[Author's note: Sorry this post comes way too late. I was preparing for a performance of a "Fat Fuck" excerpt at "Weird and Awesome with Emmett Montgomery" last Sunday. (By the way, I KILLED IT.) And then I was writing a grant to get some money to support the production of "Fat Fuck." And then I had "Cheap Wine and Poetry" on Thursday. And then I had a vicious wine hangover on Friday. Yeah, it's been a busy week.]

I admit–the new format of “Heavy” is growing on me. In episode 8, we get a lot of face time with my favorite trainer at “the ‘new’ facility,” Beverly (And let me tell you: you’ve never cardio-boxed until you’ve gone 12 rounds with that firecracker of a woman.); a better understanding of the clients’ motivations to lose weight; and, what I missed most about the previous format of the episodes, a deeper view into their family lives, though I still prefer the old regimen of one month at “the facility” and five months at home.

This week, our heavies are Bill, a 443 lb. 52 year-old divorced father of one, and Julia, a 254.4 lb. 25 year-old single woman. Both use food as their chief coping mechanism, though in Bill’s case, food isn’t his biggest addiction–it’s prescription pills, making his recovery a bit more layered than previous heavies.

Unlike many of the other “Heavy” clients, Bill’s weight gain didn’t begin until later in life. He was an athlete in high school and college and was part of two National Championship teams at the University of Alabama in 1978 and 1979 under famed football coach Bear Bryant. After college, Bill unsuccessfully tried to play professionally, but after injuries and other setbacks, he eventually retired. Watching his college teammates get drafted and make it in the NFL became tough for Bill to handle. He didn’t know anything except football, so he began drinking to cope with his own failure, which then led to prescription pain medication given to Bill by his doctor to manage his recovery from injuries. High on pills all the time, Bill began eating more and more, and without any exercise, he kept gaining weight. Now it’s to the point where he doesn’t remember the last time he was able to tuck in a shirt because his stomach is so large. By 2004, his wife had enough and filed for divorce. Bill’s drug abuse had spiraled out of control, prompting his son Woody to plead with his father to go to rehab, where Bill has since lived and worked for the last three and a half years. However, the damage has been done. After years of drug abuse, Bill has missed years of his son’s life, and because of his weight, he’s unable to keep up with Woody, now a high school football player. Fighting back tears, Bill regrets the mistakes he’s made raising his son and says, “It’s important for me to change my life.”

Like Bill, Julia’s most significant weight gain came later in life when her mother passed away in 2004 from cancer, and she began coping with the loss through grief-eating. Around this time, Julia’s best friend moved across the country, and after putting on so much weight, her long term boyfriend became distant and finally ended their relationship, telling Julia that he just wasn’t attracted to her anymore. Losing a large part of her support system over the the course of six months, Julia relied more and more on food to cope and manage her stress and loss, pushing her weight to the highest it’s ever been as an adult and beginning the vicious cycle of food addiction, where you eat to cope, hate yourself for the weight gain and then eat more to cope with that hate. Julia wants to lose the weight now because she’s preparing to attend law school in the fall where she fears people will assume she’s sloppy and lazy. She wants to be successful without being judged for her weight. (A sad but true reality: fat people are discriminated against in the workplace.) At her breaking point, Julia says, “I’m sick of it. I’m ready to live a life without restrictions.”

Upon arriving at “the facility,” Bill and Julia aren’t particularly surprised by their initial weigh-ins. Bill finds out his blood pressure is dangerously high, too, and after a blood test and a chat with Adam the fitness director, Julia confesses her family’s history of diabetes and her fear that she’ll be “buried under a pizza box behind a computer screen” in law school. Both Bill and Julia want to lose the weight, but first, they must address the emotional issues that make food a crutch for them–and, in Bill’s case, his problems with addiction overall–as well as their diets. They both learn quickly that they had been eating enough in one sitting for three or four people. Bill and Julia begin to understand portion-sizes, healthy eating habits and proper nutrition, which I can truly relate to being someone who still has trouble exercising portion control. Food can be so delicious, particularly those trigger foods, like pizza and ice cream, the ones I’ve come to rely on over the years to make me feel better–even if they actually make my body feel worse. Bill admits that he’ll starve himself all day and then eat everything in his path at night, something I was guilty of often in my teen years and early 20s when I first began losing weight. This is one of the worst things a person, especially a fat person, can do because it causes the body to break down muscle–instead of fat–during the day in order to have energy and slows down metabolism. By the time that big binge comes later in the evening, the body is nearing sleep-mode, meaning all that food becomes stored as fat because there’s no activity occurring to convert the food into energy. Starving oneself is almost as bad as constantly overeating because both shock the body, just in different ways. Implementing healthy eating habits is one of the first steps in Bill and Julia’s quest to change their lives.

From the beginning, Bill gets his ass kicked, by Beverly especially. After his first session of cardio boxing, Bill, breathing hard from a yoga mat on the floor, groans, “She’s a sick woman.” But his failure to keep up makes Bill realize how out of shape he is, though his knees begin bothering him immediately and he’s unable to push as hard as he’d like. So Bill sees the doctor and is prescribed painkillers because he doesn’t admit that he is in recovery for drug abuse, saying, “There are certain situations in life that call for pain medication.” Beverly confronts Bill about the pills, which he admits he’s taking up to four per day (The doctor said one a day!), and he looks her in the eye and lies, promising her that the pills are not a narcotic (They are!). Out of concern for Bill, Beverly asks his son Woody to visit in an effort to keep his father from relapsing. Bill and Woody pick up right where they left off and after spending sometime together, Beverly sits down with both of them to address the painkillers. Bill immediately confesses that he needs help. Fighting back tears, he says, “[Woody] has visited me in so many places where I wasn’t to proud of myself.” After a good talk together, Bill and Woody then workout together, doing a beach bootcamp designed for football players, and, of course, Woody absolutely kicks his father’s ass, giving them a chance to make up for some of the time lost due to Bill’s drug abuse. After Woody leaves, Bill tosses the painkillers and recommits to the regimen.

