Dogbert’s Whip

These days, I have a feeling that my waist line is expanding at a pace faster than our country’s inflation rate. Just weeks ago, I was lazing through the counters of a certain grocery when I chanced on this talking machine that measures your height, weight, and blood pressure if you’ll drop a five-peso coin into its slot. Rummaging my pockets for the required coin, I stepped on the platform and waited for the results – Blood pressure is 120/80. (Good.) Height is 5 feet 7 inches. (I still blame my parents for not getting any taller.) And for biggest shock that I’ve received in a long time: I WEIGHED IN AT A HEFTY 163.8 POUNDS!  

When I first got to Manila way back in 1996, I was a dork who weighed a mere 120 lbs and wore Levi’s denims with a waist line of 28. When I finally graduated from college four years later, well, I was still a dork but my weight increased significantly to about 140+ lbs. I decided to take up graduate studies immediately after my bachelor’s degree and the newfound stress led me to a steady diet of fast food and soda. It didn’t take long before I tipped the scales at 164 lbs. Worse, wearing my size 32 jeans made me feel really tight and miserable. Apart from that, most of my friends started teasing me for gaining so much weight. Some of them would give subtle hints like, “Bakit ka nakasuot ng muscle shirt?” when I’m wearing a regular shirt, or “Bakit parang mas malalim ang mga dimples mo ngayon?” when I manage a half-smile from such scathing remarks.

As I regained my composure from the initial shock of having realized that I’m a mere 0.2 lbs away from my heaviest weight ever, I swear that I could almost hear my grade school math teacher say: “Round it off to the nearest ones, you sucker, and it’s basically the same.” Back in late 2001 when I last hit 164 lbs, I wasted no time in visiting a small gym near our apartment and enrolled myself in a fast track “full body workout” program (read: weight loss program). For the next six months, I sweated off my butt for three times a week lifting weights, running the thread mill, and basically following all of the sadistic and otherwise dictatorial “pointers” of the gym trainers. And whenever my schedule permits it, I would supplement my fitness program by running three lung busting rounds of the UP Academic Oval (total distance: around 6.6 kms).

Genghis Khan may have expanded his Mongol Empire beyond Europe and Constantine may have relished his stint as the sole emperor of the Roman Empire, but nothing would ever compare to the feeling of satisfaction that I had when I decide to terminate my six month stint at the gym: I, the dorky weight conqueror, has shrunk to 136 lbs! Losing 28 lbs of adipose tissue left me wearing belts when I donned my old size 32 pants (my waist line then was about 29-30). I had a hint (yes, just a hint) of a six pack and I was definitely more muscular.

So what made me quit gym when I was doing so great? Well, it all boils down to my attitude problems. When I set my sight on a certain goal, I would do everything and exhaust all possible measures to see it through. And when I finally achieve it, I soon lose interest and look for other stuff do.

Another character flaw that I have is procrastination. I’m a champion crammer, by the way. I’ve always been the hopeless slacker who studies three hours before an exam and slaves the night before submission day for a project that was assigned at the beginning of the semester. During the latter part of 2004, my best friend, the Guru of Adidas and Badminton (GAB), noticed that I was starting to bloat like a balloon fish. GAB suggested that I should seriously consider more physical activity. “But I have physical activities,” I complained. Apart from tapping the keyboard, keeping my butt warm on the cushioned chair, and chewing lots and lots food, I did join the weekly badminton games with GAB and our other friends. But if you’re stuck in a an office cubicle for eight hours a day, five times a week, an hour or two of smashing lightweight shuttlecocks will never suffice. With that, I promised GAB that I would re-enroll myself to the gym “ASAP” and if I would procrastinate about it, I’d have to treat him to a lunch of his choice. What happened next is a no-brainer. I ended up buying him lunch, of course, and resumed my couch potato ways.

It wasn’t until a week ago that I got the definitive eye opener. In the clinic of our company, I weighed myself on the scale and learned that I just reached 165 lbs. “Great,” I thought, “I’m a pound heavier than my previous record. I’d have to tell the Guinness Book of Records and ask them to adjust their entry about me.” There is a chart in the same clinic where one could determine his Body Mass Index (BMI). The BMI is simply the ratio of person’s height and weight. I quickly examined the chart and soon found that that my BMI is about 25. In the same chart, I read that a BMI of 25-29.9 is classified as Type 1 obesity. I couldn’t believe my tough luck. I just wandered into obese country and it took a stupid chart in the company clinic to whack me back to my senses.

Sensing a wicked urge to whine about my weighty problems, I approached my favorite officemate slash worst critic, the Queen of Pain and Tardiness (QPT), and sought her advice. Of course, she never gave me any. What QPT did next was to weigh herself and proceeded to gloat about how sexy (duh!) and ravishing (double duh!) she is with her healthy BMI of just about 19. A healthy BMI is between the range of 18-21.9. One is considered overweight if his or her BMI if 22-24.9. And anything higher than that is plain obese. Just like me. Sob!

Determined to lose my excess baggage of hideous fat, I struck a deal with QPT that would force me to lose weight. The deal would work this way: I’m supposed to lose 2 lbs per week starting the week of the 15^th of August. Official weigh-ins would happen every Wednesday of each week in the scale found in our company’s clinic. If I only manage to lose only 0-0.99 lb, QPT is entitled to a free lunch of her choice in the posh section of our building’s cafeteria. If I fall below the 2 lbs target (between 1-1.99 lbs) for each week, QPT gets a free drink of her choice to gulp down her lunch with. If I’ll religiously adhere to my self-made fitness plan, I’ll be down to 143 lbs by the end of October. Not bad, assuming if it will work at all.

This early, QPT is predicting a dismal failure on my part and week after week of free lunches and beverages on her end. She even reminded me, quite contemptuously and condescendingly, that no amount of starvation will ever suffice lest I work out my lazy butt off. Even on rare instances, I learned that QPT could actually make sense, and on this occasion, she clearly won the Battle of the Abs and I had to endure her endless pot shots at my pot belly in silent misery.

Not willing to lose without a fight, I approached another officemate to inquire about the gym that has been operating in our building. She gave me a small leaflet that details the available rates. As I scanned through the available fitness packages, I imagined endless torturous hours of sweating it off in the gym. In my mind, I could almost taste the sweet satisfaction of defeating QPT’s schemes to rig me off of precious lunch money. A smile actually etched on my face when I think of finally wearing my size 32 jeans comfortably without inhaling my gut to the point of suffocation. But alas, a line on the bottom of the leaflet, printed in bold face, quickly pricked my fragile bubble. It screamed: “We ONLY accept personal checks, VISA and MASTERCARD credit cards.”

I am obese but I won’t be able to enroll for gym membership since I am too needy to own a credit card. I am obese and poor – it’s an utter paradox, irony, and oxymoron – all rolled into one. In disgust, I decided to crumple that blasted leaflet, and as I threw the lump of paper into the waste bin, I felt my love handles jiggle in silent rage.

This entry was posted on Monday, August 15th, 2005 at 6:29 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.