A lot of us who grew up fat or were fat for a long time but overcame that have what I call “Ugly Duckling” syndrome. I’ve mentioned it before obliquely, but it’s basically what you’d expect: we went from fat to fit but still carry the fat kid with us in a few ways. It actually reminds me of something my brother said – though it’s a pretty common aphorism I think – when talking about chasing women. He said that you don’t want the girl who has always been hot, because she knows she’s hot and expects more. You want the girl who used to be a fat dork because she doesn’t know she’s hot yet and you have a much better shot! A lot of us are like that. No matter what we look like on the other side of our journey through fitness, we will still be, to a lesser or greater degree, dysmorphic. What we see doesn’t really line up with reality entirely.
It seems odd to me to jump around in time like this, but it’s probably best to just jot down a story as it comes to mind. That’s how memory works anyway, right? A collage of recollections that branch out in the mind in a network of associations. So I’ll forget trying to be linear for a bit.
A friend of me asked about dating. It actually came up because of some post on Facebook (the specific post and context escapes me now) that caused me to comment tongue-in-cheek that “I should try trolling through your friends list for hotties… Because I’m single as f*ck.” So he suggested I write something about it. And it’s an interesting sort of topic because my reasons for being single right now are vastly different from my reasons for being single in my early to mid 20s. (There is a relationship between them, of course… but that’s a story for another time).
I remember the first time I ever asked a girl out. Even now the memory makes me just slightly nervous! Hard to believe but it’s true. This was over ten years ago, I think I was 17, but I still remember there being a knot in my stomach, the excitement and terror of stepping out into the world that I, as a young man, should at some point be master of. I had no idea what I was doing… and really it’s no wonder things turned out the way they did. But the way this story ends isn’t really about if I got a date: it’s about the hows and whys of my asking.