Thirty-Six Hours in Illinois

March 27, 2012

This past weekend was a whirlwind. On Friday night, I took a red-eye flight to Chicago, met up with my sister Laura, and we drove down to Springfield, Illinois. We were on a top secret mission: to surprise our cousin Camille by showing up at a performance of her high school’s production of “Grease” – she was starring as Marty. (See pictures of Camille, along with the rest of her family, in my cruise posts from January.) The surprise went off without a hitch – she didn’t know we were coming until she saw us in the fourth row during the opening number, and I had a great time.

It was a quick trip – I left on Friday night, and got home Sunday night – 14 hours of travel for 36 hours in Illinois, 7 of which were driving from Chicago to Springfield and back. I decided before leaving that I would take photos of everything I ate the entire weekend. The photos would keep me accountable – I had no idea where I would be eating, and there would be potentially tricky situations, like airports and restaurants, to navigate. And since I have a blog, guess what? You get to see all the photos! Shall we begin?

FRIDAY NIGHT: My flights (yep – plural, I had a layover in San Francisco) to Chicago were fantastic – I had an open seat next to me on each leg. My last few hours before leaving were spent running errands and packing, and I didn’t eat dinner. So meal #1 was purchased at the San Francisco airport on my layover. A grilled chicken salad with orange segments, a vinaigrette that I tried a little of, and a couple tablespoons of crushed cashews. Also, a fruit cup:

On one of the planes I got a glass of tomato juice (I slept through the drink service on the other plane – woohoo for plane sleeping, a rare occurrence for me):

SATURDAY: I landed in Chicago, and took the train to Laura’s house, arriving around 8am. We took a tough 10am spin class at her gym (thanks to the spin teacher, James, for giving me a guest pass!), then ate a quick lunch before hitting the road to Springfield. We went to my favorite Chicago mini-chain restaurant, Pockets, which has amazing salads served inside fresh-baked bread. I got their Greek salad, dressing on the side:

We arrived in Springfield around 3:30pm. Laura and I were greeted by these two:

That’s Javier in my lap and Lucy on the left. Plus, Laura brought her doggie, Conrad, so there were three four-legged friends running around.

Arrival snack: 1/4 of a soft pretzel from Gus’, a famous St. Louis bakery:

My aunt and uncle had hosted a cast party for all the “Grease” kids the night before, so dinner on Saturday was leftovers. They had served a ton of lasagna – so I had a small piece of that, and a big pile of salad:

I got seconds of salad, and added to it a bunch of strawberries:

The strawberries were also from the party – they were part of a giant chocolate fountain spread. There were tons of chocolate fountain leftovers: cookies, marshmallows, squares of different types of cakes, pretzels, and I stayed away from all of it, except those strawberries and 1 rice krispy ball, that I enjoyed later in the evening (which I did not dip in leftover chocolate):

We went to the evening performance of “Grease,” and it was fantastic – a very talented group of kids. It brought back lots of fond memories of doing my high school plays and musicals.

SUNDAY: I woke up and ate a banana:

My aunt and uncle have a machine called a TreadClimber. It’s a cardio machine that’s a cross between inclined walking and stairs. I had never used one before (hell, I hadn’t even heard of it), so I gave it a whirl for 35 minutes. I liked but didn’t love it, and had a good workout. I supplemented that with 10 minutes of push-ups and sit-ups.

Breakfast was more fruit (blueberries and kiwi), two small pieces of toast, and some scrambled eggs that came from very local hens. I ended up using 5 eggs (1 full egg, and 4 egg whites):

Laura and I hit the road at 11:30 to get me back to O’Hare. We had plenty of time to stop for lunch in Burr Ridge, a Chicago suburb. We ended up at Wok’n Fire, where I ordered wasabi grilled salmon, which came with grilled mushrooms, spinach, brown rice (I only ate half), and a sauce on the side:

We split the spring rolls appetizer – the fresh kind, not the deep-fried kind – these are basically salads rolled up in rice paper:

Laura got me to O’Hare with plenty of time to spare, and I bought an apple to bring on my 5pm flight with me:

I got more tomato juice on the plane, and this time, I got the whole can.Score!

In San Francisco, I rustled up some dinner: a grilled chicken salad with a few cherry tomatoes, a little goat cheese, and a garlic dressing I didn’t even open:

There were some travel snafus on the way home. The Chicago to San Francisco leg was supposed to be on a wide-body jet, but United had to switch it to a smaller, narrow-body jet. A bunch of people didn’t make it on the plane at all, but luckily, I did. Upside: I got switched to a seat in Economy Plus, so I got 5 extra inches of much-needed leg room. Downside: I was one of the last people to get on the plane, and since the overhead bins were full, they gate-checked my carry-on bag. That bag didn’t make it onto my San Francisco to Burbank plane, so I arrived home at 11pm on Sunday night without my luggage. My laptop was in that bag, which is why there was no blog post yesterday morning. When I got home I was hungry, so I finished off the last bowl of leftover gazpacho and ate a kiwi. I got my luggage on Monday, and I thought United handled everything well, from the plane switch to my missing luggage.

