualifications of “as long as there is a lot of it, and it gets to me quickly” from earlier in the story. There was an on-demand soda machine, a plate of french fries available every day and no mom in sight to nudge me toward the salad bar or encourage a green vegetable. Weekend nights were filled with campus discounts on pizza deliveries and a sandwich deli shop that stayed open until 2:30 in the morning.
Oh and we haven’t even tackled the drinking yet. I didn’t party much in high school, it just wasn’t my scene, but that changed rather quickly once I was away from home. You forget how many calories you’re piling on when you’re knocking back double-digit Natty Lights a night, especially when you still don’t care.
I was assigned a random roommate at college. I intentionally chose to attend a school where I didn’t know anyone. However, Evan and I quickly became the best of friends and lived together throughout our time at Lynchburg College. We were inseparable all four years, and man, did we go hard. Binge drinking as much as we could at least three nights a week, eating late night meals and piling our plates at the cafe. We weren’t out of the norm for most college students, but that didn’t make it any less excessive. Of course, Evan played on the soccer team; he came to school in great shape and supplemented our wild lifestyle with dedicated work at the gym. However, if you’re following my story here, you should know better than to think I went along for that part of the ride.
Don’t get me wrong, I tried working out in spurts through my late high school to early college years. However, those stints would only last for about two or three weeks. I was quick to get discouraged, finding it easier to just sink back into a comfortable sedentary life of overeating than to actually try to get healthy.
I wanted to be thin and look better, especially in college. The vast majority of my friends were in-shape. No matter how drunk you are, it’s tough to block out the cloud that comes from walking into a party or a bar feeling completely unworthy of even talking to any of the girls there. I wanted to be rid of those feelings, but I had no interest in the work that was necessary to reach that destination.
So I’d piddle around at the gym without any real direction for two or three weeks at a time. But I’d quickly become disenfranchised when I would lose just a couple pounds in a month and didn't see a lick of difference in the mirror. I was also insecure about being the fat guy in the gym, like all the in-shape people were looking in my direction thinking “what the hell are you doing here?” That reminds me, don’t be the person who gym-shames. It’s fun to laugh at those goofy commercials, and yes, crowded gyms are not ideal for regular visitors. But that unspoken feeling of insecurity and shame kept me out of gyms for years.
All this to say, it takes a commitment and a lifestyle change to begin to re-start your existence in a healthy manner. There were times I thought and even declared that I was “trying”, but that commitment was never a factor.
By the time I reached my junior year of college, my weight and health was out of control. At my heaviest, I was 315 pounds.
Right middle: Spring break of junior year at my heaviest weight, and clearly having more fun than Bob Schnieder
Seeing that “3” at the beginning of my reading when I stepped onto the scale was frightening! Settling at that weight, and seeing it for the first time, was probably my first “oh no” moment. I think you need to have those.
It wasn’t much, but the summer before my senior year of college I finally started to make some change. The smallest amount, but still some change nonetheless.
Quitting soda was the first, and probably most crucial step. Not only is soda addicting, it’s piled with sugar and serves literally no benefit to you at all. I have stronger feelings now more than ever on that heinous liquid, much of that informed by a job I held prior to landing with NFL.com working with the intellectually disabled population. When you watch soda hold a frightening power over your clients, have it traded and obsessed over as if it were a street drug, you begin to develop a burning hatred for the dangers of it. No one should drink soda ever, and I’ll stand by that. Here five years after quitting it, I get sick thinking about the substance and couldn’t even fathom consuming one. And remember, I was drinking more of it than almost anyone in my prime.
Along with that change of habit, I substituted grilled chicken sandwiches for my burgers more often, drank red wine instead of beer once a weekend and even went as far as to substitute a vegetable or rice for fries in the cafe some days. I spent some money on a personal trainer that summer and even went to the gym about twice a week.
