I pushed the button and didn’t feel a thing, and then I wept. When I told my doctor this, he nodded knowingly, compassionately and asked, “Did you feel like a failure?”
That was part of it, but not the whole story. I am the perfect case for taking a GLP-1. When I sat with my doctor and finally allowed him to prescribe one for me, I was 48 years old, 390 pounds, and had type-2 diabetes. I have been very up front with my journey with fitness on this site. There is a reason I call myself The Fat Pastor. I started writing this 18 years ago, and one of my first posts was about my dismay at seeing the “3” in the first digit of a scale.
I share my journey on social media often. I share my workouts. I share my 5K runs. I share reels of me bench pressing reps of 225 or jumping rope. I post pictures of me sweaty on the elliptical or after a run. I like the increased strength and the baggier clothes. I like the “likes” and “hearts.” I like the comments. They feel almost as good as the falling numbers on the scale. Maybe they feed my ego. Maybe I’m fishing for compliments. Maybe it’s just those little hits of dopamine that Meta has made billions of dollars on.
I don’t tell you the stories of me not going to the gym. I don’t share stories about the secret trip to McDonalds. I don’t talk about it when I get out of the habit and the hunger starts to come. And it comes. It comes at night, especially. It comes with ferocity, and I let it win.
I have lost 70-80 pounds on three separate occasions. Last fall, after first being diagnosed with type-2 diabetes, I started the cycle again. I started the workouts. I started the calorie counting. I ate more blueberries and fewer chips. I had a fiber rich cereal for dinner instead of a stop for a Big Mac. I was doing it. I test my blood sugar every morning and with just a low dose of medicine and these changes, my A1C plummeted.
I have lost an accumulated 250 pounds in my life, but each time the habit gets broken and the hunger returns. I probably should be talking about this to a therapist, but I write. It’s what I do. If I can share with you the triumphs I should be honest about the setbacks. From September through November I was going strong, but in December my habits were broken, and the hunger returned.
I should be honest about the tears that fell down my face after I injected myself in the stomach with a GLP-1. I’ve read a lot of articles about why people can’t keep weight off. There is science behind why people who lose a lot of weight often gain it back. Basically, your body wants to store fat. Evolutionarily, having fat stored was great for survival, so when fat stores started to be depleted, your body goes into starvation mode. After losing weight, bodies often slow down metabolism – despite the increased activity. To go with that, hunger hormones get ramped up.
I’ve fallen into this cycle at least three times. Increase activity, change diet, lose a lot of weight and feel better; then my body starts screaming “We’re STARVING!” Is it just a will power problem? Maybe, but I also know that the odds have been stacked against me. That’s why I was so excited the first time I heard about GLP-1 drugs. Originally meant to treat type-2 diabetes, one of the functions is that they turn off the hunger hormones. When I heard that, I could hardly believe it, because I cannot describe how persistent the hunger signals are after losing 70 pounds. It was all-encompassing, especially if I slowed down the five-day a week, 2 hour a day exercise program. If I pulled back on the exercise at all, the hunger would skyrocket.
I resisted the prescription of a GLP-1 for a long time. I love my doctor. He is compassionate. He listens to me. He never makes me feel bad, so when I was reluctant he never pushed me. Finally, after this last setback, he prescribed it to me in January. Still, I couldn’t get it filled. I was filled with trepidation. I was concerned about side effects. I was worried about the lifelong nature of the medicine. I was worried about the cost. I was worried that I was taking the easy way out. So I read more. I read early studies. I listened to reputable science podcasts about the subject. I talked to my family. I shared my worries with my wife and daughters. I wanted them to hear about my struggle.
Most importantly, I started to work out again. I didn’t want the GLP-1 to be the driver of what I was doing. I shifted into high gear again. In mid March I started. Since starting again, I have worked out 36 of 50 days, and 31 of 35 weekdays. I’ve gone on 8 one-mile jogs, averaging around 17 minutes. I have increased my elliptical time from 30 minutes to 40 minutes per session. My daily average steps were 5750 in March, 7717 in April, and are 9500 in May. I increased my strength. My blood sugar was trending down. My blood pressure was getting back to normal. For the first six weeks though, my weight wasn’t really changing.
After six weeks of exercise habits and improved diet, I went from 390-387. I was still so hungry every night. I started eating granola, greek yogurt, pecans, and such instead of chips and oreos.
So finally, last Friday I decided to take the plunge, literally. I set up the plunger of the little injection device, pressed it to my stomach and pushed the button. I didn’t feel it. I was afraid it didn’t work, but I knew it did (the pre-test was instrumental in this, if I hadn’t tested it beforehand, I would have thought I didn’t do it right).
I wept.
I wept because I was sad. I was mourning the body I used to have – not the one that was trimmer (I’ve never been trim), but the one that didn’t have back pain, could get in and out of cars easily, and could get buckets on just about any basketball court. I wept because I was disappointed. I was disappointed that I had failed so many times. I was disappointed in falling into the cycles that I swore I would end. I also wept because I was excited.
“Did you feel like a failure?” he asked.
“A little, yes. But I was also crying because I was excited. I was crying because I was relieved” I said as I started to tear up again. He nodded. “I was crying because I thought maybe this time it would work. Maybe this is what I need. I know how to get healthy. I know high gear, but I can’t seem to do maintenance. I don’t know how to do moderation. Maybe this will help me. Maybe I’ll finally be able to do it.”
We talked for a while about what to expect. There will be plateaus. There is danger in working out too hard. There is danger in losing too much weight too fast. This isn’t about losing 50 pounds in six months. This is about the rest of my life. What will I be doing in two years, five years, ten years…
So I’m going to keep telling my story. I’m going to post the stories and the workouts. I’m still going to get on the scale. I’m already celebrating that since my first dose, I haven’t snacked at night. I just don’t feel the same urge, and today I was 378 pounds and bench pressed 225 pounds 11 times. I’m losing fat and getting stronger. It feels good. I still like your “likes”. I like your comments. But mostly, I like feeling better. I like myself better.
I do everything better when I’m exercising and eating right. I work better, pray better, preach better. Things are going well, and I’m dreaming about benching 300 again. I’m dreaming about running a 5K again. There’s a part of me that wants to run a marathon some day, or join an adult basketball league, but mostly I just want to grow old with my wife and daughters. I have to take my second dose, I forgot to take it this morning (and don’t even get me started on the intersection of ADHD, weight control, will power, and food). I’ll go home soon and take another shot of my GLP-1. This time though, I don’t think I’ll weep.
The Fat Pastor 