There you have it – a weekend on the go, and I had a great time, while managing to make smart choices and working out both days! 

Keep it up, David!

Flight Advice

January 11, 2012

Check this out – I’m the first ever Weight Loss Success Story at! Click here to read the article about me!

There’s been something that’s been weighing on my mind since last week, when I flew back to Los Angeles from San Juan, Puerto Rico. It was a long travel day – my first flight, from San Juan to Charlotte, North Carolina, was 3.5 hours, and after a two-hour layover in Charlotte, I boarded my second flight, bound for Los Angeles, which took 5.5 hours.

It wasn’t a fun or easy travel day. The Charlotte-to-Los Angeles leg seemed unending, but the San Juan-to-Charlotte leg… well, it was thought-provoking. And I’m curious for your opinion. My readers are a vocal bunch – so keep reading, and then share what’s on your mind in the comments section, if you would!

I’ve written about air travel on this blog before – specifically, how much less stressful flying has become now that I’ve lost a significant amount of weight. I no longer worry about my excess pounds spilling over the armrests and invading the personal space of the passenger next to me. I can use my tray table as much as I want without my belly getting in the way, and I have no trouble returning it to its original upright and locked position. And I no longer need to use a seat belt extender – the seat belt fits comfortable around my waist, thank you very much!

The post where I discuss all these changes, called “How a 400-Pound Man Flies,” has proven to be one of the most popular posts in the history of this blog, and I just read it again myself (you can read it here). I was prompted to write that post in the first place because I was seated across the aisle from a man who reminded me of my former self. Seeing him gingerly make his way down the aisle brought back years of memories of me doing the same thing – trying my best not to bump into other passengers, and seeing others look away, certain they were praying that I didn’t have the seat next to them.

On that flight, I was seated across the aisle from my former self. On my San Juan-to-Charlotte flight, I was seated next to my former self.

The plane was a Boeing 767, outfitted with a 2-3-2 seat configuration, and the other guy (I don’t know his name, so let’s call him Al) had the window seat, and I had the aisle. There was no middle seat. Al was already seated by the time I made it to our row, and I saw him make the subtle shift that I was oh-so-familiar with: a slight adjustment so he was leaning more towards the wall of the plane, with a second slight adjustment so his left arm and shoulder would be a little more out of my space and in his. It didn’t do much good, because Al was a big guy. I don’t know how much he weighed, especially since Al was probably 8 or so inches shorter than me, but his excess weight protruded up and over the armrests.

Even with my weight loss, I wouldn’t say I’m comfortable on planes – I’m taller than the seats, so there’s no place to put my head or my legs, and my shoulders are as broad as the seat, so I fill my space nicely. I still appreciate when I end up sitting next to smaller or shorter people, but when I saw I had the seat next to Al, I wasn’t bummed, and I wasn’t pissed. I immediately smiled at him. I knew flying must be difficult and annoying for him, and I was glad, for his sake, that he was seated next to someone who wasn’t going to a big deal, or a little deal, or any kind of deal over sitting next to him.

Oh my. I fear those last couple sentences may come off as self-righteous, and that’s not my intent. I only mean to say that I’ve had my share of flights where I’ve sat next to people who see me and roll their eyes, deliberately sigh, and make all kinds of other passive or subtle indications of their disappointment or disgust. I’d wager that Al has, too. And I’m not, and never will be, one of those eye-rollers, because I’ve been at the other end, and it feels awful. There’s nothing worse that having the thing you’re most self-conscious about pointed out or referred to in an uncomfortable setting.

Al and I didn’t talk the whole flight, save for a few words at the beginning, when he asked me to get up so he could retrieve something from his bag. For most of the flight, we both had our headphones in, and I turned my attention to my book. I spent a majority of the flight leaning into the aisle a little, to give Al some notion of space, and, all told, it wasn’t a terrible flight (not nearly as bad as the excruciatingly long Charlotte-to-Los Angeles flight).

This is where you come in:  For a long time, ever since I began building an audience of readers with this blog, I’ve occasionally gotten comments or suggestions that I should approach people and let them know about it. After I published “How a 400-Man Flies,” a number of people suggested I pass out cards at the airport, encouraging people to read my blog. The whole idea irks me a little bit, because 1) I’m not a natural schmoozer, and 2) If someone approached me at the airport about anything regarding my weight, I’d be mortified.

Here’s my question for you: Is there anything I could have said to Al to let him know that, in a way, I’m a kindred spirit who understands what he might be feeling? How could I broach the subject? 

The truth is that what I know about Al is astronomically less than what I don’t know about Al. He might already be on his own weight loss journey. He might have already lost a significant amount of weight. I don’t know. This might be his first time on an airplane. I don’t know. Maybe he’s been an airplanes tons of times, and maybe he has no feelings of shame, like I did. I don’t know.