Julia, on the other hand, works hard from the beginning, winning over Beverly the first week when, after a hard session of cardio boxing, she says, “I like to hit stuff.” Julia also takes on her issues around grief-eating, confessing to the therapist that her “coping mechanism was barbecue or ice cream or cookies.” Julia is willing to do the work, talking about her mother and the issues around her faulty coping skills. Julia “hate[s] to cry, but [she] hate[s] being fat more.” After a month, she loses 10 percent of her body weight, and it’s clear that she’s entering–Yes! Yes! Yes!–BEAST-MODE. As part of the next step in her recovery, Julia begins riding her mother’s bicycle, which she brought along to “the facility” hoping she’d be able to finally get on it. This is the moment when Julia’s confidence soars, and she realizes that she is going to lose the weight. Taking it a step further, Julia asks Beverly to ride 350 miles from “the facility” back to Atlanta where Julia lives, a final step in her emotional transformation because she knows how proud her mother would be to see her on the bike. Beverly agrees, telling us, “If anyone can do this, Julia can.”

At the final weigh-in, Bill and Julia are noticeably slimmer. Julia steps on the scale as a completely different woman, weighing-in at 166 lbs, a total weight loss of 88.4 lbs. Bill’s final weigh-in is 301.6, a total of 141.4 lbs. However, in his last week, Bill gains 1.6 lbs., the first gain he’s had the entire time at “the facility,” leading to a speech I wish I could hear every time I step on the scale and the number goes up slightly because I’ve eaten too much the night before or didn’t give my all in that last workout. Bill stares into the camera, though it feels like he’s talking directly to me, and says, “It’s no different than life. Things come at you all the time and you can choose to complain and whine and moan about it or man up and push through it and stay a winner. I choose to stay a winner. ” As someone who has struggled all my life with my weight and, more recently, after gaining back 80 of the 140 lbs. I originally lost, hearing these words sticks to my ribs, like the pizza I ate all too much of last night.

As I’ve written in previous posts, I won’t be writing about “the big reveals” despite how sweet these two particular reveals were, but I will cover the follow-ups. Julia has maintained her weight loss. By BMI standards, Julia is still overweight, but she looks perfect. Bill has lost 10 more pounds in the three months since filming, making him the second heavy in the new format to continue his dedication to his weight loss.

Though I still prefer the old format, I won’t deny that this episode was one of the most inspirational this season. Seeing Bill overcome his addictions and taking the steps to repair his relationship with his son made me almost cry right along with him, and seeing Julia at the end of the episode look hot made me feel hopeful, not just for myself, but for everyone out there struggling with their own weight and body issues.

As the credits roll, Julia best summarizes what I learned from episode 8, “It’s easier than it seems as long as you take it one day at a time.”

Brian McGuigan is a writer, performer and arts get-shit-done-er working on a one-man show about his own struggles with weight loss entitled “Fat Fuck.” He blogs weekly about A&E’s new docu-drama “Heavy” at brianwithani.com.

Episode 6 of “Heavy” was different than all the others in so many ways. The clients were taken to a new facility (the Hilton Head Health in South Carolina) where they stayed for six full months rather than the usual one and then five more at home. Like “Intervention,” there was more of a focus on the health risks of obesity, yet the show lacked the in-depth look at the clients’ home lives, which is why this post won’t touch on them, like my others have. The clients were also allowed to email, text and use the phone and didn’t have their bags openly examined by the trainers, who were not David or Britny anymore.

Production-wise, the episode was pilot-level, at best. In fact, halfway through, I was convinced it was a knock-off of the show I’ve grown to love, some amateur film student’s attempt to recreate A&E’s popular new series. But despite the differences, one aspect of “Heavy” was business as usual: two very overweight people, Ronnie, a 437.6 lb. 44 year-old father of three, and Debbie, a 401.4 lb. 44 year-old virgin (Yes, you read that right.), were on the show for a reason: to change their lives.

Ronnie, much like Ashley and Flor before him, arrived at “the facility” in full-on “beast mode,” confessing before he left “I’m not even a hero to my kids anymore.” Ronnie was used to being everyone’s hero. Twenty-five years ago, he was a high school and college football star, a muscular, athletic man with the world in his hands. Then his mother was diagnosed with cancer, and Ronnie’s world completely changed. He went from being a man the world, or at least his town, revolved around to being a man whose world revolved around a dying woman. Ronnie became his mother’s caregiver, managing all aspects of her life, including cooking for her. As he watched his mother dying, he began using food as a method of coping with her loss, remarking “[her death] changed my life…turned me into 450 lbs.” Once a coping mechanism, Ronnie’s eating quickly turned into an addiction, one that caused him to have alarmingly high blood pressure and cholesterol levels. His addiction was so bad he would eat until he threw up, but more importantly, it was affecting his relationship with his kids and his fiance Cara, a wonderfully supportive and loving woman, whose mother had been diagnosed with cancer, too, prompting Ronnie to become the caregiver for his kids and hers and supplying him with yet another trigger to eat. But Cara was at the end of her rope and threatened to end her relationship with Ronnie because she and her family were “tied to what he can’t do vs. what all of [them] can.”

While Ronnie basically had the support of his entire town, Debbie wasn’t so lucky. Not only was she a virgin, but she had absolutely no confidence in herself. Debbie became heavy at an early age, and once she was in high school, she learned quickly that there was no rejection in food, like there was with relationships. While her friends were out meeting boys, Debbie’s “boyfriend was McDonalds, Burger King.” She “didn’t feel worthy enough to have somebody love [her],” and as she gained weight, she began feeling more and more hopeless about her ability to find someone, saying “I just feel like my body is disgusting.” (Apparently, Debbie hasn’t heard Chris Rock’s thoughts on the negotiating powers women inherently have.) Debbie had become embarrassed by her weight, and it wasn’t only affecting her ability to have a relationship, she couldn’t even play golf anymore, something she used to do with her father regularly, because she couldn’t walk and struggled to swing a club. As Debbie said before arriving at “the facility,” it was time for her to make a “definite change.”

Now here’s where episode six of “Heavy” took a downturn for me. Upon arriving at “the facility,” we learn that Ronnie and Debbie will be there for six months rather than the usual one month with an additional five at home where they would further assimilate and make adjustments to their home life based on the healthier lifestyle they had been living at “the facility” with close monitoring by David and Britny, who were also gone in exchange for Amber the trainer, who we barely see working with the clients; Beverly, a tough-talking trainer/life coach who seems like the new David, just without all the muscle; and Adam, the fitness director who orchestrates the most awkward scene in the short history of “Heavy.” Neither Ronnie nor Debbie weigh-in with the trainers present, establishing a disconnected, less personal support system that made both clients resonate less with me.

