Fat Guy BJJ Blog

The slightly sarcastic, nominally entertaining Brazilian Jiu Jitsu adventures of a 30-something Dad


Random Excuses

Deep Throat Thrombosis and the Donkey Dick of Destiny

If you’re already up on my situation, I’m attaching this picture as proof of life:


So I had myself an interesting weekend. I was scheduled to have surgery to repair my Atrial Fibrillation problem (aFib) using some sort of secret squirrel shock therapy or some shit.  In order to do that, they needed a good look at the inside of my heart.  Apparently, in order to do that, they need to go INSIDE my body since, you know, lungs and bones and skin and shit are in the way if you try to image from outside the body.

Long story short, Thursday morning I find myself deep throating a TEE probe (Transesophageal echocardiogram).  Now, that might sound benign, but when medical terms come out and you have no idea what they mean, you’re about to get fucked by technology.  In this case, I had the opportunity to give technology a blow job, which, honestly, is way over due.  I mean, technology has done so much for me, but I digress.

Here’s what the probe looks like:


Aaaand, here’s a donkey dick:


I trust you can see the similarity. Anyhow, the donkey dick of destiny uncovered a major problem.  I have an Atrial Thrombosis, which is an over-educated dickbag way of saying I have a blood clot in my heart.  That’s not good.

Now, the clot won’t kill you as long as it remains in the heart.  If that shit gets pumped out into the system, you’re solidly fucked.  Hence, it doesn’t make much sense to put my heart back into rhythm where it will, subsequently, immediately pump the thrombus out into my circulatory system and start fucking shit up like the mosh pit at a Hatebreed concert. Instead I’m on blood thinners.  Lots and lots of blood thinners.  With the hope that the thrombus will stop being a twat waffle and go quietly into the night.

So that’s how my weekend is going so far.  A night in the Cardiac ICU and a blowjob, although I was hoping to receive one rather than give one, but fuck.  What can you do?


Beach Sessions and Other Skinny People Bullshit

I’ve heard about people who like to do Brazilian Jiu Jitsu on the beach, and I just want to take a second and put a stop to that high-fallutin’ bullshit before it even gets started with this dude.  You see, skinny people have a lower crevice to to plane ratio than fat dudes. I know I need to explain that shit to you jock, mathematically challenged mother fuckers, so a “plane,” in this case, is not a fucking magical winged contraption that takes you from New York to L.A. really, really fast.  It’s a flat space, presumably between two non-flat spaces, in mathematics. In other words, you’ve got stomach, I’ve got crack.  You’ve got back, I’ve got more cracks.  Get it?

You can probably leave a beach rolling session with a few grains of sand stuck between your sack and leg.  I’ll leave with twice my body weight in sand lodged incurably between my rolls.  You can fix your problem by sticking a hose in your shorts.  I have to get my neighbor to lift my back fat if I want to fix my problem.  Comprende?

Further, I know how much fun it is to take your shirt off when you’re 8% body fat, but that ship has sailed clear to fucking Tunisia by now for me.  In fact, it’s been captured by Pirates and is being held ransom for hot dogs and chips.  So, yeah.  That’s all I have to say about that.

Day 62: Workout Partner Needed

Man, I need somebody to work out with.  I live in Orange park.  I go to Planet Fitness.  Somebody help a brother out.

In other news, I’ve learned something about myself.  I will slave to the point of nearly passing out from cardiovascular exertion in the context of a martial arts class with a smile on my face.  However, I’d rather take a kick in the pills than get on a tread mill.  That’s strange, but I guess everything in life is a matter of perspective.  I’d just rather sweat with a purpose I guess.

So, I need to get my ass in gear to lose some more weight.  I’ve been screwing around for like three weeks now.  Somebody please come drag me out of complacency….

Day 43: I’m Struggling

So, one thing about having a blog is that I get to be transparent about some tough topics.  One of those topics is depression.  It’s no secret that I have it, have dealt with it for years.  My depression is subsequent to the onset of PTSD.  The two are connected.  They can’t be separated.  Depression is much more than just feeling worthless and down (which I frequently do).  It physically hurts.  It knocks the wind out of you.  It effects relationship.  People tend to give lip service to “understanding” but usually don’t have the slightest idea. The issue has nothing to do with the richness of my life, the quality of my relationships, etc.  It just exists.

How does that effect my weight loss goals?  Unfortunately more than I would like.  For instance, I haven’t been able to go to the gym in 6 days.  Not “I don’t want to go.”  Not “I’d rather not go.”  I can’t.  There are moments when I barely function as a father, much less as a normal, productive person.  Eating correctly?  Not a chance.  On the best day, dieting requires discipline and motivation.  When I’m down, I have very little intellectual energy to devote to any portion of the before mentioned tasks.