I could have nonchalantly passed him my blog business card at the end of the flight, but I didn’t have any business cards on me (I brought a nice stack with me on my travels, but had passed them all out to family and friends). Maybe I could have pulled out my laptop and shared some ‘Before and Current’ pictures with him. I suppose my goal could simply be to kindly let him know that I walked in his shoes for a long time, and that change is possible. And I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out if there’s a polite, respectful, kind way to do that.

What do you think?

Share your comments below. OH – and be sure to come back tomorrow, I have a BIG ANNOUNCEMENT!

Keep it up, David!

How a 400-Pound Man Flies

November 28, 2010

Yesterday, I boarded an airplane for my flight back home from Denver to Los Angeles.  As I was settling into seat 21C, I looked up and saw a very large man making his way down the aisle.  He was over 6 feet tall, and probably over 350 pounds  He was walking sideways, sort of, at an angle so he wouldn’t collide into every seat as he walked passed them, with his arms up, his elbows above the headrests.  His eyes were darting back and forth, registering which aisle seats already had people sitting in them, and taking care as he passed, so he wouldn’t bump into them.  When he got to me, he paused, checked his ticket, and sat down across the aisle, in seat 21D.

I was sitting across the aisle from my former self.

It’s not easy or comfortable to fly when you’re 400 pounds, as I was before I began losing weight.  I hated every moment of it, starting from my arrival at the gate.  This is when I would start looking around and sizing up the other passengers – literally.  I would look and see if there was anyone else as big as me.  More often than not, I would be the biggest person on the flight, and all I could think was that everyone else was noticing me and hoping that they wouldn’t be sitting next to me.  Maybe they’ve sat next to obese people before.  Maybe they’ve had to experience now rolls of fat spill over the armrest and into their space, sometimes making it difficult to operate the controls of the little TV in the seat back in front of them.  I used to think, as we waited to board the aircraft, that I can’t blame those people that were hoping I was in some other row.  I wouldn’t want to sit next to me either.

When booking air travel, a top priority was not to book a middle seat.  Window or aisle was always preferred, and I would oscillate between which I wanted more.  If it was a red-eye or a long flight where I would want to try to sleep, I would pick a window seat, so I could shift my weight slightly, and lean against the side of the plane the entire time.  That way, I would be doing everything I could to keep all parts of my body in my seat and my space, instead of intruding in the space of the person sitting next to me.  But if the flight was shorter, or during a time when I knew I probably wouldn’t be able to nap,  I’d pick an aisle seat.  In an aisle seat, I could stick one of my long legs into the aisle, which felt nice, and I could shift my weight slightly and lean into the aisle, as to not bother or intrude in the space of the person next to me.  This, by the way, is an excellent way to get smacked by the drink cart every time it passes.

Ultimately, it was lose-lose, because I was never comfortable on a plane.  I couldn’t lower the tray table, because my gut was too big.  I had to sit the entire time with my arms somehow crossed (which made reading a book challenging), because I couldn’t let them rest at my sides, as my sides were already pouring over the tops of the armrests, so resting my arms over that would put them fully in the seat (or the lap) next to me.

Worst of all was the seat belt.  I was too big for the seat belt.  It’s been years and years since I could wrap it around me and click it shut.  I would have to ask for a seat belt extender, which was always a mortifying experience, because I was certain everyone within four rows of me could hear me and were judging me.  I used to love the flight attendants who would just smile or nod when I asked them for one, and then, minutes later, just slip one to me nonchalantly as they walked by, without even making eye contact, like it was a drug deal or a hand-off in a spy movie.  Finally, about 6 years ago, I got tired of drawing attention to myself, and just stole a seat belt extender.  It became a permanent item on my checklist when I was packing.  Cell phone charger?  Check.  Toothbrush?  Check.  Seat belt extender?  Check.

Yesterday, I wondered if the man sitting in 21D was thankful for the considerate flight attendant on our flight, who was very discreet about delivering a seat belt extender, although I did catch the transaction out of the corner of my eye.  I know I smiled at that moment, and, to be honest, my eyes watered, because I had just buckled my seat belt minutes before, and I didn’t need a seat belt extender.  I left it at home.  Now that I’ve lost nearly 150 pounds, I can fit in the regular seat belt just fine, and with room to spare!

I know I’m never going to be really comfortable on planes.  I’m 6’4″, so my legs will always be cramped, and the head rest often hits me at my neck.  But, boy, how things have changed.  When I stand in the terminal, I don’t feel like all eyes are on me.  I can lower the tray table completely.  My body fits comfortably between the armrests, and no parts of me spill over the tops of them.

I’m just a guy on an airplane, not the fat guy on an airplane.

Keep it up, David!

PS – This is my 100th blog post.  A big thank you to all my readers out there – I appreciate your love and support!