Despite my qualms, Ronnie and Debbie still had weight to lose, and they both did it, but rather, well, differently (I’m sorry for making “different” the buzzword of this post, but, really, the episode was.) Ronnie, arriving in “beast mode,” was determined to lose 200 lbs., an amount of weight that seemed completely unhealthy to lose in six months. Within his first month at “the facility,” his “football mentality” inspired Ronnie to go hard, too hard actually, causing him to injure his knee. (I posted yesterday about my own competitive spirit and how that has caused me to overdo it, like Ronnie.) But, as Ronnie said, he’s “always pushed through injuries,” and he did, amassing a 97.2 lb. weight loss at the three-month mark. However, he wasn’t willing to address the underlying issues of his food addiction with the counselors at “the facility,” so when Cara visited him, she and Beverly teamed up on Ronnie, insisting that he talk to the counselor. Ronnie put up a fight, but Beverly got all David on him, accusing him of being in denial and saying, “You know how to lose weight, but you don’t know shit about keeping it off.” Ronnie finally relented and began addressing his addiction issues.

Debbie wasn’t quite as dedicated as Ronnie. From the first day, she fought Amber and Beverly, but not because she was necessarily combative, Debbie just didn’t believe in herself. She refused to do push-ups–even the granny-kind–because she didn’t think she’d be able to get up. After a few days, the trainers finally called her on it, but Debbie promised, “I’m doing what I can do.” Amber and Beverly pushed, yet not too hard knowing that, despite her lack of belief in herself, Debbie still needed to be in control. And by the halfway point, she had certainly made a dent losing 55 lbs. But Debbie’s weight wasn’t her only problem. Remember: she was a virgin at 44 and not because she was saving herself for marriage. Debbie says she just hadn’t met the right guy; however, after listening to her continuously doubt herself and be unwilling to push, it’s clear that the problem was her confidence. Debbie wasn’t willing to try because she feared failure. So Adam, the fitness director at “the facility,” got the bright idea to simulate a scenario where Debbie might strike up a conversation with a single man at a place she loves: the driving range. Unfortunately, there’s no video online yet, but trust me when I tell you: this scene was incredibly awkward, Adam trying to convince Debbie that she could pick up someone at the golf course by striking conversation about the person’s swing and Debbie finally insisting that she wouldn’t talk to anyone because “when you’re golfing, you concentrate on golfing. You don’t want talk a lot.” Obviously, this scene made me truly miss David and Britny.

The final weigh-in lacked the drama of previous episodes, as Ronnie and Debbie simply hopped on the scales and weighed in as they had at the 7, 90 and 150 day markers. Debbie’s final weigh-in was 269.8, a total weight loss of 130.6 lbs. She looked–yes, you guessed it–different, but, despite losing more than any other woman on “Heavy,” Debbie seemed like the same person, lacking the quintessential shine of someone who lost about a third of their body weight. Of course, Ronnie’s final weigh-in was–here it comes!–different than Debbie’s. He finished his six-months at “the facility” at 264.8, a total of 172.8 lbs., the most significant weight loss yet. The final weigh-in may have lacked the drama of the preceding episodes, but Ronnie was sure to step it up by following through on the pledge he made when he arrived: to run a minute for every pound he lost. And Ronnie did it, running three hours straight, and when he finished, due to both exhaustion and emotion, he choked up, realizing he’d come farther than the treadmill could even count.

Despite the dramatic reveals, episode six was, without a doubt, the most disappointing episode of “Heavy.” It lacked the sincerity of the previous episodes, but mostly, it missed the personal touch, either through the stories of how Ronnie and Debbie came to be so overweight (Debbie was a 44-year-old virgin. Are we really supposed to believe it was because she was socially awkward? There has to be much more to it than that.) or the personal connections each made with the trainers, who didn’t quite have the personality or the overall chutzpah of David and Britny. With six months at “the facility,” both clients had more dramatic reveals than in previous episodes, but that didn’t help them implement healthy behavior into their lives. The previous episodes made it clear that weight loss can be hard, but keeping it off is the real challenge, a point that really wasn’t  made besides Beverly’s curt snap at Ronnie. Under the new fitness regimen, I really don’t think the weight loss for either Ronnie or Debbie will be sustainable, as evidenced by the follow-up at the end of the episode where three months later Ronnie and Debbie had simply “maintained” their weight loss.

“Heavy” producers, if you’re reading this, please bring back David, Britny and the original format of the show. It could change your lives, or, at least, save your show.

Brian McGuigan is a writer, performer and arts get-shit-done-er working on a one-man show about his own struggles with weight loss entitled “Fat Fuck.” He blogs weekly about A&E’s new docu-drama “Heavy” at brianwithani.com.

Episode five of “Heavy” had the most ideal client pairing, Kevin, a 597 lb. 39-year-old father of three, and Flor, a 309 lb. 39-year-old mother of three. Besides being the same age, both had spouses and children who were also overweight. Both had families where food was an essential element of their bonding. And both had Type-2 diabetes. Kevin and Flor should have united over their commonalities, but from the beginning, they were on separate paths.

The episode began with Flor struggling to tie her shoes because her stomach, where she carried most of her weight, was so large. After giving birth to her three children and gaining more and more each time, she had reached a point where her day-to-day life was compromised. But it was a life Flor was comfortable with–she had accepted her fatness. Throughout her childhood, her mother constantly reminded her of it until Flor decided, “After hearing you’re fat so much, finally, it’s like, ‘Okay, okay I’m fat.’” She was molested by her stepfather as a young girl, driving her even closer to food, which became her source of comfort and safety. As a child, I felt the same as Flor. My father wasn’t in my life, and my mother, as a single mother, constantly worked, so when I needed someone, something, anything, there for me, it was food that filled the void. It became my best friend, my shoulder to cry on, my “corner man,” (Sorry to get all “Rocky” on you.), just as it had become for Flor. So, later in life, when her first marriage failed, food, again, was Flor’s support system. It was always there for her when she was most in need while simultaneously leading her down a road to a slow death, one she’d eventually have to walk with loose shoelaces. Now Flor was remarried and wanted to have another child with her husband, but her doctor strongly advised against it until she lost at least 70 lbs.

