I Still Think Like a Fat Guy

From my early twenties through my forties, I was the big guy. Six feet tall. 190. 200. 250. Then 275. Over those years I went through three different diet phases.

Phase one I call the Mr. Wendall Diet. Remember “Mr. Wendall” by Arrested Development? I give this phase zero stars. Would not recommend. It was basically a starvation diet disguised as poverty. I didn’t have much money, so I didn’t eat much. I dropped 65 pounds in three months. I started working out, but my heart and mind weren’t in it. Within a few years, the weight came back. And then some.

Phase two was How to Scare the Weight Off. During a routine blood donation in the early 90s, I was told I had Hepatitis C. Back then, there wasn’t much information except that it could lay dormant and then kill you. Fear does funny things to motivation. I went high-protein, low-carb, and heavy into weight lifting. I dropped more weight than the first time and kept it off for a few years. But eventually, it came back. And went further.

Phase three is what I call I Am Allergic to Dying Too Soon. In 2019, one of my best friends lost his fight with testicular cancer. Within thirty days, another close friend passed from complications related to diabetes. That back-to-back loss forced me to confront something I had been avoiding: if I wanted a long, productive life, I had to take my health seriously.

We’ve all seen those New Year emails at work about getting in shape and eating better. Most of the time they go straight to the trash. This time, I paid attention. I signed up for what I later learned wasn’t a diet at all, but a behavior-based program called Wondr Health—back then known as Naturally Slim.

Eat slow. Move more. Sleep. Hydrate. No extremes. No punishment.

It’s the foundation of how I think today. I started at 275. Today I’m around 180. I say “around” because I honestly have no clue what I weigh—I haven’t owned a scale in over 30 years. Even with that physical change, my mind hasn’t moved at the same speed.

I wear a size 34 now, down from a 44. But I still walk into stores and instinctively look for extended sizes. I still hesitate before sitting in certain chairs. My body changed in leaps and bounds. My mind still thinks like a fat guy.

When you live in a larger body for decades, it shapes how you move through rooms, how much space you think you deserve, how you interpret looks, and how you protect yourself. That doesn’t disappear just because the scale moved.

I was running the original Full Figure Plus during phase two. It centered plus-size women and plus-size culture. That work mattered. Visibility mattered. Challenging norms mattered.

Now I’m in a different place physically. But I’m not pretending I don’t understand what it feels like to live in a bigger body. My wife is still a plus-size beauty, and she enjoys the body she lives in. Just like with the original Full Figure Plus, part of the inspiration for this new venture is honoring her.

That means I’m not interested in turning this next chapter into a weight-loss victory tour.

What I care about now is capacity. Can I hike ten miles? Can I move without pain? Can I cook real food consistently? Can I age without trying to reclaim what I did in my twenties?

A lot of us in our late 50s are carrying body history. Some have lost weight. Some haven’t. Some are trying to. Some are done trying. Too often, plus size, big and tall, Gen X, and over fifty equals invisible.

This isn’t about chasing the body we had in 1995. It’s about managing the one we have in 2026.

I still think like a fat guy sometimes. That’s part of my history.

But FFP Collective isn’t about freezing identity in time. It’s about evolving bodies—bodies that have worked, carried stress, healed, and are still moving.

There’s room here for anyone whose body has lived.