Swagger48
New Member
Hello all, I suppose it's time for an introduction.
My name is Lee, 48 and a recovering fatty. I am 6' and presently go 215lb @14%bf.
Before someone gets all bent, I'm not throwing disrespect at anyone who chooses(it definitely IS a choice) to be fat. It's just a statement of my own low point, one should be comfortable with who they choose to be. Ok, that crap aside.....
I have always been athletically inclined, I wrestled from first grade thru my senior year in college, played football from 4th grade on up as well. Weight training was always a component of these sports though never a focus, however I benefited from the experience and basic knowledge of form.
As happens to lots of us, life and adulting piled up on me and I fell out of training. Weight started piling up, I knew it was happening, I saw it and despaired over it....but I let myself get fat. Really fat.
My lowest point came five years ago; I was unemployed after twelve years working for my Dad, in a deeply destructive relationship and full of self loathing.
(Sorry....touchy-feely shit may happen from time to time, suck it up)
I noticed the scale was dusty as hell one day and cleaned it off then thought "what the hell....I know it's gonna be bad......." and stepped on the damned thing. W.T.F? My fancy digital scale displayed '-- -- --'......"Oh the battery must be dead" I thought to myself. Upon turning it over to get at the battery I saw in bold print, highlighted in yellow no less 'Do not exceed maximum capacity 160kg!'.
"Oh.......oh.....math-math-mathity-math..........oh.
shit.
I was somewhere north of 350 pounds.....three hundred and fifty F#@%!!G pounds!
I had a bit of a freakout at this point as you might imagine. I didn't have a giant ass....a bigg'un to be sure but not out of proportion, had a gut but again not out of proportion.....I was just sausaged up, round everywhere. I had pudgy feet like a baby, I had fat on my damned cranium.....my damned head was round and I had chins... Think 'cave troll from Fellowship of the rings' and you have the idea.
I joined the gym again about 30 minutes later.
I lost around sixty pounds doing basic lifts three times a week and some kind of cardio every day.
To call my 'training' loose and fluid would be a drastic understatement, but.....and it's a big but, it got me moving and movement was what I desperately needed. I also changed my diet in small steps; stopped having seconds but still enjoyed all the yummy/bad for me eats. Then I cut back on beer and frivolous mouth fillers like chips and junk food. Didn't quit, just cut back. Finally in this 'phase' I began to control my portions a bit. This all knocked me down to 295lbs, and I actually felt better enough that I was motivated to step things up.
I hired a trainer. Then another and another and so on and so forth......
It took me a few tries to find one I could be successful with.
Nick looked like someone smashed extra muscle onto an NFL linebacker, he was HUGE but also athletic....and 26. Needless to say my pudgy 43 year old self was pretty intimidated. We sat down though and planned out the progression of things, set goals and took some measurements.
I felt better almost immediately and though I knew I was in for an ass-kicking I was beginning to look forward to it.
Fast forward to the end of year one.
I was rolling at ~265lbs, still heavy but not all bad. In fact, I had some trap/delt/tricep definition beginning to show, hints at pecs and had gone from size 48 waist to 40. I was strong, my endurance was way up and best, I felt good. Ladies started looking again....there's an ego booster! I may not have been particularly smooth with women, but they were looking and that felt good.
End of year two.
235lbs @14%bf, I looked pretty buff for all the damnable grey hair! I looked pretty damned good, felt fantastic and I actually went shirtless at the beach for the first time since college! I did however notice that it was a little easier to justify an extra evening off, that extra beer, the third slice of pizza.....I did good, I deserved it.....right? Right!!?? It was getting to be too easy to ditch out.
It's at this point Trainer-Nick did something terrible. He did it so simply......
"Dude.....you should do a show, you'd kill in Masters.....'
POING!!!! My attention perked right up. I had a goal again, something to strive for.
Six months later I've recomped and am sitting around 225lbs @9%, for the first time in my life you can see real damned abs, I've got lats...holy crap where'd the wings come from!? Oh yeah....pullups....lots and lots of pullups. I'm 8 weeks out of my first show and killin' it, on track to walk on stage a torn up 205lb @5-5.5%.
My gym puts on fun monthly contests to motivate. This day's contest was to pull a weighed tire, by rope going for distance vs. time. Cool! I placed fourth out of 100 or so pulls throughout the day and that's after a very high rep leg day. Not bad.