Like Flor, Kevin had always been fat. Throughout his childhood, he was called “Big Kev;” being big was who he was. It was part of his rep, something I can totally relate to as “a plate-cleaner” in my boyhood days–my plate and everyone else’s. Kevin’s weight was such a vital part of his identity that, according to his wife, he never really saw himself as overweight or obese. He just loved food and he didn’t know when to stop, but he knew his weight affected everyone in his family and was setting a bad example for his kids, who Kevin struggled to keep up with now. Kevin’s weight was also affecting his job as a high school sports coach. He couldn’t keep up there either and, again, was setting a bad example. He sweated profusely just barking out exercises to his team. As my overweight friend/personal trainer Carlos has told me many times, “Do what I say, not what I do.” Sometimes it just isn’t that easy though. Besides his weight, Kevin also had high blood pressure and sleep apnea, (And don’t forget that diabetes!) making it even more critical that he lose a significant amount of weight.

Despite all they had in common, Flor and Kevin never jelled. Flor was determined; like Ashley, she was in beast-mode. Her first few days she puked her brains out (During her first round of vomiting, Flor sounded like a pterodactyl in heat and then popped her head up from the trash can smiling.), but she couldn’t be stopped, losing weight steadily, like Jessica, and building her belief in herself. When Flor earned a reward of a movie or a phone call, Flor chose the flick. (I really hope it was “Mi Vida Loca” because she looked particularly gangster with her head shaved and the doo-rag.) She was there for herself and was going to take the month and focus on her goal. It wasn’t an easy decision, but David the trainer reminded her, “In order to help your family, you need to help yourself first.”

Kevin, on the other hand, wavered. When he first arrived at “the facility,” David searched his bags and found Butterfingers, Blow Pops and other candy, which incensed him. By now, you may have noticed I have a hetero man-crush on David. (I called him a country of muscle last week.) Do not fuck with him. “Big Kev” learned that quickly when David immediately pulled him out of his room for a quick work out, telling Kevin as he began sweating it up, “No more candy. No more chocolate. We’re here for your family. We’re here for your kids. We’re here for your life. We’re here to make a change.” Kevin saw the results fast, too. His weight loss was rapid initially (21 lbs. in the first week and another 15 the second week), but then slowed, which was when David and Britny did a surprise search of Kevin’s room and found contraband, cookies. They do not mess around at “the facility,” and Kevin had reached his breaking point, leading to my favorite moment in the short television history of “Heavy” (Sorry, Rickywayne.): Kevin crying and blubbering like an overgrown baby, telling David and Britny, “The salad is getting on my nerves. I’m not going to eat the salad.” If this is not an Internet meme yet, it should be, and if you make one, please send it my way.

After the first month, Flor and Kevin returned home and went in opposite directions. Kevin arrived home to pork chops–no more salad, or fish, which he didn’t eat either. He was eating less, but he wasn’t willing to give up the unhealthy food he always loved, leading to a first-week-away weight gain of 14 lbs. Britny visited immediately and couldn’t believe the reason Kevin gave her for his weight gain: “the Texas climate.” Yes, he blamed the humidity for his weight gain. Kevin began losing again, but it was clear that he was not completely committed to the regimen.

Flor struggled when coming home, too, gaining two lbs. in her first week. Her family wasn’t supportive of her weight loss, initially promising to go to the gym with Flor but not following through on it. Then beast-mode kicked in and she began tearing it up at the gym again–and at home, sitting her kids down and telling them they need to lose weight. My mother told me the same thing, but didn’t have Flor’s approach, constantly reminding me of my weight and then stuffing me with the wrong foods. Our vegetables came in cans or frozen boxes, and the crisper was where she stashed my two-liters of Sunkist, Coca-Cola, Mountain Dew and cream soda, which I went through at a one-bottle-per-day clip. Flor was straight-up with her kids though: “You have to make an effort of actually working out when we go as a family. Because I’m going to do it no matter if you guys do it or not.” Woah!

At the final weigh-in, Kevin walked in nervously. He had lost some weight, but he was the first client who didn’t look dramatically different than when he first arrived. When Kevin stepped on the scale, he weighed in at 507, a total of 90 lbs., which would have been a significant loss for anyone else; however, Kevin weighed in at 490 lbs., 17 lbs. lighter than his final weigh-in, only a month prior. David and Britny were supportive and encouraging, yet clearly disappointed. Losing 90 lbs. was a feat, though at Kevin’s weight, he should have lost more. I wouldn’t say he was a failure; however, Kevin was definitely the most likely client to gain the weight back. Like David told him, “You have a long way to go, and this is just the beginning.”

Flor was a different story; she waltzed in like a new woman with a stylish look and so much more energy. Her final weigh-in was 243, a total of 67 lbs. Although she lost less weight than Kevin, Flor had succeeded because she committed to a healthier lifestyle. She had become “a person who can accomplish anything [she] set [her] mind to.”

Flor and Kevin each represent exactly what can happen when a fat person attempts a significant weight loss. Like any addict, we reach rock bottom and make the commitment to change our lives. Sometimes, like in Flor’s case, we maintain that commitment for ourselves, or the pressure becomes too much, and we waver, like what happened with Kevin, losing a little here and there and then thinking we can cheat again.

People always say losing weight isn’t easy, but I disagree. Losing weight is easy. You eat less; you exercise more. Pretty simple. Keeping the weight off is the hard part. It requires a complete change in lifestyle. It means making time regularly for exercise, giving up some of the foods you love (You know my weakness for Haagen-Dazs already, but I should shout out my homies pizza, french fries and any sweets really except cheesecake.), and eating foods you might not love.

Like, salad.

Brian McGuigan is a writer, performer and arts get-shit-done-er working on a one-man show about his own struggles with weight loss entitled “Fat Fuck.” He’ll be blogging weekly about A&E’s new docu-drama “Heavy” on his blog brianwithani.com.

Episode four, by far, is my least favorite “Heavy,” to date, for two reasons. 1) The show itself seemed to be missing something by skirting around the real issues of the clients, Lindy, a 285 lb. 37-year-old mother of two clearly suffering from a serious bout of depression after a divorce and lengthy custody battle, and Travis, a 432 lb. 34-year-old father of one (His wife gives birth to their second child 10 days into Travis’ stay at “the facility.), and 2) Both Lindy and Travis were most like me in terms of why they eat (depression, stress and reward), but least like me in terms of why they wanted to change their lifestyles. (They both claimed it was for their kids, but I don’t think either really had reasons.)