Like I said, this was not much more than doing the bare minimum, but for the first time in my life I saw some results. It also served as a harsh reminder of what bad shape I was in and how much further I needed to go. Doing just the minimum saw me drop from 315 back down to about 285 pounds that summer. I would stay at that weight until I graduated college in May 2013.
I continued to mostly eat fatty foods, lived an unhealthy lifestyle and, most of all, I still didn’t yet really care. No doubt, those first few changes were important ones, but I was still completely comfortable being overweight and wasn’t looking for a lasting change. I didn’t know it, but it was coming soon either way.
A few months after I graduated college I took a job that sent me back to Lynchburg where I had just spent all four years away at school. Like many fresh graduates, I jumped at the first real job offered to me and didn’t ask questions. In hindsight, there were more than a few hang-ups and concerns in moving back to my college town, but I didn’t consider any of them at the time. I had tunnel vision for the destiny I was sure the universe was guiding me toward. Taking that job felt like the first brick laid in building that.
In a matter of about a month, my life in Lynchburg completely fell to pieces. There’s a far longer story to tell here, but a series of events that involved a breakup, my parent’s divorce, a friend from the past taking his life, my second grandmother in the span of a year passing away and the disaster the job I moved for turned out to be, sent me spiraling into a dark depression episode.
It would be easy to isolate any one of those occurrences and point to it as the primary blame for what happened to me at that point, but it would be incorrect. The combination of all of it coming down in short succession coupled with the burden of years of pain, anxiety and insecurity buried underneath food, alcohol and social disguises broke through the gates of my soul. I spent the next several months conquered by sadness, drinking it away when I could and altogether feeling sorry for myself. Again, there’s more to this story that we’ll tackle someday, but we’ll stay on the subject of recapturing my health for now.
The last few months of 2013 were spent in darkness—pain that I’ll never forget and wouldn’t wish on anyone else. I sacrificed my health in many ways during that episode, including racing myself to the bottom of a bottle every chance I got, and gaining back some of the weight I lost before. Waking up every morning was an impossible task, and going to bed at night seemed like a relief I couldn’t ever quite grasp fast enough. I was utterly lost and I set aside all interest in caring about myself for several months.
That period of my life revealed to me a truth that I was running from for years: I was incredibly broken. Such to the point that easy fixes weren’t enough. It’s like when you have a deeply damaged house. You can change the shutters, paint the side panels or clean up the yard, but that structure is still broken at its core.
At the end of the day, you need to completely tear the house down to its very foundation and start over. I was that house. Broken beyond a quick refurbishing project, I needed a complete rebuilding.
Not without tribulation, but luckily before it was too late, I decided to start that rebuilding process. In December of 2013 after spending months cowering in the dark, I began to fight back.
It was at that time I kicked my work on Backyard Banter into high gear. For a few months, writing about football was just a hobby, an outlet to distract from the turmoil in my mind. Ultimately I decided to forego my original post-grad plan and to chase a dream of becoming a full-time NFL writer. Less than two years later, what was once my escape would become my job, but that’s another story for a later day.
In that same month, I finally chose for the first time in my life to commit to my health. When I came around to the idea my life was worth living and fighting for, I wanted to walk through it with a body that exemplified that belief. I would rebuild the house with a foundation stronger than it ever had previously.
Simply put, I was just tired of being overweight. I had enough! For years, I hated looking in the mirror and facing the image that stared back at me. The chubby face, a stomach that hung over my belt and covered in shirts that hugged in unflattering spots; I wanted it all gone. Sure, I had those thoughts and desires for years. But this time, I was taking control. I was going to fight for my health. From that moment on, my life changed forever and I never looked back.
As soon as I returned home from visiting family during the Thanksgiving holiday, I got to work. Planet Fitness was the only gym I could afford on the peanuts I was making at the job I was with, which also kept cutting my hours. That’s right, my story started in a Planet Fitness. Make sure to tell all the judgmental gym goers out there. Anyone’s success story can come from anywhere; believe it.
