That’s Why I’m Here

“I’ve been there; that’s why I’m here.”

– Kenny Chesney

 

Hey there, gym goer. 

It’s me.

I’m not hard to miss.

I’m the fat guy you’ve never seen in here before. 

I’m sorry for disturbing your routine. 

I know it is frustrating for you seeing all these new people in your gym after the start of the year. Feel free to post on Facebook how much you despise going to the gym and how glad you will be once we all stop coming after the fad of resolutions wears off. 

I’m truly am sorry for the inconvenience, but I will be here for a while. 

I don’t really have much of a choice. 

I’m dying. 

My sedentary lifestyle is killing me more quickly than I would like. 

And I’m not ready to die.

I have way too much to live for. 

This morning when I left to come here, I left a beautiful, strong woman who is compassionate and attacks life with a zeal and gusto I could never match. 

I left a little boy with big brown curls and sparkly blue eyes which beam with life when he gets excited. 

My son needs a dad who can play for 15 minutes without needing a break. 

My wife needs a version of me she hasn’t known in 15 years. 

I’m sorry for taking up so much time on your machines. It has been quite some time since I have worked out. I’m just a little rusty. 

It’s OK if you want to laugh and tell all your fit friends about me. I’m sure it is comical watching me. But before you judge too hard, you should know my story. 

I have been an athlete my entire life. My life revolved around the three seasons of baseball, football, and basketball. Scarred up legs and hands will show you that I played hard,  but I suffered from a lack of knowledge. 

No matter how much I worked out, no matter how much I ran, I could not ever lose weight. 

You see I came from a generation who had no idea you couldn’t work off bad food choices. 

Our coaches used phrases like “turn that fat into muscle,” and we ate copious amounts of spaghetti just a few hours before playing football games. 

No one ever told me that leg pressing 1000 pounds will never compensate for a 5000 calorie diet of fast food, candy bars, Little Debbie cakes, and Mountain Dew. 

When I got to college, I tried drinking shakes to replace meals, and I stayed active. I rode the scale rollercoaster and yo-yo dieted for nearly three years. It was during my junior year of college when I finally began learning the science of food and exercise. 

I know I look out of place in your world of pre-workout and supplements, but I literally have a degree in exercise science. 

I know, I know. 

I should be ashamed of how I have let myself and my knowledge go to waste. 

Believe me, I used to be embarrassed. 

Now, I don’t care. 

I can’t care. 

This is my last resort. 

The last ten years of my life have been one failed diet after another, and I have not dared enter a public gym. I was not ready for the gawking and the laughter behind my back, but here I am now. 

You would think a heart attack scare a few years back would have put me on the right track, but that’s not why I’m here. 

I’ve struggled to breathe since October. 

My doctor says I have a paralyzed diaphragm on my right side. I’m not getting near my full lung capacity, and the weight I’m carrying around my abdomen is making it worse. 

But that’s not why I’m here. 

I’m here because of one single conversation I had with my son. 

We were discussing heaven, and we were talking about how Jesus would take us all there one day. 

My three-year-old son looked at me with full sincerity and said, “When Jesus comes back to fly us to heaven, you’re not going to get to go because you’re too heavy. Jesus can’t carry you. He might drop you.” 

I laughed at the time, but inside, it crushed me. 

My little boy really thinks we won’t one day be in heaven together because I’m too fat. 

So here I am. 

I’m not asking for your sympathy or your acceptance; I’m just letting you know that’s why I’m here. 

And that’s why I’ll be back tomorrow.

And the next day. 

And the next.