A Visible Year
Less of me means more of me is seen
This week I will finish my first year on a combination of Zepbound (GLP-1) and Metformin (glucophage) — this is not an endorsement or testimonial about those particular drugs or drug classes, but a weight loss travelogue. Classic writing advice urges you to “be vulnerable” so I am venturing out onto that narrative branch in discussing how my outward and inward perceptions have shifted over the dispersion of one quarter of my body mass.
My 40th Princeton Reunion wrapped last year at this time and I found the conversations more sympathetic, humble and open that they had been at seven previous “major” convocations. It was a mix of losing classmates, onset of chronic disease, major health, life, or family changes, and nearing retirement and the career reflections that come with all of those milestones. I was, at the time, not in a great place - high blood pressure, a BMI that screamed “obese,” enough psoriasis to give “silver years” far too many meanings, and despite a steady diet of chicken caesar salads and exercise, I wasn’t losing weight. While we’re taught to be ashamed of being overweight, what upsets me about my pictures from that weekend is that you notice my mid-section bulge before you see that I’m having fun with old friends. My gut and flaky skin were dominating the visuals, not to mention not feeling so positive about things in general.
I made three decisions that weekend: lose weight using the tools available, build a regular exercise regimen to offset the muscle loss and mood swings that typically accompany these changes, and make a late-career shift back to technology.
One year later I am at a healthy BMI (down 65 pounds, BMI below 29). I am thoroughly enjoying the fractional CTO and engineering roles within Refolding Company and I’ve put on a few inches of upper body muscle where I previously had almost none. While I don’t have six pack abs, a medical professional may palpate a 4-pack of small 12 ounce drink bottles. As I’ve told a few friends, the implicit shame (part two) about using GLP-1 medication is that it’s the “easy way” to reshape your life. For me it was the last mile in a thousand mile race of reasonable attempts to tame decades-long habits of eating, food, self-regulation and mood during which I decided to get aggressive with the final leg kick.
The first few months were not fun. Mood swings, nausea, feeling overly full, and starting to un-learn my food habits took most of the summer and early fall. I had always seen and used food as a consolation (hard day? cookies!), a reward (excellent day? ice cream!), a boredom antidote (long slog of meetings? snack time!) while using meals as a required activity rather than an enjoyable one. I ate far too many breakfasts in the car or lunches over the sink, balancing a call, video, or reading with sandwich crumbs and egg debris leaving a visible trail of haste.
During one of my first lunches with a new co-worker, he remarked on how quickly I ate. Rather than taking the time to talk and get to know him, I ploughed (or plowed) through the chicken dish as a transactional event, not a social interaction to be enjoyed.
My meals are now intentional - balancing protein and carbs, managing portion size, being prepared to take home half of the meal to enjoy again (good thing I love leftovers). I know certain dense foods and I can only get along in smaller quantities (pork chops, steak, BBQ, bagels) and I’ve become much more sensitive to variations in taste and density (I have asked our local Dunkies to check the iced coffee dilution ratio more than a few times when it tastes “thick” to me). One of the side effects of some GLP-1 drugs is that you adjust your thinking about meals, food and caloric intake. It has been a year of behavioral change.
Included in my vector of oddness is a sensitivity to “snug” clothing. I think this harkens back to wearing dress shirts during puberty when everything was tight or short, and I dreaded getting dressed up; for the past 25 years I’ve been content paying the XXL or XXXL price uplift and living in loose, comfortable shirts, shorts and jackets. Losing a few pounds a week made me come face to face with this: My favorite clothes made me look gaunt, rather than healthy, and I simply ran out of belt notches. I gave up many favorite concert, band and venue shirts, my “lucky” hoodies, and some bathing suits that had balanced legal decency with comfort for years.
My posture has improved because I’m a bit more proud of how I look, and also because there’s less undercarriage to hold up. I’ve discovered that Fresh Clean Tees really do fit well across my middle-aged mid-section (not an endorsement, but a great win now that hoodie and tee is engineering work wear most days).
It’s weird being a size L again. It’s fun to find some college era clothing (Princeton Beer Jacket and my Colonial Club sign-in tee) that fits once again, but the weirdest thing is that an entire spectrum of clothing, shopping and social interaction has opened up through no change other than my waistline and arm measurements.
Going into clothing stores notorious for “slim fit” (eg, Arcteryx, a/k/a the Dead Bird jacket) resulted in the side eye and lack of engagement. I have never, ever been a fashion plate or even capable of matching shirts and slacks. What I got upon entry to a variety of mall stores was the implicit distance gaze of “nothing here will fit you, enjoy browsing the way you look at Ferraris.” I am now getting eye contact - in restaurants, shops, public places - that I had not experienced outside of college (when I was loud and mildly obnoxious, so the attention wasn’t always good). I am seen just for fitting into the societal norm of “dad bod” and “middle aged” — versus dismissed out of sight and hand for being larger.
In 2004 I spent a month in a wheelchair after breaking my ankle while playing hockey. I was completely, literally below the visible radar during that time, wheeling into the mall and being ignored or stepped around for having a mobility impairment. I did not realize the same had happened to me as I gained weight, but I now see the public view change as I return to the mean without returning the mean. I will continue to be an ally for those who are not visible, not seen, or implicitly excluded, because as Joni Mitchell once sang “you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone.”
Meanwhile if anyone has a size L baseball sleeve length Pablo Cruise original logo shirt, it fits again in so many nostalgic and retro ways. Some things are invariant over long enough time lines.
Congratulations on your new, healthier and justifiably proud self!
Congratulations on the weight loss and the resulting advantages to health and relationships.
It's noticeable that aging seems to affect how people see you, too.