Blake Schwendiman's Blog and Blook

At the gym last Tuesday night I decided to (once again) step onto the scales and confirm my physique. I weighed in at 220 pounds again and happily returned to my evening workout. Being just about five feet, nine inches tall, this weight ensures that I am comfortably in the obese range of the body mass index (BMI) standard.

Before I had achieved this level of health, though, there was a time that I was actually quite overweight. I refer not to my childhood, but to a period later in life just after graduating from college. I had taken a job in Goodyear, Arizona and since I lived in Chandler, I spent just about an hour each way commuting to and from work.

My typical day played out something like this:

1.                           Arise at 5:30 for a bowl of Grape Nuts.

2.                           Shower and don some fashionable attire

3.                           Spend one hour sitting in the car.

4.                           Sit at desk for four hours writing computer code.

5.                           Break for lunch – typically all-you-can eat buffet style.

6.                           Sit at desk for four hours debugging computer code.

7.                           Spend one hour sitting in the car.

8.                           Dine out with wife – typically not buffet, but all I can eat.

9.                           Watch Star Trek.

10.                       Sleep.

With a schedule so filled with activity, I was stunned to find that within just a few short months I was no longer the svelte young man who had just exited Arizona State University. Initially I wrote off the condition to fluid retention caused by the recent increase in my caffeinated soda intake. Later I began to wonder if I really was big boned as my mom used to say when I was younger. It wasn’t until I experienced one of the painful side-effects of obesity that I backed off my daily intake of deep-fried chocolate sandwiches and added a bit of exercise to my daily routine.

I think that one of the more unfortunate lessons I learned was that the media doesn’t provide a complete picture on the dangers of obesity. Of course I was aware of the standard stuff:

1.      Metabolic syndrome

2.      Cardiovascular disease

3.      Diabetes

4.      High blood pressure

5.      High cholesterol

6.      Etc. (see website)

I had been aware of the above risk factors since high school health class, but being in my twenties I suppose I regarded these as very long term problems and since long term for a twenty-something is about thirty-five minutes, I felt that I had some time to get my weight under control.

What I learned, however, was that there were also some very short-term risk factors that affected my day-to-day behavior and ultimately changed my patterns. The first was what I have come to call “Brief Support Failure and Backlash”. This is a condition that is created by rapid weight gain and is related to not purchasing appropriately-sized underwear (briefs). If not properly monitored, the elastic waistband of many popular underwear types can deteriorate and become hazardous to the skin. I found that many times, the frightening popping sound of the elastic tearing would be following by a sensation not unlike being struck by a rubber band. Additionally, after prolonged abuse, the waistband becomes completely ineffective creating the never-ending need to adjust the briefs.

The second side effect I found was that I was spending far more time dressing. Perhaps if I had simply purchased appropriately-sized pants this wouldn’t have been a problem, but considering my state of obesity denial, I wasn’t ready to super-size my trousers. I simply adjusted my schedule to allow for the requisite time to perform the rituals required for buttoning my jeans. Typically this ritual involved at least three phases. First there was the one-leg-at-a-time phase that most people experience. I would then take a brief rest to catch my breath. Next there was the lie-on-the-floor-and-button phase. I found that by being on the floor on my back gravity worked in my favor to somehow make fastening the button possible. Perhaps it was due to the fact that I was infinitesimally closer to the center of the earth and therefore had a greater pull of gravity on my stomach, or perhaps it was simply that I had no energy left from the one-leg-at-a-time phase to stand. In any case, once phases one and two were complete, the final phase, engage-the-zipper was always rough.

There have always been several techniques to complete the engage-the-zipper phase. I found that my favorite was usually the bounce-up-and-down-on-the-balls-of-my-feet technique. This technique usually worked. The precise methodology was to first begin a small but consistent bounce with a cadence of about one bounce per second. Once that rhythm had been established, I would then pull upward on my zipper during the down-stroke of my bounce. Again, based on complex facets of Newtonian physics, all of the motions worked together in a harmony to achieve the final phase of trouser fastening.

In rare circumstances (and on the occasion of my unfortunate lesson), the aforementioned technique for engaging the zipper would fail. My typical backup response was the pull-for-all-you’re-worth technique which involved nothing short of brute force. The problem with this technique is that the zipper itself was not designed for it. Zippers typically have a gripping surface area of about one-eighth of a square inch, clearly insufficient for any real torque. Additionally, there is a small lock on the back of the zipper slider. The lock is nothing more than one or two small pieces of metal that jut out against the teeth of the zipper to hold the slider in place after zipping.

On the morning of my story, I was engaged in the third phase and using the pull-for-all-you’re-worth technique. I had already attempted the bounce-up-and-down-on-the-balls-of-my-feet technique to no avail and had become fairly frustrated. I stopped to rest for a moment and catch my breath. I dried my sweat-laden hands again and took a sumo-wrestling stance. I reached down and grabbed the slider, firmly embedding the locks of the slider into the skin on the side of my index finger. I pulled.

Apparently finger skin is less resistant to force than the metal in typical denim jean zippers. When I pulled, the lock on the slider simply tore through the flesh of my finger creating a small gash that ran the length of my finger from the first knuckle to the second.

I had salad for lunch.