My Story

My name is Julian, and I'm a recovering foodaholic.

I grew up in the rural South, the youngest of four children (two boys, two girls). Both of my parents came from large families, and times were often tough for them growing up. They made sure that my siblings and I were never without - even if it meant sacrificing certain things that they needed in order to do so. And often, their efforts to overcompensate for shortcomings in their own upbringing came in the form of making sure that there was ample food on hand to satisfy most any craving.

Food is often at the center of southern family culture, and our house was no exception. From our own dinner table to weekly gatherings at both sets of grandparents' homes, we all got way more than our fill. And not just any food, mind you, but a virtual greatest hits of the most delectable cuisine the deep south has to offer: fried foods, veggies seasoned with choice meats, rich casseroles, breads, indulgent deserts... And that's barely scratching the surface. When you add in copious amounts of sodas, sugary snacks, breakfasts that always included multiple pork options, biscuits, gravy, fried 'taters... Well, you get the idea!

I was a 'husky' child. My parents were often asked if I played football and, when they replied that I didn't, were then told to get me in pads, cleats and a helmet as soon as possible. I've always had natural strength; I genuinely believed that I'd grow up to be big and muscled-up like the guys on television. Alas, I didn't win the genetic lotto, and what began with me simply being bigger and broader than the other kids evolved into me being morbidly obese by the time I entered the 5th grade.

When I was 12 years old, my father had a massive stroke deep within his cerebellum. For the next two years plus he was in a vegetative state that he tragically never came out of. He passed away a few days before Christmas '91. We were told that the cause of the stroke wasn't a clot, but the breaking of blood vessels near his brain stem, and that the contributing factors could have been anything from his years of smoking cigarettes, to stress, to his penchant for siphoning gas from one vehicle to another via a bit of garden hose while repairing old cars and trucks as he frequently did. In the years since, I can't help but ponder whether or not our dietary choices as a family may have been at fault. But all throughout his illness and for some time after his death, I sought (and seemingly found) refuge from the pain by gorging myself at each and every meal. So extreme were my binges that it was nothing for me to eat two footlong Subway sandwiches or multiple Big Macs and a large fry in one sitting, only to seek out more food just few hours later.

My junior high school years were marked by a realization that my physique was less than ideal, to put it mildly. Nevertheless, the prophecy bestowed on me years before came to fruition - I joined the junior varsity football team in the eight grade. I was an offensive lineman - a left guard, to be precise; it was a position that I'd keep for most of my high school football career. I was athletic, but my weight, when coupled with my comparatively late start and lack of experience (most of my contemporaries had been playing for 10 years already) meant that I was relegated to the bench until the upperclassmen had moved on to varsity. And while the rigorous training and practice schedules were sufficient to begin the process of reshaping my body, I wasn't invested enough to affect real and profound change.

It was my sophomore year when something finally clicked. I dedicated myself to learn more about weight training and cardio from a few of my more muscular and fit teammates and classmates. I began purchasing and studying every bodybuilding book and fitness magazine that I could get my hands on. Instead of just going through the motions, I began pushing myself during our team workouts, and even started finding time for specialized training outside of those mandatory sessions. It took a while, but by the time I entered the eleventh grade I was in pretty decent shape for a former 'fat kid'.

People around me began to take notice. My performance on the gridiron soared. I became a lot more active - working multiple jobs when I turned sixteen, chasing girls - basically living the teen-age life that I didn't previously have the confidence to pursue. This was my first real experience with a positive physical transformation. Naturally, I assumed at the time that I'd never allow myself to become overweight again, but as they say, life has a funny way of creeping up on you.

The years between high school and my thirties saw my weight fluctuate between 160-210 lbs. I always maintained some semblance of a fitness routine, ranging from moderate to extreme. At one point in my early-to-mid 20's I got into bodybuilding and powerlifting, achieving max lifts of 400 lbs on the bench press and over 600 lbs on both the deadlift and squat. I was ingesting half a dozen nutritional supplements daily, prided myself on never missing a workout, and for always eating as though I were preparing for a competition. In what's become a recurring theme for me, though, I eventually wandered from that path. I'd get out of shape, rediscover my motivation a bit further down the road, then work my tail off to get back in shape. Even at my worst, I was never more than a month or two of hard work and discipline away from being back on top of my game.

Everything changed as I entered my thirties and began dating the wonderful woman who is now both my wife and the mother of my lovely children. Before getting married I was a bit of a tomcat; not one to let the grass grow beneath my feet, I was never sedentary for very long. I'd fashioned myself a bachelor for life before our paths intersected, but from the moment our eyes first met I knew that I'd been bested. We dated for 6-7 months before I proposed. Fast-forward to the current day and we're happy homeowners with two beautiful and energetic kids.

My wife-to-be and I bonded over a great many things, and high on that list was a passion for delicious food. The culinary skills that were borne out of my heritage were sharpened against the steel of a long bachelorhood; beginning very early on and continuing all throughout our relationship, I prepared elaborate meals that were inspired by my frequent travels and numerous experiences. The first few years of our relationship saw both of us gain a bit of weight, but neither of us could have imagined the bodily changes I'd undergo in the years to follow.

The desire to spend more time with her led to me abandoning activities that had previously kept me fit; by the time we had our first child, my life consisted only of going to work and coming home to our little family. Each passing year saw me drift further and further away from my formerly active lifestyle. I justified the lack of care for my physical health because I was happier than I'd ever been in my adult life.

By the time we had our second child in 2015, my weight had ballooned to over 300 lbs. By this time, I'd reverted back fully to the bad habits that I'd possessed as an out-of-shape youth - unhealthy eating patterns and poor food choices that had been dormant for the better part of 20 years. I made a few half-hearted attempts to get things trending in the right direction, but didn't really do so in earnest until the fall of 2016. That's when I began my last weight-loss journey, and also when this blog began shaping up to become what it is now.

Within one month I'd lost over 30 lbs. After 3 months, I'd lost almost 90 lbs. I achieved unfathomable success in an incredibly condensed amount of time, but I never addressed the psychological issues that had contributed to my weight gain in the first place. Overwhelmed by my precarious mental state, I slid back into old habits. By autumn of last year I'd regained every pound that I'd previously lost... And then some.

It's now been a year since I abandoned my previous weight-loss effort. During that time I've re-evaluated why I want to get back into shape, and what my short-term and long-term expectations are. I've made peace with certain truths about my past, and I've been able to unload a lot of the baggage that has kept me from progressing past certain challenges in my present life. I've arrived at a point now where I accept the reality of knowing how far I've to go in order to achieve my goals, and that only by devoting myself fully to the process will I succeed this time.

I hope that, by documenting my progress, I might serve a purpose greater than simply achieving my own personal goals. Maybe, just maybe, some of the content here might help or inspire someone else. I'm far from a pro at any of this, but I am fully committed to do the very best that I can with what I've got, and to learn, to grow, and to flourish along the way.