The Misery of the Skinny
Imagine the bathroom at six in the morning. It is a small, bland room. The natural light brightens the bathroom, blinding your morning vision. In the mirror, stands a frail man or woman with two pounds vanished from the night before. You struggle to remember who and where you were.
“Wow! You’re skinny,” you recall a woman saying from the night before. Followed up with “Do you even eat?”
You began to remember your place. After years of constantly being reminded about how scrawny you are, became old, dull and inescapable. The first two times in your life, when you were called skinny, skin and bones, or anorexic was gradually forgiven by their comical intent.
“I’m just kidding…” the woman comments after noticing your unresponsive expression. To maintain peace, you insert a forced grin and refrain from staring directly at her. You begin scanning the walls for a change of topic to break the awkwardness. “I wish I was as skinny as you.”
Those soothing words of admiration. Maybe ‘you’re skinny’ was actually a compliment. Maybe she really was inquiring your eating regimen. Maybe the only one feeling awkward is you. Maybe you’re just being dramatic and take things too personal. After all, in a society where there’s a obesity epidemic, you don’t need to worry about your weight.
“You’re lucky.” she adds.
Ahh! Exactly what you needed. To be told how lucky you are. What a privilege. How dare you question the inherent gift you acquired! Nevertheless, you quickly shift your attention from the mirror to the bathroom floor. Refusing to confront your perceived reality. With water running down your eyes, and adrenaline running through your body, enough is enough. You battle to lift your head back up and face one on one with your biggest enemy waiting for you in the mirror.
“No more Mr. Scrawny!” you shout within your mind, “I will do whatever it takes to get bigger… whatever it takes.”
You rush out the bathroom into kitchen. The ‘see food’ diet has begun: 4 eggs, two slices of bread, 3 bacons, 2 sausages, 1 cup of home fries, and 1 cup of oatmeal cooked with whole milk, cinnamon and sugar. In less than fifteen minutes, you somehow managed to devour the entire meal. As a consequence, you’re in pain. You place both hands on the bottom half of your stomach in attempt to hold the food in place. Your stomach growls.
“What the gainz!?!” you yell, “I literally just ate.”
Your retract back into the kitchen, grab a granola bar and rush out the door with a food list gathered from your most reputable site.
After finally buying a week’s worth of food, $200 down, you are finally ready to transform your body. Week one was a success. 3000 calories a day for seven days straight. Destroyed the gym 6 days a week, following a plan designed by Arnold himself. You skip cardio entirely, only hypertrophy. You even ate out on the weekend and intentionally sought out the item with the most calories. You step on the scale and five extra pounds appears. At this rate you’ll be 20 pounds heavier by the end of the month. Gaining weight is easy after all. Week two: You begin to slow down. Monday deficit. Tuesday surplus. Wednesday deficit. And so on. The gym dropped to three times a week. You step on the scale. Your weight remains stagnant.
“There’s still an opportunity for a 15 pound weight gain.” you convince yourself.
Week three: The engine starts running again. 3000 calories, gym 6 days a week, you gained three extra pounds by the end of the week.
The final week — week 4.
Imagine rolling out the bed at six in morning. It is a small, bland room. The natural light brightens the room, blinding your morning vision. You walk into the bathroom and clear your system. You step on the scale. Ten pounds lighter, you struggle to remember who and where you were.