Before heading to “the facility,” Lindy knew she wasn’t happy. After seventeen years of marriage, she and her husband had divorced, and she promptly gained 175 lbs. Lindy’s children were embarrassed of her. She only saw them on weekends, and when she did see them, they wanted little to do with her. “Food is the only thing that loves me,” Lindy confessed, holding back the tears. Her mounting depression, which she described as “this whirlwind and [she] cannot find something to hold on to” (I’ve told my wife many times while struggling with my weight and depression caused by it that I’ve felt like a flag flapping in the wind. The images are so close it made me clam up.), is affecting her relationship with her fiance David, too, who’s getting calls while at work from Lindy almost weekly that caused him to be alarmed about her mental health. She would later admit to the therapist that she had contemplated suicide as her stress grew along with her waistline. Lindy could no longer manage; she was at her breaking point.

While Lindy’s weight came on in response to a traumatic event in her life, Travis has had a lifelong struggle with his weight. At the beginning of the episode, he spoke honestly about his plight as a fat person, saying, “We get depressed about how we feel and then we eat more to deal with that depression and then we get bigger, so we just get more depressed.” Thirty four years later, Travis tired easily due to his size, and as a father of one son with another on the way, he didn’t have the energy to keep up. His wife, nearly bursting with pregnancy, worried that she’d be a single mother if her husband didn’t change his life. She’s supportive but firm: Travis needed to lose weight now.

Upon arriving at “the facility,” neither Lindy nor Travis seemed like they really want to be there. Despite their reasons for wanting to get healthy before leaving home, they both had trouble accepting the regimen at “the facility.” During the first week, neither had the drive, complaining about the discomfort of the work outs and just not giving their all. About the only thing they were justified in complaining about was the food–not the quality, but the quantity; they were limited to 1200-2000 calories each day. I’ve always been against counting calories, so it’s hard for me to understand how a person could work out several hours each day and only eat 1200 calories. Considering Travis’ basal metabolic rate, or BMR, for short, which is basically the number of calories you burn if you stay in bed all day, he needed to eat almost 3500 calories just to maintain his weight. (You can check your own BMR here, by the way.) Cutting that down by two-thirds was extreme to me and somewhat explained why both he and Lindy were such complainers. But, as David the trainer, reminded us, “This is an addiction. They’re addicts, and going through withdrawals can get ugly.”

Lindy and Travis fed off of each other’s negativity, which both trainers continually called them on. At one point while working out, Travis joked that each day was one day closer to going home where he’d be able to eat ice cream again, a cringe-worthy moment for me because it showed that Travis didn’t really want to change his life. Again, David the trainer, whose body is a country of muscle, said it best, “If they don’t get rid of this negativity before they leave, they’re not going to be able to make a lifestyle change.”

The negativity continued at Lindy’s first therapy session. She had trouble talking openly about her life, calling therapy “bullshit conversation.” As someone who’s been in therapy on and off for most of my life, I can understand where she is coming from. It’s a challenge to open up either because the wounds are so deep or the trust isn’t there yet. But, despite her reluctance to talk, Lindy began working even harder in the gym, exercising to the point of nearly passing out. Like me, she traded her obsession with food for an obsession with exercising, but, as Britny the trainer pointed out, without addressing the cause. When I first moved to Seattle, I didn’t even have a job, but knew I needed a gym membership as badly as I needed the Haagen-Dazs I craved in my teen years. So I headed to 24-Hour Fitness and plopped down my credit card for the most expensive membership package available, more than $600. I was working out two hours each day and had given up nearly every food I genuinely enjoyed. I was muscular and getting fit, yet absolutely miserable. It wasn’t until I found a therapist here and began working through the real issues causing me to eat that I saw the light at the bottom of the ice cream tub. Whether I was fat or fit, in the end, what mattered most was that I was happy. Lindy was dropping the weight, but I doubted she could say the same about herself.

Once Lindy and Travis left “the facility,” they both initially struggled to maintain their commitment to weight loss, as David suggested they would. Lindy continued to work hard, but due to the stress of trying to plan a wedding, began eating as a method of reward and a coping mechanism again. She and her fiance celebrated their engagement with a glass of wine, which turned into three bottles, and, as part of the wedding planning, they did a tasting, rotating samples of deliciously unhealthy cake, plates of foods and dips and glasses of fine wine. For a skinny person with a stable relationship with food, this wouldn’t be a problem, but for someone with a food addiction, cheating here and there quickly snowballs. Watching Lindy consistently cheat made me think: Who makes a commitment to someone else when they can’t even make a commitment to themselves? But after gaining a pound and a visit from Megan the nutritionist, Lindy was back on track. The slight weight gain helped her realize the importance of maintaining her diet.

While Lindy soared after the visit from Megan, Travis was crumbling. He wasn’t keeping his food log. He wasn’t maintaining his diet. He wasn’t working out as hard as he could. (The trainer at his hometown gym finally called him on it, and Travis recoiled even further, using his family life as an excuse for his lack of commitment.) Travis had finally reached his breaking point, and it all came to a head when he argued with his wife, who questioned his dedication to the regimen. Unable to accept any personal responsibility, Travis walked out on her, crying, “I’m done.”

And then came a visit from Britny, which, at first, Travis blew off. “Not today,” he insisted as he packed boxes for the family’s big move, yet another stressful undertaking that made me question Travis’ commitment. But Britny has a knack for talking down the big guys on “Heavy” (Remember: she turned Rickywayne from crazy to baby with one hug.) and soon Travis pledged to pull himself together, start keeping his food log again and work harder at the gym.

For the next month, Lindy and Travis were both recommitted. Lindy married her fiance, reducing some of her pre-wedding stress and allowing her to refocus on herself, and Travis found a job working at an appliance store, establishing a routine and keeping him on his feet. They both seemed happy and dedicated to the regimen.

