This picture was taken 27 years ago. Cute, right? I mean, how did my folks know I was going to be such a rock star musician at such an early age? Wait… never mind.
This is the last memory I have of being small. Sad, right? Not really. I’ve always seen myself as a big guy, so I don’t really see the “slim Clayton” as something I lost at a certain point of my life.
I weighed in around 250 in high school. When I got to college I ballooned up to 270ish, and maxed out at 305 a few times. Thank you Mountain Dew, “grilled cheese Wednesdays,” and platters of brownies that we somehow managed to sneak out of the dining center.
This is me in 2012. I’m sitting right around 300 pounds in this picture. I’m being interviewed by my pastor about my recent trip to China in front of 500 people (x 4 services). I can’t see past my belly when I look down. I’m embarrassed by my appearance, especially when I glance back at the shot of me on the giant video screens.
Fast forward to mid-August of this year (2016 if you’re a Star Fleet researcher sifting through the Earth archives). I’m tipping the scale at 292. A long-term relationship has ended (basically – more on that in a future post, or, maybe not), I hate my job, and my life is in shambles. I can’t eat, can’t sleep, and can’t stand the person I’ve become.
Let me back up for a moment. In 2008 I was diagnosed with Type II Diabetes. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Type II Diabetes, here’s the basic synopsis – Clayton’s fat; Clayton’s body is resistant to insulin and/or has stopped producing its own insulin (damn you, pancreas!); Clayton’s fasting blood glucose level should be below 100, but it’s at 365 when he’s tested. Cue the hand-slap from the doctor. I start taking pills and insulin. Earlier this year I was taking so much insulin my endocrinologist (second hand-slapping doctor with a significantly more direct approach to dealing with me) switched me to U-500, a type of insulin 5x more concentrated than standard insulin. Clayton feels more shame. Clayton begins blogging in the third person.
Back to August. I lose about 15 pounds in 4 days, primarily due to my inability to function as a normal and newly single human being. The relationship begins its death throes, Clayton starts eating again, and he’s up 10 pounds. Now it’s mid-September, the final breakup conversation happens, and Clayton is back to his unintentional fasting plan.
Once the initial shock of the sudden change of my relationship status wore off, initiating the oh-so-fun anger and depression stages of grief (whoever conducted that research was a genius), I decided to take control of my eating habits. I already had some momentum going in the right direction. I was down to 275 pounds, and my manzierre (or bro if you’re more of a Kramer person) was down to a solid A-cup.
A friend of mine introduced me to the idea of intermittent fasting (IF) and the 16/8 plan. Here’s the basic premise – The body’s process of digesting the food we eat lasts about 12 hours. If we don’t eat anything for longer than 12 hours, the body begins burning its fat stores. Every hour after that 12 hours expires is another hour of pure fat burned (more on the science of behind this in a later post). So, I figured, what the heck; why not give it a try? I started skipping breakfast and decreasing my carb intake.
So, that’s my story.
Oh, you want to know how it’s going? You’ll just have to wait for my next post!