In some lucky instances, timing just lines up for the needy soul. I was fortunate that the job I had then mostly required me to work nights, weekends and evenings. I could get up and go the gym when it was empty in the late morning. The important point is that I saw that fortune and seized the opportunity. I was serious and went to the gym six days a week. I would start with 20 minutes of cardio every time, and then lift weights for 40 minutes. I wasn’t throwing around major routines, just working with some of the lighter machines and some basic free weight lifts. As time went on, I intensified the workouts and got more in-depth, but to start I didn’t do anything fancy. The key was just doing it, and doing it as often as possible.
On the other hand, I was radical with changing my eating habits. For about three months, I almost completely cut out carbs and sugar from my diet. I made exceptions for beer and coffee creamer, I’m only human. Yet, when it came to food intake, those items completely hit the road. My meals all mostly revolved around eggs, lean meat and green vegetables. If you recall what I ate from the early portions of my story, this was a massive realignment. I had a list of what was acceptable to buy at the grocery store taped to my refrigerator, and if something didn’t make it on the list, it didn’t come into the apartment. I knew I wouldn’t eat like this forever, but I was also just as aware that wholesale drastic change needed to take place for my rebuilding efforts to work.
The weight fell off fast and furious amid my new changes. I went from the high 280’s to the low 260’s in a flash, maybe a matter of a month and a half. Best of all, I could see the difference. When I looked in the mirror I could see the fat melting off my face and muscles pop up that I never knew I had. I had to go and buy new clothes because everything I owned was way too loose and didn’t fit. When I went out people made comments about how good I looked without any prompting. Friends I had not seen in a while were sometimes a bit shocked.
I needed that, all of it. It was like water to a parched traveler. For years all I wanted was to see results, to feel the rewards of the work. Now that I was finally dedicated they were coming. It was truly one the best feelings I’ve experienced, and I was completely and utterly addicted to it.
Never turn back, that was all I kept saying to myself. I was running farther and faster away from that 315-pound version of myself that I never wanted to see again. I was winning the fight to save my life. My physical well-being began to creep more into my mental state. I always had terrible posture growing up, but in those days I started standing tall. With my mind clear and my body healthier, my writing and football work improved. During that time I started the planning and groundwork for Reception Perception. The confidence and clarity earned from my new lifestyle gave me what I needed to undertake the project that would launch my career in the coming year.
It wasn’t much, but the summer before my senior year of college I finally started to make some change. The smallest amount, but still some change nonetheless.
Quitting soda was the first, and probably most crucial step. Not only is soda addicting, it’s piled with sugar and serves literally no benefit to you at all. I have stronger feelings now more than ever on that heinous liquid, much of that informed by a job I held prior to landing with NFL.com working with the intellectually disabled population. When you watch soda hold a frightening power over your clients, have it traded and obsessed over as if it were a street drug, you begin to develop a burning hatred for the dangers of it. No one should drink soda ever, and I’ll stand by that. Here five years after quitting it, I get sick thinking about the substance and couldn’t even fathom consuming one. And remember, I was drinking more of it than almost anyone in my prime.
Along with that change of habit, I substituted grilled chicken sandwiches for my burgers more often, drank red wine instead of beer once a weekend and even went as far as to substitute a vegetable or rice for fries in the cafe some days. I spent some money on a personal trainer that summer and even went to the gym about twice a week.
Like I said, this was not much more than doing the bare minimum, but for the first time in my life I saw some results. It also served as a harsh reminder of what bad shape I was in and how much further I needed to go. Doing just the minimum saw me drop from 315 back down to about 285 pounds that summer. I would stay at that weight until I graduated college in May 2013.
I continued to mostly eat fatty foods, lived an unhealthy lifestyle and, most of all, I still didn’t yet really care. No doubt, those first few changes were important ones, but I was still completely comfortable being overweight and wasn’t looking for a lasting change. I didn’t know it, but it was coming soon either way.
