i was 12 years old and fat

I was 12 years old and fat. Sitting next to my father, (gnarley alcoholic/drug addict) I vividly remember him saying, "god, you are fat."

He was right.

That would prove to have a bigger impact on my life than I could have ever predicted. It was from that day forward that I decided that I would not be that way any more...I would not be fat ever again. Later that night I went into my room, cleared a space in front of a mirror, put on my Blind Melon "No Rain" tape that I had recorded from the radio, and began doing jumping jacks. (Much like the fat girl in the Blind Melon video, I was a fat kid jumping around...without the bee costume) Jumping jacks then sit-ups, then push-ups, then jumping jacks. This went on for hours that night cycling through the only 3 things I knew from gym class. I woke up the next morning still fat. Maybe it was me being 12 and not fully understanding that this sort of thing doesn't change overnight, but when I woke up that morning and saw myself in the mirror...god I was fat.

I decided to walk the mile to my neighbors bus stop in the mornings instead of taking my own stop. I ran home after school, and my routine of jumping jacks, sit-ups, and push-ups continued night after night. Sometimes I wore my mothers tights. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to...but again, I digress. I bought weights from a garage sale. Now I should clarify when I say weights, I really mean weight. One 25 pound dumbbell is a weight, not weights. Without any idea on what to do with it, I lifted it. Curls, overhead press, rows, weighted sit-ups all on a folding chair in front of my mirror. Hours and hours. Days and weeks.

And it worked. I had a six-pack, and pecks. Through puberty and stubbornness, I had managed to change my entire body. I kept up the workouts and all throughout high school, I would sneak out of class and workout. Into the gym during lunch, and after school, skateboarding, cycling, running, push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks. I couldn't get enough. Highpoint athletic club was where I really started to gain access to knowledge on how exercises were done, and what I needed to do to get better. Better at what? Who knows. Just better.

When I walked into Longs Gym in Philadelphia, the owners said that I could have a free membership if I competed in a contest that they were hosting. As a poor kid, any time I hear free, I perk right up. (To this day, I will take a free anything...just sayin.) A deal was struck, and I was on my way to the Mr. Trenton, NJ bodybuilding championships at the tender age of 17. A healthy diet was important, just not for me and my diet consisted of canned tuna fish, saltine crackers, pineapple and mustard. This was good because these things were affordable, and didn't need my culinary expertise, not that I had any to begin with.

I won that contest after 3 months of weightlifting in a gym, and dieting on tuna and crackers. My muscles were getting large, and my ego growing at twice the rate. I'd be replacing Fabio on the cover of a harlequin romance novels soon...well not really but anyways.

I continued working out, and entered the Mr. PA contest the following year. Taking fourth place was not acceptable to me, and in hindsight, I didn't work nearly as hard I should have. Of course at that time, I was running a valet business, working full time at a junk mail packaging facility, and working part-time in a gym to keep my free membership. In no way were these excuses excusable. I was determined to never lose again, and fourth place was losing at that point in my life.

What happened next took me down a road that I sometimes regret, although that road took me to places I would have never seen otherwise. (France, Spain, New Jersey, etc.) Before leaving for college in the summer of 2000, I bought a handful of d-ball pills and a bottle of Cypionate from some guy at the gym. Not knowing what the hell I was doing, I would go into the gym weekly and have him give me injections of steroids in my ass. 4 pills everyday at breakfast on workout days, and injections on the weekends. 2 pills on days that I didn't workout and alternate buttcheeks week to week so my butt didn't grow funny. 3 months later I was 20 pounds heavier, my butt looked great, and I certainly would not take 4th place ever again.

5 am - 60 minutes on my bicycle
6 am - breakfast - 12 egg whites and 2 cups of oatmeal
8 am - walk to class and eat more during class
12 pm - lunch in the dining hall - eat for 1 hour straight
2 pm - workout
4 pm - post workout meal and class
6 pm - dinner for 2 hours - goal to consume 1800 calories
9 pm - workout
11 pm - 10 egg whites and rice
12pm - a few tbsp of peanut butter before sleep

I was working through college so that I could afford food. I saved every penny I had to buy steroids. At the start of the fall semester, I bought enough to last a few months, and increased my doses. Now that I was comfortable with the needles, I gave myself injections a couple of times a week which of course escaltated, and took pills all day long. My life was eating, cardio, lifting weights, eating, sleeping, working out, and eating some more. It consumed me, and I consumed it.