I know nobody gets it.  People will think I’m just whining.  The macho culture of American dudes will ridicule me.  People will avoid me because being around me will drag them down.  People will suggest pop cures and this-is-what-I-do remedies.  My dedication to achieving results will be questioned.  At the end of the day, none of them has to actually be me, so the arguments are more or less invalid.

Maybe somebody can relate, and maybe I’m just whining.  Who knows?  If it helps somebody else realize they aren’t the only person in the world with their own personal rain cloud, then I guess that’s a win.

Day 33: 7 lbs in 7 days results, and a Hurricane

OK…so it’s not a hurricane, strictly speaking.  It’s a tropical storm.  What you need to know for the purposes of this blog, dear reader, is that any wind gust over 50 miles per hour equates to immediate Mexican food for the Greene family.  It’s sort of a family tradition.  That being said, I may or may not have consumed some yummy chicken fajitas with beans, rice, and extra cheese just now.  I can neither confirm nor deny.

However, I can confirm that I managed to lose 6 lbs in 7 days, which I have invariably gained back since yesterday was a cheat day.  So, at my lowest point I was at 324 lbs.  I suspect I’m at about 328 if I had to guess right now, maybe more or less, to be confirmed after I take the Browns to the Super Bowl…wink, wink.  To any extent, gale force winds and driving rain are a perfectly good excuse to not go to the gym today, so I will be more than happy to sit at home and revel in my fatness.  Back to the grind tomorrow, provided we have electricity.

Since it’s veterans day, I must do the needful.  I want to spend a few moments remembering my fallen brothers in arms who answered the call of this nation to stand and fight against Islamic fascism anywhere it rears its ugly head.  To Travis Griffin, Jason Cunningham, and many, many more who never made it back….we will never forget you.

“There, but for the grace of God, go I.” –John Bradford

I Need Cardio…Lots and Lots of Cardio

Pay no attention to the fat guy in this photo:

Day 20: F’n People

So, the world has crossed me today.  Actually, starting yesterday I was in a funky mood.  I responded in the worst possible way last night: with a Large Pepperoni Pizza from Pizza Hut.  I’m not gonna lie.  I ate the whole thing.  Including bread sticks.  And about half of a cheese pizza too.  And had soda.  And it wasn’t cheat day.  WTF?

So, naturally, I’ve gained like three pounds, even though the pizza only weighed a pound and a half.  That’s what happens when you have the “big-boned” gene.  Skinny people don’t understand that shit.  They’re all like, “Why don’t you just eat healthier?”  Shut up, butt nugget.  I’ve been eating healthy for two weeks and lost zero pounds because I was too sick to go to the gym.  Now I eat one pizza and gain half a ton.  Your theory sucks.

I guess I’ll go to the freaking gym today.  Even though I’ll bust my ass for the rest of the week just to end up at 331 lbs….I’ve never been the quitting type.  This day sucks.

Starting Over. Again. WTF. Day 1

You know what I like less than trying to lose weight?  Nothing.  Seriously.  But alas, if I don’t try, I’ll likely die early.  Now, mind you, I’ll leave a very, very good looking corpse, and a legendary personality, and not a few fawning ladyfolk behind.  Nevertheless, I must try again.

So, since we last tried this I’ve actually managed to gain about 20 lbs.  I know, right?  WTF?  I made it all the way up to 350 lbs.  Then, a couple of weeks ago, I started counting calories and exercising like a maniac and I currently sit at 334.2 lbs.  So, for all of my hard work (mostly at buffets and all you can eat barbecue places), I’ve gained a net 5.2 lbs over the last year.

But at least I was losing weight, right?  Until last night that is.  I got all freaky deaky on a place of wings and Potato wedges from your friendly neighborhood sports bar and ate about 3000 calories.  Afterwards there was nothing left but what was on my face: wing sauce and a look of regret.  So, alas, we start over.  Day 1.

On the up side, I bought a pair of new Nike cross training shoes this time, so the weight loss is in the bag.  Guaranteed.

Miscellaneous Whining

I really hate the gym.  I hate eating right too.  That’s probably why I’m fat.

On another note, why is it that every time you decide to eat right and work out and lose weight, some ass has to point out how fat you are and sap your motivation?  I think there is some covert organization that operates behind the scenes and employs random douche bags to appear at a moments notice and say retarded stuff to keep me from going to the gym.  They’re all like, “Hey honey, let’s go to a movie”….and the dude is like “Sorry babe, I’m the douche bag on call tonight, and we have to keep that fat bastard from losing weight.”  Sigh.

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