A few months after I graduated college I took a job that sent me back to Lynchburg where I had just spent all four years away at school. Like many fresh graduates, I jumped at the first real job offered to me and didn’t ask questions. In hindsight, there were more than a few hang-ups and concerns in moving back to my college town, but I didn’t consider any of them at the time. I had tunnel vision for the destiny I was sure the universe was guiding me toward. Taking that job felt like the first brick laid in building that.
In a matter of about a month, my life in Lynchburg completely fell to pieces. There’s a far longer story to tell here, but a series of events that involved a breakup, my parent’s divorce, a friend from the past taking his life, my second grandmother in the span of a year passing away and the disaster the job I moved for turned out to be, sent me spiraling into a dark depression episode.
It would be easy to isolate any one of those occurrences and point to it as the primary blame for what happened to me at that point, but it would be incorrect. The combination of all of it coming down in short succession coupled with the burden of years of pain, anxiety and insecurity buried underneath food, alcohol and social disguises broke through the gates of my soul. I spent the next several months conquered by sadness, drinking it away when I could and altogether feeling sorry for myself. Again, there’s more to this story that we’ll tackle someday, but we’ll stay on the subject of recapturing my health for now.
The last few months of 2013 were spent in darkness—pain that I’ll never forget and wouldn’t wish on anyone else. I sacrificed my health in many ways during that episode, including racing myself to the bottom of a bottle every chance I got, and gaining back some of the weight I lost before. Waking up every morning was an impossible task, and going to bed at night seemed like a relief I couldn’t ever quite grasp fast enough. I was utterly lost and I set aside all interest in caring about myself for several months.
That period of my life revealed to me a truth that I was running from for years: I was incredibly broken. Such to the point that easy fixes weren’t enough. It’s like when you have a deeply damaged house. You can change the shutters, paint the side panels or clean up the yard, but that structure is still broken at its core.
At the end of the day, you need to completely tear the house down to its very foundation and start over. I was that house. Broken beyond a quick refurbishing project, I needed a complete rebuilding.
Not without tribulation, but luckily before it was too late, I decided to start that rebuilding process. In December of 2013 after spending months cowering in the dark, I began to fight back.
It was at that time I kicked my work on Backyard Banter into high gear. For a few months, writing about football was just a hobby, an outlet to distract from the turmoil in my mind. Ultimately I decided to forego my original post-grad plan and to chase a dream of becoming a full-time NFL writer. Less than two years later, what was once my escape would become my job, but that’s another story for a later day.
In that same month, I finally chose for the first time in my life to commit to my health. When I came around to the idea my life was worth living and fighting for, I wanted to walk through it with a body that exemplified that belief. I would rebuild the house with a foundation stronger than it ever had previously.
Simply put, I was just tired of being overweight. I had enough! For years, I hated looking in the mirror and facing the image that stared back at me. The chubby face, a stomach that hung over my belt and covered in shirts that hugged in unflattering spots; I wanted it all gone. Sure, I had those thoughts and desires for years. But this time, I was taking control. I was going to fight for my health. From that moment on, my life changed forever and I never looked back.
As soon as I returned home from visiting family during the Thanksgiving holiday, I got to work. Planet Fitness was the only gym I could afford on the peanuts I was making at the job I was with, which also kept cutting my hours. That’s right, my story started in a Planet Fitness. Make sure to tell all the judgmental gym goers out there. Anyone’s success story can come from anywhere; believe it.
In some lucky instances, timing just lines up for the needy soul. I was fortunate that the job I had then mostly required me to work nights, weekends and evenings. I could get up and go the gym when it was empty in the late morning. The important point is that I saw that fortune and seized the opportunity. I was serious and went to the gym six days a week. I would start with 20 minutes of cardio every time, and then lift weights for 40 minutes. I wasn’t throwing around major routines, just working with some of the lighter machines and some basic free weight lifts. As time went on, I intensified the workouts and got more in-depth, but to start I didn’t do anything fancy. The key was just doing it, and doing it as often as possible.
