Pitchrock, Folsom Bulldog
was an obese and slightly effeminate teenager, so on my birthday
during my freshman year of high school, my algebra classmates gave
me a mix tape that they insisted I play when the teacher left the
classroom. The tape had songs like Lionel Ritchie's "You're
Once, Twice, Three Times a Lady," and as I ran in terror to
the stereo to turn it off they stomped their feet as though my steps
were causing an earthquake. Marshall Pitchrock always looked on
but never joined in. He just smiled.
should have seen Marshall smile. It was that smile that you see
on New Year's Eve, from people who are counting down aloud from
ten, as they yell "four" then "three," unable
to contain their excitement about the upcoming twilight kiss. All
it would take was to see him smile, and I didn't care what the kids
did. I would just dance around like the bee girl in the Blind Melon
played the pudgy dad or the husky war general in the high school
musical. I guess there weren't many roles for a guy who could flawlessly
pull off an impression of Natalie from The Facts of Life.
Marshall Pitchrock always showed up ten minutes late to any audition,
strolling in, his walk tight and pensive, like a duck who owned
the cafetorium. He still would get cast as the leading man.
was horrible how God always put him in my P.E. class. I walked with
purpose in the locker room wearing my required Folsom High School
"Home of the BULLDOGS" double XL jumpsuit holding a dodge
ball in front of my erection for 6 years. I had no interest in sports
or physical competition. I threw like a girl and caught like
a girl, too. I couldn't catch a ball without squealing, and I couldn't
throw one without mooing like a cow. The guys would imitate me all
day throwing a hand forward and squealing as they remembered that
morning's fitness test. They called it a SeanToss when they tossed
a ball (18 inches) making the noise of a cat in heat. The only sport
I liked was professional wrestling and that was because I got to
watch grown-up Marshall Pitchrocks battle each other for gold belts.
he was in the locker room, buttoning his jeans and brushing his
rusty hair, still sweating from running the fastest mile in class,
talking about dropping eight pounds to compete in a lower wrestling
weight class: "No food. I just drink water and eat a spoonful
of peanut butter before I go to bed. It takes three weeks, but it's
never do that. I'm a compulsive overeater, so I can't eat a spoonful
of peanut butter without adding whipped cream, crushed bananas,
Cholula sauce and hot fudge, if I have the patience to microwave
the fudge before I start freebasing it. I hated being fat and I
wanted so badly to come to school one day and strip off my pants
to a petite waist singing, "THIS is LIVING!" but as soon
as I got home I'd have a frozen burrito wrapped in a slice of bologna
and melted pepper jack cheese. Clutch your pearls, Lynn Redgrave.
at age 24 I was tired of being afraid of myself as a sexual person
and as a socially stigmatized closet-case. I decided that being
treated as a second-class citizen for being fat was no longer acceptable.
If being thin and maybe even kind of not-ugly would blow my not-so-well-hidden
cover for being born gay, then so be it.
that means is that I wanted sex, but I wanted love even more.
2002 I started on a calorie-busting diet and a cardio-intensive
exercise plan. I became a militant health nut at war with refined
white sugar. I defined those carbs as the true weapons of
In a year my 44-inch waist vaporized into a 30, and I'd lost 100
lbs. I was, according to family and friends, unrecognizable. My
mom thought my weight loss was abrupt and dramatic. She asked if
I was anorexic. I said, "No. I'm horny."
years later, I'm nervously peering over the scales at 24 Hour Fitness
in West Hollywood. I'm so obsessed with my weight that I've spent
this whole day driving to different gyms weighing myself to make
sure that I have a precise reading of my value in pounds and ounces.
West Hollywood is my highest weight at 172.3 pounds. Of course
I'm fatter on the West Side. But then I remember to deduct
2.5 lbs. for my shoes and add 2.1 lbs. for the obvious mis-calibration
of their scale. I add 1/5 pound back because I exhaled on the scale
-- that means I'm a wee fatter. Now I'm back at
On the treadmill next to me someone is reading Oprah's magazine.
She has it so easy.
have had so much soy milk. I'm such a gluttonous hippie. This new
two pounds I've inhaled today is sitting right in my cheeks. That's
always where my excess weight harbors itself, making me look like
I just had my wisdom teeth pulled. I can't get into my new body.
I'm uncomfortable and don't know how to act minus 100 pounds and
yet still feel like a freakishly rotund oddity. I have the mind
of one of those crazy chubby-faced, over-excited Maury Povich babies
knocking over pregnant moms, snarling, "When do I get a brothah,
into the locker room to pee because then I'll be 0.6 lbs lighter.
Everyone knows how much water weighs. After that I need Kelly Clarkson.
I whip out my iPod as I turn the corner and sidestep a man walking
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