At the final weigh-in, Travis and Lindy looked completely different. They weren’t rife with negativity like when they first arrived at “the facility” six months ago. And when they each hopped on the scale, I was impressed. Lindy weighed-in at 220 lbs., a total of 65 lbs. lost, and Travis weighed-in at 337.8, and after stripping off his pants and shoes because he was determined to break the 100 lb. mark, his weight was 333.6, a total of 99 lbs.

As impressed as I was though, I couldn’t deny that I was also concerned. Neither Lindy or Travis really addressed their core issues around their struggles with weight. They may look different now, but, unlike Ashley and Sharon of episode three, I didn’t feel either would be able to maintain their new lifestyles over the long term. Losing weight is the easy part; keeping the weight off is the hard part.

Having gained back more than half of the 140 lbs. I lost, I saw more of myself in Lindy and Travis than I wanted, yet I hoped neither would yo-yo like I did.

Brian McGuigan is a writer, performer and arts get-shit-done-er working on a one-man show about his own struggles with weight loss entitled “Fat Fuck.” He’ll be blogging weekly about A&E’s new docu-drama “Heavy” on his blog brianwithani.com.

At the beginning of the second episode of “Heavy,” I was convinced the clients wouldn’t make it, but the third one had a different feel. It was more like an episode of Intervention, telling the back stories of the clients, Ashley, a 26-year-old alcoholic weighing in at 296 lbs, and Sharon, a 47-year old, 366-pound mother whose bipolar son had committed suicide only six months ago, as if their traumas were precisely the cause of their addictions (as is often the case with Intervention. After all, no one huffs Dust-Off or shoots up all day strictly out of boredom.) Because of their histories, both Ashley and Sharon were determined, and I could tell right away these two women would make it.

Before heading to “the facility,” we saw each nearly at rock bottom. Ashley had been drinking and partying five days a week for over a year and still lived with her father, who was also an alcoholic, and her stepmother, who, it turns out, was talking shit about Ashley once she left, saying she “wouldn’t change.”

Sharon was grieving through food. Her son’s suicide had affected her so deeply that she’d gained 60 lbs. in the last six months. Ten years before when her mother died, she gained 100. Eating was Sharon’s coping mechanism, and it helped her survive two of the most tragic moments a person can experience, the death of a parent and the death of a child.

Once arriving to “the facility,” Ashley and Sharon each talked honestly about their problems, why they were eating so much and not taking care of their bodies. Though they both struggled when they first began working out, neither seemed deterred. Sharon questioned herself, but wouldn’t stop working because she wanted to do right by her dead son. Plus she had Ashley in her corner, who was basically in beast mode. It happened quickly: on the first day while doing an ab work out Ashley began feeling queasy and soon vomited because she hadn’t had any alcohol. Ashley admitted to trainer Brittany that she was drinking regularly and knowing that her mother was a drug addict and her father was an alcoholic she accepted that she had a problem, too. And she never turned back.

Each pair of “Heavy” clients bonded on the previous two episodes, but Ashley and Sharon seemed to have a deeper connection. They were a good pair, a young woman who didn’t have the best childhood teamed with a middle-aged woman who just buried her son. In each other, they found what they lost or never had. Ashley and Sharon had a bond that made me jealous. I’ve had multiple work out partners in my life, Jay, who I mentioned last week, Ramon, my first work out partner in Weight Training class, and Chris Hillman, a college friend (and better known among my college buddies as “The Jew,” though technically he was only half-chosen). Jay, Ramon and Hillman were all supportive in their own ways. They all pushed me harder and were parts of my profound weight loss (about 140 lbs. if you didn’t already know), but none of these guys were ever fat like me. Ramon didn’t puke once the first week of class. Jay was into yoga and could bend his body in ways mine only experienced by eating pretzels. And Hillman was putting up weight plates I couldn’t even imagine. I still lost the weight, but it was a lonely road.

Ashley and Sharon walked that road together, and at the one-month mark when they separated, Ashley 22 lbs. lighter and Sharon, 30, I felt even stronger: they were going to do it.  Ashley said it best, “Bring me more. What’s next?” And she wasn’t talking about the next course. I repeat: beast mode.

The toughest adjustment for Sharon outside of “the facility” was feeding herself. When walking through the grocery store with Megan the nutritionist, Sharon couldn’t believe how much a serving size of potatoes was (For the record, it’s the size of a computer mouse.) or that she couldn’t use her favorite ingredients–”butter, cinammon, sugar and marshmellows”–on them. Many Americans have little comprehension of proper food portions, or, like Sharon, find it hard to accept that foods lower in fat can still have flavor. At my heaviest, I was consuming enough calories each day for two and thought because I drank Sunny Delight and starved myself occasionally after a day of intense eating that I was healthy enough. When I finally decided it was time to lose weight, I knew exercise was only part of the equation. Fueling my body properly was the other. I had to make adjustments in my diet. Despite her initial reluctance, Sharon made the adjustments, too, (There’s a particularly funny scene where David the trainer does a house inspection and finds an apple pie, but it’s a fake one filled with potpourri.) and wouldn’t allow herself to fail. She made her weight loss a memorial to her dead son, and with the confidence she built over her the month at “the facility,” Sharon knew full well: “I can do this. I’m really going to make it.”

By far, Ashley was the most determined client to date. Upon arriving home, she admitted to her friends that she had a drinking problem and asked that they not invite her out to drink or party. Quickly, Ashley learned who her true friends were and didn’t let the lost relationships affect her. Within two weeks, she and her sister had moved out of their parents’ house because Ashley couldn’t deal with her father’s drinking and poor eating habits. She was surrounded by enablers but had the perseverance to continue working out, eating healthy, taking care of herself. Though she vowed not to return to bartending, the money and tips were hard to pass up, especially now that she was out on her own, yet her will power never wavered. Ashley stayed on course; truly, she was an inspiration.

But the best part of the third episode wasn’t Ashley’s killer instinct, it was Sharon, who, at “the facility” couldn’t even get her feet into the strapped pedals of a spin bike, finally made it on a bicycle, riding around her neighborhood with her daughter and Brittany. The look on Sharon’s face could only be described in one word: victorious. She conquered her grief, her addiction, herself. “I feel changed from the inside out,” Sharon said, and that’s really what weight loss is all about. It’s not staring in the mirror and seeing a thinner face, less Oprah around the arms or tire around the waist–losing weight is changing your belief system, realizing that what you thought about yourself, what other people said about you your whole life and internalized wasn’t true. This was, perhaps, the most difficult challenge for me. I could work out. I could change the way I ate, but when I put my head on the pillow at night, I still wasn’t happy. I didn’t believe yet.

