How’d you get so fat?

A little while ago I went to visit my aunt and uncle that I hadn’t seen in a few months. Before I even had a chance to sit down my uncle asks me, “How’d you get so fat?”

I immediately had flashbacks to 10+ years ago when my (Chinese) neighbor came over and asked me the same thing. “Yeah, my grandson isn’t fat like you,” she added.

The funny thing is: my weight has stayed within a 5-pound range for the past 12 months…I know because I have a wifi scale, and there’s an app for that. Additionally, I had been going to the gym, playing volleyball, or biking >=3x weekly for the past several months. (On the other hand, I’m not sure how much that offsets stuffing my face with bacon or Ferrero Rocher a few times a week…)

If I weren’t as confident or secure in my masculine identity I might have shown my uncle a graph of my weight over the past few months and asked him if there’s something wrong with his eyesight…but instead I just said, “No, my weight’s been the same, I haven’t changed.”

I was actually pretty impressed with my own (lack of) response: my face didn’t get warm, my heart rate didn’t go up…I was genuinely confused why he thought I gained weight.

The whole experience felt like a chapter out of the Joy Luck Club, essentially a book of stories of how Chinese immigrant parents shame their second-generation US-born children because that’s the only way they knew how to do things. Tears and hilarity ensue. (Disclaimer: I only saw the movie.)

It was also a good reminder of how much I’ve grown in being comfortable in my own skin, and in particular, while working out at the gym. Even though I haven’t grown very much in most measurable areas (benchpress, pull-ups, bicep circumference, number of visible abs), this last exchange with my uncle made me realize that I grew where it mattered: my own sense of self-worth. Who cares if he thought I was fat? And more importantly, who cares if I did get fat? Why should I let other people’s opinion get in the way of how I feel about myself?

Since I didn’t really work out or play any sports in school, I’ve always felt somewhat self-conscious about my body growing up. I took a resistance training class in college with a friend, but didn’t really learn anything. After college I signed up for a gym membership and even went through a few personal trainers, but never stuck with anything long enough to make an impact. Every time January would roll around, though, I’d resolve anew that this is the year that I work out hard and get a beach body. And like clockwork, I’d return to old patterns of behavior by February.

From all appearances, it didn’t look like anything was changing. But in retrospect, I can recognize when growth happened…most often when I met people along the way. One of those people was my coworker Rob, who I met several years ago. Originally from the East Coast, Rob was tall with an athletic build, quick-witted, confident, and outgoing. We hit it off, and he asked me if I wanted to work out with him at the gym.

I was excited to (I had always wanted a work out buddy but was too lazy to do anything about it) and immediately said yes, but I felt super insecure about how this was going to go down. Which, in retrospect, seems silly to even wonder about. Yes, Rob lifted more weight than I did (in most cases, a lot more weight), but he was patient, encouraging, and honestly, the best trainer I had ever had. If I had it my way I would work out with Rob a lot more often, but our schedules are too different to get together more than once every couple months.

Fast forward to this year, which theoretically would have been my best shot at getting six pack abs by summer, no thanks to my friend Jon who insists on working out at 5:30. A.M. IN THE MORNING. If that sounds insane, it’s because IT IS. In a moment of weakness I had promised Jon over New Year’s that I’d work out with him for a month at 5:30 am, and now it has extended to 6 months. Fortunately (or unfortunately for my abs), the most we’ve worked out is 3x/week…but it’s still quite an accomplishment given my track record.

Half a year in, it’s gotten slightly easier to get up before sunrise and start the day with a workout. It’s also reinforced the fact that people are creatures of habit (myself included). The same people are there most days I go: the older Asian lady with the lifting gloves, the super-buff Latino guy with the tattoos, the super-buff Latino guy with the Beats earphones, the personal trainers with their clients, and the stereotypes go on.

One morning I decided to accost the super-buff Latino guy with the Beats earphones since I saw him wearing a volleyball shirt (I always try to get to know more people who play volleyball). I’m not sure why I was surprised that Sergio was friendly and easy to talk to…maybe it’s related to the insecurity I felt when I initially worked out with Rob. After meeting Sergio, I’d always say hi and make small talk whenever I saw him at the gym. He even asked me to spot him on benchpress a few times, which also reminded me of working out with Rob, since both of them lifted a lot more weight than me.

If it’s one thing I have learned from Rob, Sergio, Jon, and the others I’ve met along the way, it’s this: how many pounds you can lift doesn’t matter. How much weight you gain (or, in my case, don’t gain) between seeing relatives doesn’t matter. You can’t control how people are going to treat you, but you can control your own actions and how you respond to others. It’s a pretty basic truth, but it’s been a useful reminder to me every now and then. It’s also why I haven’t given up on my goal of having a beach body by summer.

So…2018, watch out, I’m coming for you.