On the other hand, I was radical with changing my eating habits. For about three months, I almost completely cut out carbs and sugar from my diet. I made exceptions for beer and coffee creamer, I’m only human. Yet, when it came to food intake, those items completely hit the road. My meals all mostly revolved around eggs, lean meat and green vegetables. If you recall what I ate from the early portions of my story, this was a massive realignment. I had a list of what was acceptable to buy at the grocery store taped to my refrigerator, and if something didn’t make it on the list, it didn’t come into the apartment. I knew I wouldn’t eat like this forever, but I was also just as aware that wholesale drastic change needed to take place for my rebuilding efforts to work.
The weight fell off fast and furious amid my new changes. I went from the high 280’s to the low 260’s in a flash, maybe a matter of a month and a half. Best of all, I could see the difference. When I looked in the mirror I could see the fat melting off my face and muscles pop up that I never knew I had. I had to go and buy new clothes because everything I owned was way too loose and didn’t fit. When I went out people made comments about how good I looked without any prompting. Friends I had not seen in a while were sometimes a bit shocked.
I needed that, all of it. It was like water to a parched traveler. For years all I wanted was to see results, to feel the rewards of the work. Now that I was finally dedicated they were coming. It was truly one the best feelings I’ve experienced, and I was completely and utterly addicted to it.
Never turn back, that was all I kept saying to myself. I was running farther and faster away from that 315-pound version of myself that I never wanted to see again. I was winning the fight to save my life. My physical well-being began to creep more into my mental state. I always had terrible posture growing up, but in those days I started standing tall. With my mind clear and my body healthier, my writing and football work improved. During that time I started the planning and groundwork for Reception Perception. The confidence and clarity earned from my new lifestyle gave me what I needed to undertake the project that would launch my career in the coming year.
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In May 2014, a mere six months after deciding to finally rid myself of the unhealthy habits and weight gains that plagued essentially all my 22 years of life, I weighed in at 240 pounds. I was 75 pounds less than my heaviest recorded weight. I wore a large sized shirt after needing XXL not long ago, and was down at least three pants sizes. Most important, I felt good about myself for the first time in as long as I could remember. Confidence exuded from me. I walked out on the other end of that depressive episode with my head held high, and an eye to the future.
I won that battle, but the war was not over and it never will be. I left Lynchburg in June of 2014 to take another job back closer to home in Northern Virginia. Being back home did not remove me from my changed lifestyle. |
At my heaviest in 2013 to May 2014
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I continued to workout regularly, adding more intense weight-lifting to increase the muscle on my frame. My dog Charlie entered my life on a whim soon after my move, and he served to keep me active with multiple daily walks. I no longer ate as strict as I did in the first three months of the beginning of my journey, but my approach to food had completely changed. Honestly, the way we think about dieting is mostly a complete joke. A diet inherently implies that at some point, it will end. When that happens most people just go right back to their old ways. You need to change your lifestyle, and replenishing your eating habits with better choices forever is the only way to do that.
When NFL Media offered me my current job and I moved to Los Angeles in July 2015, I was 231 pounds. I had also added muscle strength and had consistently evolved my work out to a place unimaginable even when I first started seeing results over a year ago from that time.
My inaugural season covering the NFL on a full-time basis brought along my first true challenge. A demanding schedule meant less time to work out and make gym trips. A newfound social life in LA meant more eating out and beers enjoyed. They tell you LA is a health-conscious city, as if you’ll eat nothing but peppered lettuce. Let me remind you, it is one of the best places to dine in our country and comes with no shortage of tasty options. There is a top-notch burrito truck literally a stone’s throw from my apartment, for heaven’s sake. And that just begins a street filled with an enticing array of restaurants. Not to mention, the NFL likes to take care of us, catering in massive amounts of delicious, but usually less than healthy foods for game day.
