and Nancy Schenck) has shared their talents, guidance, and support wholeheartedly (and not just because they wanted me to continually email them pictures of my dog—although I’m sure that perk didn’t hurt). And to graphic designer Marisa Jackson, I am grateful for the meaningful and iconic book cover (and interior) design. Your talents shine!
There are others who have been instrumental to this specific work as well—including the fifteen gifted friends and family members who made direct contributions through their write-ups included herein. This book would not be what it is without your wonderful insights and reflections. Joy, your Foreword and friendship both mean the world to me. And Petra, your Thin/Fat Observations that you’ve graciously allowed me to share on these pages continually bring me clarity, determination, and laughter. Hear that applause? That’s from me, to you. And Jaxon, your allowing me to feature your beautiful song lyrics is a gift I carry with me every day. You, my friend, are a true hero.
I’d also like to thank the people who remind me daily that “family” comes in all sorts of incarnations. To Charlene, Elizabeth, Grace, Kath, Maggie, Michele, Nik, Peter, Sally, Yvonne, and Jason, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for loving and accepting all aspects of who I am. You lift me on a daily basis and I am forever grateful. And to Latte, my seven-pound bundle of fur, who continually teaches me that there’s bliss in every moment, I am eternally grateful for the reminders and all of the smooches.
Lastly, I’d like to thank you, the reader. And this is not done in an effort to encourage you to keep reading. The journey I share is one of highs, lows, and lots of in-betweens. Having you on this path with me, even simply via these pages, helps my strength and my resolve, which can in turn hopefully help and inspire yours.
We’re all in this together. And for that, I sincerely thank you.
the weight-ing game
I am standing in darkness, having been hidden away by my host.
I’m not sure what’s happening at this moment or why I was shoved into this dark room and told not to touch anything or make any sounds.
I can hear people passing by in the hallway. Who are these people? Why am I not allowed to see them? Are they embarrassed of me? Have I done something wrong?
I am overcome with paranoia and anxiousness—feelings I’m all too familiar with after everything I’ve experienced in my life. The abuse from my parents that I thought was normal and sometimes felt was deserved, getting teased and tortured throughout my school days (even into college), not fitting in (often literally) wherever I went, and, saddest of all, not believing in myself enough to not let any of these things matter.
Is the event that I’m here for—something I thought was going to be so wonderful—to be another letdown? Am I here to fall flat on my face? Is this going to be my destiny forever? To continue to fail?
As I begin to wipe sweat from my brow, the door opens. I hold my breath.
Light streams into the room and I am yanked out into the hallway and shoved toward a doorway.
“When that door opens, walk through it,” says the gruff voice of the man who’s shoving me forward. I turn to get a closer look at him but he disappears just as quickly as he appeared, having entered a side office.
I am once again alone.
My heart is pounding. I try to breathe, but my chest is tightening up.
“This was a mistake,” I tell myself. “I never should have accepted this invitation. But it’s too late now. I’ve got to go through with it.”
I look toward the doorway I was instructed to walk through. I realize this is it. This is going to be, like it or not, a defining moment.
Am I going to sink or swim?
I summon up the courage to do everything it takes to soar, as the door in front of me begins to open. As I step forward I can’t make out anything but bright lights. I’m squinting to see what’s waiting for me on the other side. But I’m blinded by the lights.
I realize what’s about to happen is going to change everything.
gregg’s weight by book section
God got it wrong.
In his infinite wisdom he created magnificent mountains, shimmering oceans, and Sandra Bullock’s smile. But when it came to food groups, he screwed up big time. I mean, why can’t carrots be high in fat and chocolate be good for your eyes? What was the Almighty thinking? Then again, what was I thinking?
At six years old, I was a scrawny, skinny little kid. All I would eat was hot dogs and oatmeal—and not necessarily on the same day. I have vague memories of being coerced into eating more by my parents who were worried about their growing boy. Needless to say, I taught them a thing or two about growing.
My father was an officer in the Air Force, so we moved around a lot. I was born in Germany, then we moved to Indiana, where my sister Lori was born, and later to Tennessee. After Tennessee we moved to Hanscom Air Force Base in Bedford, Massachusetts, where we stayed for a number of years while the military sent my dad to Harvard to earn his MBA.
As a child, a lot of my eating habits were self-taught. In fact, once I started gaining weight, I was forbidden from having any snacks or sweets. Because I wasn’t allowed to have “junk food,” I was drawn to it in every eating situation that occurred when my parents weren’t around. I would use my allowance to buy contraband candy, and that became my addiction—my drug of choice, if you will. All because I never learned moderation.
By the time I turned eight, I was indulging in cheating cycles. Anytime I purchased snacks or junk food with my allowance, I knew I had to eat it by the time my parents got home. At age six, I couldn’t drink a whole can of Coke, but by age eight I could down eight Mr. Goodbars in one sitting. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was already cultivating the fine art of bingeing.
Eight-Year-Old Gregg’s Typical Binge
8-pack of Mr. Goodbar Chocolate Bars
1 Charleston Chew Candy Bar
2 cans of Pepsi
As the years went on, so did the weight (well, it added on, anyway).
I remember in third grade, I was actually the center of a mini-gambling syndicate due to my size. My classmates were making bets based on how heavy they thought I was. And at the time, I couldn’t have been prouder. I was amused by it all and, being a wannabe celebrity, or at least a wannabe popular kid, I was beginning to embrace any form of attention, no matter how