After six months, it was clear that Ashley and Sharon definitely changed from inside out, and when they walked into “the facility” on the 180th day, the change was seen on the outside, too. Ashley, whose final weigh-in was 205, a total of 91 lbs., and Sharon, whose weigh-in was 255, a total of 110 lbs., were all new women. Like Ashley said, “I’m not stopping. I’m strong enough to continue to do this… and reach the goals I want to reach.”

She makes it sound so easy.

Brian McGuigan is a writer, performer and arts get-shit-done-er working on a one-man show about his own struggles with weight loss entitled “Fat Fuck.” He’ll be blogging weekly about A&E’s new docu-drama “Heavy” on his blog brianwithani.com.

[Author's note: Sorry this post comes a few days late. I was preparing for a performance of a "Fat Fuck" excerpt at the Off-Hours Reading Series in Seattle on Thursday. If you want to know, I absolutely killed it!)

Fifteen minutes into the second episode of “Heavy” I was convinced it wouldn’t be a success like the first one. The two clients, Rickywayne, a 35-year-old single man weighing in at 555 lbs., and Jessica, a 28-year-old married mother of two weighing in at 289 lbs., weren’t exactly cooperating.

Upon arriving at the facility and beginning the one month of training, Jessica seemed typecast as my least favorite “reality TV” caricature: the complainer, like Sammi “Sweetheart” without all the make-up and spray tan. Before Jessica even finished her first work-out, she was crying, screaming, saying she couldn’t stomach the salads they were being served for dinner. She reminded me of Jodi from the first episode, but much less determined.

And then there was Rickywayne, whose leg was so swollen with lymph fluid that a small wound had opened up on his calf. Because he couldn’t get into the pool until his leg had healed, which really bothered Rickywayne, a serious water-lover, he had to hit the weights instead, but he did it with a vengeance, like he had a purpose. Even David the trainer noticed Ricky’s will, saying, “He tries. He has the tiger eyes.”

However, that tiger eye quickly became a tornado eye of emotion after Ricky’s first counseling session where he confessed that he believed he caused his mother’s death (She’d passed away while under Rickywayne’s care.), telling the therapist “I was the last one to see her alive and the first one to see her dead.” He had been carrying that guilt with him and the weight gain that came with it as he drowned his sorrows in frozen foods, everything from the middle aisles of the grocery store, which he’d later learn from the nutritionist were the aisles he wanted to avoid. When you’re addicted to food–or anything, for that matter, there’s always a cause. For me, it was my father. He left my mother while she was pregnant with me, and I never met him, so I filled the void with Haagen-Dazs, Cheetos, soda by the two-liter. Much like Ricky, I didn’t care. I believed I had nothing. I had given up on life before I even had the opportunity to truly live it.

Shortly after the therapy session, David the trainer told Ricky it was time to work-out, but he wasn’t having it, his anger boiling over and spilling into one of the most intense stand-offs in A&E docu-drama history. Ricky screamed in David’s face, “I don’t care. Leave me alone!” over and over again. Somehow David maintained his cool though. I imagine clients have lost their shit on him before, and despite the anger, he didn’t buckle or back down, telling Ricky, “If you want to dig your own grave, then dig it.” But, in the end, it was Brittany who smoothed everything over and told Ricky that if he wouldn’t work out, he, at least, needed to walk around, move, for the team, for Jessica’s sake. After he cooled down, Jessica spoke with Ricky, too, emphasizing how important it was for them to stick together. “After you do that work out, we’ll go cry together,” promised Jessica.

It reminded me how important it is to have a support system when trying to lose weight, to have someone there to hold you accountable. When I was deepest into my work-out craze, weighing in at 201 lbs., about 40 less than I weigh now and 139 less than I was at my heaviest, it was because one of my best friends from high school, Jay, who was staying with me for a few months, was my work-out buddy. Jay didn’t have problems with his weight, but knew me when I was extremely heavy and understood how important it was for me to lose it. I remember one day I wanted to quit, but Jay called me on it–“Come on, bro, you’re not a fucking quitter.” Sometimes that’s all it takes.

Once Ricky calmed down, he was back on the regimen and the weight came pouring off. Jessica wasn’t so lucky. Her weight loss started slowly in two, three and eight pound increments while at the facility, but Jessica knew she worked hard. As she said after finally completing the pool work-out, “I’m proud of myself.” Ricky and Jessica were starting to turn the corner. After the month was up, they were on their own.

And I was still skeptical that they’d be able to stay on it.

Ricky began having a hard time almost immediately after leaving “the facility.” While he knew how to work out, he still didn’t know how to eat, a common problem facing many fat people. I, like Rickywayne, was raised eating crap, too (Well, not literally.), and even when I started losing weight, I didn’t know what I should eat either, so I completely streamlined my diet: protein bars, protein shakes, chicken, meat, vegetables and lots of water, which seems healthy enough, but was totally unsustainable. My guilt wouldn’t even allow me to eat cheese, and if there’s anything in life you need, it’s cheese (Sorry, vegans!)–just maybe not everyday. Rickywayne and I had the same problems: we were completely ignorant to what healthy and nourishing food was, but whereas I had to piece it together on my own, Ricky had the luxury of returning to “the facility.” Which is exactly what he did.

Back at “the facility,” Rickywayne prospered. He was working out with David and Brittany everyday and cannonballing into the pool whenever he had the chance. He was even doing yoga. The difference was clear: his face looked smaller, less puffy, and his confidence was growing.

The same goes for Jessica. After leaving “the facility” where she laid the building blocks for her new life and addressed the causes of her addiction, which included being molested by an old boyfriend of her mother’s, she thrived, too. Working with a personal trainer in her hometown, the pounds began coming off for Jessica almost as quickly as they did for Ricky. Not long after arriving home, the doctor (Who’s still on my shit list!) approved her for surgery to remove the excess skin around her midriff, something I looked into, as well, when I was at my lowest weight, after unsuccessfully following the advice of a women’s health web site, which recommended Preparation-H to both tighten the skin and remove those unsightly stretch marks. Jessica’s personality was changing; with the weight loss, she gained confidence and became fearless when she stepped into the gym, knowing, no matter what her weight was, that she was changing her life.