I popped back up to 241 pounds at the end of the 2015 NFL regular season, but the only thing to do when you face a setback is to double your efforts in recovering. When the offseason came and more time found its way into my schedule, I made the most of it.
My offseason fitness routine consists of a six day plan. I’ll run four and a quarter miles to and from the gym four days out of the week. While there, I focus on the upper body (chest, arms or shoulders) on three of the four days with a core workout for the fourth. I also took up doing yoga for the fifth day, which I highly recommend. It improved my core strength, flexibility and breathing in a short time. On the sixth day, I drive to the gym and do legs. Don’t skip leg day, as they say.
Once again, I’m being as strict as I can with what I’m eating while I have the window of opportunity to do so. My meals are planned and mostly the same every day. If you’re painfully curious:
A strong and healthy diet must be paired with exercise and physical activity. You cannot have one without the other and hope to make drastic changes to your appearance. At best you’ll maintain. One needs the other. They are two sides of a coin, that was a hard lesson I had to learn over and over again.
I’m as stringent with that meal and workout plan as possible and the results so far this offseason are fantastic. I currently weigh 218 pounds, almost a full 100 less than the 315 from where I started. I’m not yet satisfied; I plan to continue working to stay healthy and perhaps lose more weight. However, I am proud of the progress I made over the last three years and am eternally glad I made the choices I did to get here.
I didn’t write this story to bring attention to myself or to make anyone impressed with what I did. Rather, I only want to be an example of a message that for years I did not believe myself: you can do it. If you’re looking to make progress with your health, no matter how big or small, I promise you that it can be done. I told you the early parts of my story to demonstrate just how far down the other side of the playing field I was on. I recounted my current meal plan, fitness routine and lifestyle to reinforce what a drastic change I made.
With time and dedication, you can do just the same if not greater. I am not special, my case is not ground-breaking. I just made a choice and followed through with a lifestyle change. All of this could just as easily be anyone else too.
When NFL Media offered me my current job and I moved to Los Angeles in July 2015, I was 231 pounds. I had also added muscle strength and had consistently evolved my work out to a place unimaginable even when I first started seeing results over a year ago from that time.
My inaugural season covering the NFL on a full-time basis brought along my first true challenge. A demanding schedule meant less time to work out and make gym trips. A newfound social life in LA meant more eating out and beers enjoyed. They tell you LA is a health-conscious city, as if you’ll eat nothing but peppered lettuce. Let me remind you, it is one of the best places to dine in our country and comes with no shortage of tasty options. There is a top-notch burrito truck literally a stone’s throw from my apartment, for heaven’s sake. And that just begins a street filled with an enticing array of restaurants. Not to mention, the NFL likes to take care of us, catering in massive amounts of delicious, but usually less than healthy foods for game day.
I popped back up to 241 pounds at the end of the 2015 NFL regular season, but the only thing to do when you face a setback is to double your efforts in recovering. When the offseason came and more time found its way into my schedule, I made the most of it.
My offseason fitness routine consists of a six day plan. I’ll run four and a quarter miles to and from the gym four days out of the week. While there, I focus on the upper body (chest, arms or shoulders) on three of the four days with a core workout for the fourth. I also took up doing yoga for the fifth day, which I highly recommend. It improved my core strength, flexibility and breathing in a short time. On the sixth day, I drive to the gym and do legs. Don’t skip leg day, as they say.
Once again, I’m being as strict as I can with what I’m eating while I have the window of opportunity to do so. My meals are planned and mostly the same every day. If you’re painfully curious:
- Breakfast: egg whites with one regular egg mixed in, scrambled with kale, onions, peppers and a lean meat.
- Lunch: kale salad with baked chicken, avocado and salsa instead of dressing (shout out to Akbar Gbajabiamila on that tip, it makes a massive difference).