Hear comes a cute little five foot nothing trainer all flirty, Jessica hops up piggy-back and off I charge......three whole steps only to hear a quiet 'pop' then the oddest cold/pinch feeling in my calf. Thirty percent tear of the medial head, left calf. Damn. I tried to adjust training to work around it and ended retearing for a total of 50-ish% tear of the medial. I was out due to injury.
Another eight months have passed, I'm healed and back to training. In fact I'm way better built now, my shoulders have really grown and my arms are looking powerful. 6 weeks into my cut, a little tired but solid. Out of the blue I feel like crap, off to the Doc...viral pneumonia. Off track again damnit.
A year passes, it's now May of 2016 and I'm deep into show prep kicking ass, on track again and....you guessed it, disaster strikes again......again. The short story is, I was stumbling for the coffee pot (one cup, black before fasted cardio) and raked my knuckles along the rough bottom edge of the 70's formica counter top. I keep my kitchen clean because I do a lot of food prep and that means loads of animal protein. I missed however....the ragged bottom edge of the counter, and I'd just cut myself rather convincingly to the bone on my index finger. Right on top of the second knuckle...oh heeeey isn't that a tendon!? Two days later I'm bedding down in a hospital, sepsis has set in and they are discussing calmly the option of amputating the first two fingers and some of the bones in my hand. Ummm....no.
Legend has it that I may have threatened bodily harm but reports vary. The end result however is they decided they could miraculously save the fingers and 'gulp....have a good day sir....'.
In the mean time I haven't been cleared for any more exercise that walking up to now but the infection is finally beaten and the surgical wound is nearly closed. In the interim I've eaten pretty clean with several instances of "Eff-it! I'm eating the damned cake!" and it'd netted me some frustrating losses. I've lost approximately 20 pounds and have softened up around my midsection. This morning I weighed 215 and the sensor array on my scale says I'm holding 14% bf.........PISS!!!! PISSF*CKSH*T!!!!!!
Time to retool and hit it again. Time to plot and plan. I got another shot in me, if I injure-out a fourth time I may have to settle on being a really yolked 50 year old. I will find the proper place and start a thread for that.
So that's that, this is me. I look forward to learning a lot here!
Lee
Last bit: How do I post pictures. Apologies in advance, I'm not particularly computer savy, any information will need to be from the ground up as it were. Thanks much!
My name is Lee, 48 and a recovering fatty. I am 6' and presently go 215lb @14%bf.
Before someone gets all bent, I'm not throwing disrespect at anyone who chooses(it definitely IS a choice) to be fat. It's just a statement of my own low point, one should be comfortable with who they choose to be. Ok, that crap aside.....
I have always been athletically inclined, I wrestled from first grade thru my senior year in college, played football from 4th grade on up as well. Weight training was always a component of these sports though never a focus, however I benefited from the experience and basic knowledge of form.
As happens to lots of us, life and adulting piled up on me and I fell out of training. Weight started piling up, I knew it was happening, I saw it and despaired over it....but I let myself get fat. Really fat.
My lowest point came five years ago; I was unemployed after twelve years working for my Dad, in a deeply destructive relationship and full of self loathing.
(Sorry....touchy-feely shit may happen from time to time, suck it up)
I noticed the scale was dusty as hell one day and cleaned it off then thought "what the hell....I know it's gonna be bad......." and stepped on the damned thing. W.T.F? My fancy digital scale displayed '-- -- --'......"Oh the battery must be dead" I thought to myself. Upon turning it over to get at the battery I saw in bold print, highlighted in yellow no less 'Do not exceed maximum capacity 160kg!'.
"Oh.......oh.....math-math-mathity-math..........oh.
shit.
I was somewhere north of 350 pounds.....three hundred and fifty F#@%!!G pounds!
I had a bit of a freakout at this point as you might imagine. I didn't have a giant ass....a bigg'un to be sure but not out of proportion, had a gut but again not out of proportion.....I was just sausaged up, round everywhere. I had pudgy feet like a baby, I had fat on my damned cranium.....my damned head was round and I had chins... Think 'cave troll from Fellowship of the rings' and you have the idea.
I joined the gym again about 30 minutes later.
I lost around sixty pounds doing basic lifts three times a week and some kind of cardio every day.
To call my 'training' loose and fluid would be a drastic understatement, but.....and it's a big but, it got me moving and movement was what I desperately needed. I also changed my diet in small steps; stopped having seconds but still enjoyed all the yummy/bad for me eats. Then I cut back on beer and frivolous mouth fillers like chips and junk food. Didn't quit, just cut back. Finally in this 'phase' I began to control my portions a bit. This all knocked me down to 295lbs, and I actually felt better enough that I was motivated to step things up.
