I am skinnier than the average guy. According to a quick Google search, I am also skinnier than the below average guy and the underweight guy.
You know those growth percentiles parents can’t stop sharing sharing? (Amelia Rose is in the 75th percentile for her weight, 64th percentile for height, 98th percentile for head size, etc.) Those were the most important stats of my teen years. The doctor would bring my mom in after a physical and give her a grave look.
“Dustin is doing well, but…”
Here it comes.
“He is in the 5 percentile in weight for his age.”
Sigh of relief and silent celebration. I had been in the 4 percentile the previous year.
Although living below the 7 percentile has had its benefits from time to time (hide-and-go-seek, reaching change between car seats, etc.), it’s not something I’ve always been happy about. Especially in high school.
While many high schoolers dream about becoming captain of the soccer team, getting a hot girlfriend and earning a scholarship to their first-choice school, I would have just been happy with five pounds. Imagine how athletic and handsome and confident and charming I would be with five extra pounds of muscle.
So I tried very, very hard.
Throughout my high school years, I was constantly busting out as many Push-Ups as possible (up to 25 at a time!), attempting to complete a single Pull-Up and getting disappointed by articles called, “One Weird Secret for Building Muscle.”
I was constantly getting disappointed by articles called, “One Weird Secret for Building Muscle.”
One summer, I invested in a giant jar of powder from GNC guaranteed to “Pack on the Pounds.” The label promised a delicious “cookies and cream” flavor, so I tried it for dessert the first night. I mixed three giant scoops into 40 ounces of water while dreaming of upgrading my entire wardrobe from extra small to small.
I then shook it up, took a giant sip and ran to the sink gagging.
Someone had replaced all the cookies and cream with chalk and grit. Also, I had neglected to use any ice cubes, so it was room-temperature chalk and grit. By the end of the summer, I had learned how to drink the whole thing without gagging once if I concentrated really, really hard.
I didn’t gain a single pound.
Then I left for college. By that time, I had given up hope for the Freshman 15. I would settle for the Freshman 3 or 4.
At college, I did not eat great. With a long, established history of eating whatever and as much as I wanted, healthy nutrition was not a top priority.
The following is a rundown of my traditional Monday, Wednesday, Friday lunch with conservative calorie estimate.
Double-decker hamburger with lettuce, tomato and a bunch of mayo
Calories: 822
Fat: 58 g
Powerade (It’s like healthy, right?)
Calories: 150
Sugar: A bunch
All the waffle fries I could eat
Calories: 600
Fat: 17 g
Small bowl of ranch dressing (for the fries, of course!)
Calories: 290
Fat: 30 g
Chocolate chip cookies
Calories: 114
Fat: 6 g
TOTAL
Calories: 1,976
Fat: 111 g
Special Treat
On Fridays, they would also have bacon left over from breakfast, which I would pile onto my burger.
Calories: 763
Fat: 85 g
FRIDAY TOTAL
Calories: 2,739
Fat: 196 g
Again, I ate this meal religiously three times a week. As a healthy(?!) semi-active adult male, I was supposed to be getting 2,600 calories and 95 g of fat per day, meaning I was beating my calories and doubling my fat in a single meal.
And it’s not like I ate great the rest of the time. Breakfast was always a plateful of bacon, gluten and syrup. Tuesdays and Thursdays were pizza, Friday was Applebee’s wing night and an entire bag of Butter Lover’s popcorn was always in play.
Breakfast was always a plateful of bacon, gluten and syrup.
Still, STILL I couldn’t gain any weight. Or so I thought.
When I got home after that freshman semester and walked around the house without a shirt for the first time, I got a surprising reaction.
“Oh, Dustin…” my mom said.
My dad smirked.
My sister’s eyes got wide. “DUSTIN’S GOT A POOCH!”
Since it happened over the course of a few months, I hadn’t noticed, but all of the burgers, fries and bacon had gone straight to my stomach. Not all of my stomach, mind you, just a ring around the bottom. The rest of my body was completely unaffected. It was like someone had stuffed a tube sock full of pudding and wrapped it around my belly.
I found the bathroom scale and stepped onto it.
Five pounds. I finally did it.
LIFE LESSON #17
Be careful what you wish for—you might just get it. All in the same place.