I chose to not compete that year in order to get bigger. I had started college the year before at 185 pounds and by the end of the spring semester, the scales were now tipping at over 210 pounds. My obsession grew, and so did my steroid use and ego. I looked like a superhero, and was covering up so many insecurities with my body.

My steroid regimen turned into between 2 and 4 shots daily. I was taking over 1200 mg of testosterone weekly, and training for the sake of getting bigger and becoming a human pincushion. 2 years later, I hadn't competed, and I was weighing in at 265 pounds. Jeans and clothes off the rack were now not an option. I wore 3XL t-shirts that clung to my arms as if they were wet and sweat pants that I needed to stretch in order to get my thighs into them. Stretch marks crept across my body from the gruelling workouts, and sleeping became a chore since my shoulders constricted blood flow to my head. My body now required 6000 calories daily.

It was time to set my mind on a series of contests. My goal that year, was to become a professional bodybuilder and to either make my body my career or quit. In November, I began dieting for my first contest of the year, the Mr. Lehigh Valley contest in 2004. My steroid intake during this period was dizzying. 2 shots in the morning, 1 in the evening, 1 before workouts, 1 before dinner, 4 pills at breakfast, 2 pills before workouts, and sleeping pills to help me sleep. I began to carry around a bag with my supply inside, and would graze on food and anabolics all day long.

I was a physical specimen that most people will never see in person. At 240 lbs, I was at a 4% bodyfat, 30 inch waist, 48 inch chest, 20 inch arms, and 28 inch thighs. People would stare, and admitedly, I loved the attention, but between my broken home, crazy lifestyle, drug use, and school work, my mental and emotional health suffered. Depression set in, and there were many days that I did not want to go on anymore. Suicide thoughts were frequent, and the attention that I got was no longer welcome. It could have been the steroids, it could have been just a bad day, but crying and emotional swings were commonplace and very frequent. I clung to the surface friends that hung around and didn't matter. I used my body to get me into the crowd that left me unfulfilled. I was miserable and I pushed on.

In preparation for the contests, I went from 270 pounds to 225 pounds 6 months later. I won my class in the Mr. Lehigh Valley contest and two weeks later won the Mr. Trenton NJ contest. Along with the wins, I now had a contract that paid, and further fueled my steroid and caloric consumption and eventual spiral into a deeper depression. My ugly mug was in 13 different magazines and I was making a name for myself in the bodybuilding scene. I thought I was a big deal.

Developing OCD of sorts, I didn't cheat on my diet for 11 months. Anxiety about eating too much or too little, or training too hard or too light, or doing only one cardio session instead of two plagued my thoughts. My treats consisted of extra oatmeal, and my joy came from my bi-weekly steak. Workouts, food, cardio, injections and sex consumed me. My girlfriends didn't understand, and truthfully, most women were turned off by my size. In preparation for the contests, I would only have sex twice weekly in order to remain strong for my workouts.

Later that summer, I won the Mr. PA contest at a very lean 222 pounds. With that win under my belt, I was invited onto the US bodybuilding team. In November 2004, I would represent the USA in the Mr. Universe contest as the heavyweight under doctor "supervision". You can gather from your own thoughts what this doctor did for me.

As the Mr. Universe contest came closer, I decided that if I took 3rd place or higher, I would continue on bodybuilding. Anything less would mean that I would quit and focus on getting my life back together and coming out of this depression that ailed me. Luckily for me, as an underprivledged youth, I was able to recieve free therapy during these times, and was able to get some very good advice. The suggestion of quitting made me outraged, and elated at the same time. I walked off stage in France with a 6th place medallion, and never looked back. I quit.

Of course, I honored my contract and did an appearance at the Philadelphia's strongest man (I won with a 650lb deadlift, 600lb squat, and 500lb bench press) and collected my residual checks, but the dream of being a bodybuilder was over.

When I returned home from competing, I exchanged my steroids for anti-depressants which I still rely on today, and focused on other things. I still worked out, and I was still depressed, but life had come back to a relative state of normalcy. To this day, I still struggle with depression daily, and don't know if it is a residual side effect of the steroids, or something that I would deal with regardless. Things now are much different, and I am back to a healthy 190 lbs. I still like to workout, but choose to enjoy it instead of obsess over it.

Riding my bike has become an great outlet for me and riding is a great release and challenge. Often times when a ride gets tough, and I need some motivation, I replay over in my head my (gnarley alcoholic/drug addict) father saying, "god you're fat". Or a 12 year old Michael in the mirror before school sayin...god you're fat.

The only difference now is that...it's not true.

lincoln