- After gym: protein shake
- Dinner: One of Fish/baked chicken/turkey, brussels sprouts or broccoli, and brown rice.
- I’ll give myself a 24 hour cheat window that usually spans Friday to Saturday night when I eat whatever I want.
A strong and healthy diet must be paired with exercise and physical activity. You cannot have one without the other and hope to make drastic changes to your appearance. At best you’ll maintain. One needs the other. They are two sides of a coin, that was a hard lesson I had to learn over and over again.
I’m as stringent with that meal and workout plan as possible and the results so far this offseason are fantastic. I currently weigh 218 pounds, almost a full 100 less than the 315 from where I started. I’m not yet satisfied; I plan to continue working to stay healthy and perhaps lose more weight. However, I am proud of the progress I made over the last three years and am eternally glad I made the choices I did to get here.
I didn’t write this story to bring attention to myself or to make anyone impressed with what I did. Rather, I only want to be an example of a message that for years I did not believe myself: you can do it. If you’re looking to make progress with your health, no matter how big or small, I promise you that it can be done. I told you the early parts of my story to demonstrate just how far down the other side of the playing field I was on. I recounted my current meal plan, fitness routine and lifestyle to reinforce what a drastic change I made.
With time and dedication, you can do just the same if not greater. I am not special, my case is not ground-breaking. I just made a choice and followed through with a lifestyle change. All of this could just as easily be anyone else too.
Now versus then. I'd say it was all worth it.
Every one of us is a beautiful person with something to offer this world; I truly believe that. No matter what you look like, you are unique and have a story worth celebrating. Embrace that, because I never did when I was out of shape. However, we should all want a healthy and functioning body to complement the ingrained special aura embedded within us. I know that when I reached out for that desire my personality bubbled out, my career dreams came true and I now approach life with a positive confident attitude I never had before.
When I was overweight the negativity I felt toward my body seeped into every part of my life. I came to every situation expecting the worst, whether it was in my job, romance or anything in-between. Once I changed my lifestyle and committed to both my mental and physical health, the negativity washed away. I don’t think the way that I used to about my life and the potential outcomes. I’m free from that line of thinking, and taking the steps to get here were well worth it.
Maybe you don’t need the radical alterations I do, or perhaps you do fall into that category. Regardless, I want the best for you and all the people I share this life with. My desire is for everyone to feel the positivity I earned from the changes I made. Either way, I hope you took something from my story. Most important of all, please remember that if the man that I was for most of my life could lose the weight and reimagine his lifestyle, there is not a person in this world who cannot. I told myself for years that I would always be the way I was: overweight, unhappy and incapable of taking the steps to get healthy. I was wrong, because I sit here today remade, all because I finally started believing I could.
Good luck on your journey, and thank you for sharing in my story. Always remember, you can do it.
When I was overweight the negativity I felt toward my body seeped into every part of my life. I came to every situation expecting the worst, whether it was in my job, romance or anything in-between. Once I changed my lifestyle and committed to both my mental and physical health, the negativity washed away. I don’t think the way that I used to about my life and the potential outcomes. I’m free from that line of thinking, and taking the steps to get here were well worth it.
Maybe you don’t need the radical alterations I do, or perhaps you do fall into that category. Regardless, I want the best for you and all the people I share this life with. My desire is for everyone to feel the positivity I earned from the changes I made. Either way, I hope you took something from my story. Most important of all, please remember that if the man that I was for most of my life could lose the weight and reimagine his lifestyle, there is not a person in this world who cannot. I told myself for years that I would always be the way I was: overweight, unhappy and incapable of taking the steps to get healthy. I was wrong, because I sit here today remade, all because I finally started believing I could.
Good luck on your journey, and thank you for sharing in my story. Always remember, you can do it.
-- CNN went on to pick up this story and you can find Ashley Strickland's write-up of our interview through this link. --
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