I hired a trainer. Then another and another and so on and so forth......
It took me a few tries to find one I could be successful with.
Nick looked like someone smashed extra muscle onto an NFL linebacker, he was HUGE but also athletic....and 26. Needless to say my pudgy 43 year old self was pretty intimidated. We sat down though and planned out the progression of things, set goals and took some measurements.
I felt better almost immediately and though I knew I was in for an ass-kicking I was beginning to look forward to it.
Fast forward to the end of year one.
I was rolling at ~265lbs, still heavy but not all bad. In fact, I had some trap/delt/tricep definition beginning to show, hints at pecs and had gone from size 48 waist to 40. I was strong, my endurance was way up and best, I felt good. Ladies started looking again....there's an ego booster! I may not have been particularly smooth with women, but they were looking and that felt good.
End of year two.
235lbs @14%bf, I looked pretty buff for all the damnable grey hair! I looked pretty damned good, felt fantastic and I actually went shirtless at the beach for the first time since college! I did however notice that it was a little easier to justify an extra evening off, that extra beer, the third slice of pizza.....I did good, I deserved it.....right? Right!!?? It was getting to be too easy to ditch out.
It's at this point Trainer-Nick did something terrible. He did it so simply......
"Dude.....you should do a show, you'd kill in Masters.....'
POING!!!! My attention perked right up. I had a goal again, something to strive for.
Six months later I've recomped and am sitting around 225lbs @9%, for the first time in my life you can see real damned abs, I've got lats...holy crap where'd the wings come from!? Oh yeah....pullups....lots and lots of pullups. I'm 8 weeks out of my first show and killin' it, on track to walk on stage a torn up 205lb @5-5.5%.
My gym puts on fun monthly contests to motivate. This day's contest was to pull a weighed tire, by rope going for distance vs. time. Cool! I placed fourth out of 100 or so pulls throughout the day and that's after a very high rep leg day. Not bad.
Hear comes a cute little five foot nothing trainer all flirty, Jessica hops up piggy-back and off I charge......three whole steps only to hear a quiet 'pop' then the oddest cold/pinch feeling in my calf. Thirty percent tear of the medial head, left calf. Damn. I tried to adjust training to work around it and ended retearing for a total of 50-ish% tear of the medial. I was out due to injury.
Another eight months have passed, I'm healed and back to training. In fact I'm way better built now, my shoulders have really grown and my arms are looking powerful. 6 weeks into my cut, a little tired but solid. Out of the blue I feel like crap, off to the Doc...viral pneumonia. Off track again damnit.
A year passes, it's now May of 2016 and I'm deep into show prep kicking ass, on track again and....you guessed it, disaster strikes again......again. The short story is, I was stumbling for the coffee pot (one cup, black before fasted cardio) and raked my knuckles along the rough bottom edge of the 70's formica counter top. I keep my kitchen clean because I do a lot of food prep and that means loads of animal protein. I missed however....the ragged bottom edge of the counter, and I'd just cut myself rather convincingly to the bone on my index finger. Right on top of the second knuckle...oh heeeey isn't that a tendon!? Two days later I'm bedding down in a hospital, sepsis has set in and they are discussing calmly the option of amputating the first two fingers and some of the bones in my hand. Ummm....no.
Legend has it that I may have threatened bodily harm but reports vary. The end result however is they decided they could miraculously save the fingers and 'gulp....have a good day sir....'.
In the mean time I haven't been cleared for any more exercise that walking up to now but the infection is finally beaten and the surgical wound is nearly closed. In the interim I've eaten pretty clean with several instances of "Eff-it! I'm eating the damned cake!" and it'd netted me some frustrating losses. I've lost approximately 20 pounds and have softened up around my midsection. This morning I weighed 215 and the sensor array on my scale says I'm holding 14% bf.........PISS!!!! PISSF*CKSH*T!!!!!!
Time to retool and hit it again. Time to plot and plan. I got another shot in me, if I injure-out a fourth time I may have to settle on being a really yolked 50 year old. I will find the proper place and start a thread for that.
So that's that, this is me. I look forward to learning a lot here!
Lee
Last bit: How do I post pictures. Apologies in advance, I'm not particularly computer savy, any information will need to be from the ground up as it were. Thanks much!