After all that work, it was time to return to “the facility” for the weigh-in. Jessica strolled in, looking, well, hot for a mother of two who’d just dropped a tremendous amount of weight. “Sexy,” she said was how she felt, something she hadn’t thought about herself in years, and when she heard her final weight, 217 lbs., she nearly exploded with happiness, losing a total of 72 lbs. over six months. Jessica put it best when she said she was “letting my body know it’s alive.”

Rickywayne, like Jessica, looked remarkably thinner and bear strong. When he walked into “the facility,” he grabbed Jodi and David, picking them up together like a professional wrestler, a complete turnaround from where he was about six months before, vowing he was so angry he wanted to stab himself in the eye when David pushed him to exercise after his therapy session. Rickywayne was genuinely happy. His face had color. His legs weren’t nearly as red and bloated as they were when he arrived. And when he weighed in, he was 427 lbs., losing a total of 128 lbs., about the entire body weight of Alyssa Milano on “Charmed” when tabloids began calling her “fat” had come off of Rickywayne’s body.

I was wrong about Ricky and Jessica. I didn’t think they had the fight, but they developed the weapons to change their lives, to give themselves a second chance. Even though I don’t even know them, I’m proud.

Brian McGuigan is a writer, performer and arts get-shit-done-er working on a one-man show about his own struggles with weight loss entitled “Fat Fuck.” He’ll be blogging weekly about A&E’s new docu-drama “Heavy” on his blog brianwithani.com.

After the first episode of Heavy, A&E’s new documentary series best described as “Intervention” for fat people, I’m already hooked. Like the aforementioned “Intervention” and “Hoarders,” Heavy follows two dangerously overweight people through a six-month regimen of weight loss, counseling and medical & nutritional advice, or “reprogramming” as Jodi, one of the two clients in last night’s episode (The other is Tom.), called it. The regimen begins with one month at “the facility,” a place where Jodi and Tom can get away from the stresses of life–no family, no cookies, not even cell phones–and focus on their weight loss. Then they return home for another five months of workouts with a personal trainer six times a week, check-ups with doctors and check-ins from the nutritionist and the hard-bodied personal trainers of “the facility.”

The first episode begins with Tom, a former high school football player who steadily fell into depression after dropping out of school and is currently weighing in at 638 lbs., and Jodi, a married mother of two who just suffered a minor stroke and is weighing in at 363 lbs. Both are 37 and live in Houston, TX. Apparently, there are quite a few clients in this season’s episodes that are from Texas. I guess making an “everything-is-big-in-Texas” joke would be too easy.

Tom seems gung-ho about losing weight from the get-go. He could barely make the walk to and from the pool house (described by Tom as “a marathon” and Jodi as “the other side of the earth” due to the length of the walk), but even though he had to stop every one-to-two minutes and sit down, Tom didn’t give up. He made the walk, and like his personal trainer told him: you did it once; now you know you can do it again, which is basically the first step in losing weight, believing that you can actually do it, something I can totally relate to considering I vomited nearly everyday for a week when I first began my plunge into exercise in January, 2002. I didn’t have God or friends or family; food was my belief system, and losing weight is truly about reprogramming yourself, putting that faith in oneself and not in the six double bacon cheeseburgers and three orders of spicy chicken tenders, as Tom did each day. Trust me–it’s harder than you think.

This was Jodi’s problem: she didn’t believe in herself. Before she left home for “the facility” to begin her six-month regimen, she was honest about the limitations her weight has placed on her life, remarking that being heavy was “the only thing I’ve ever allowed to stand in my way from doing what I want.” Jodi’s husband had threatened to leave her. She didn’t have the energy or stamina to keep up with her two kids. As she put on the pounds, Jodi became more self-conscious and could no longer perform as part of her band. Singing was her love, and she had to give it up because she thought people were making fun of her while she was on stage. Her mother was no help, saying about Jodi’s musical aspirations, “They want to see Madonna–not Jodi.”

Harsh, mom.

Once Jodi made it to the facility, she was broken, crying, arguing with the trainers and finally giving up. But the trainers didn’t give up on her, and through counseling, she began pinpointing the triggers for her addiction to food, mainly her mother (Hey, me too!) and her lack of control over everything in her life except what she put in her mouth, specifically loads of processed foods (When she went to the grocery store with the nutritionist, Jodi told her she doesn’t buy meat from behind the counter because “it’s more expensive.”) and two pints of my mortal enemy Haagen-Dazs. (In my teen years, I spent most weeknights watching movies and killing two pints of Haagen Dazs in a sitting, and this was after I ate a whole dinner.)

But Jodi bounced back (No pun intended, I assure you.), began coming to terms with her addiction and making real progress. When Tom and Jodi were released from “the facility,” they basically reversed courses–Jodi established her belief system and kept at it while Tom, lacking a support system and overwhelmed by life, began binging again and gained about 20 lbs. (Been there, done that.) But the trainers caught up with him quick, and Tom was back at the facility again, rekindling the fire he had when he first arrived there. When you’re heavy, the urge to quell stress and anxiety with food is always there–even after you’ve begun losing weight. Again, it’s reprogramming. When stress comes on, we have to learn coping mechanisms that don’t involve Haagen-Dazs or six double bacon cheeseburgers. (They are oh-so-good though; I know, I know.)

After the six months was up, Tom had lost 162 lbs., weighing in at 476 lbs., and Jodi had lost 77.4 lbs, with a final weight of 289.8. The first episode was a success. Tom put it best when he said, “No food tastes as good as skinny feels.”

True that.

Not every part of “Heavy” was a success though. After just one episode,  I already absolutely hate the physician. When Tom came in for his final check-up, he weighed almost 150 lbs. less, and the doctor didn’t even congratulate the guy. Instead, he harped on Tom’s BMI, which is perhaps the most bullshit barometer for weight loss and fitness because it presupposes everyone that’s the same height should weigh the same without accounting for heredity, body fat percentage or muscle mass.

For example, my favorite football player Ray Lewis is 6 ft. 1 and 250 lbs., and his BMI is 33, which is definitely in the “obese” category. Look at the man though. He’s a fucking physical specimen. (I have more to say about BMI, but you’ll have to see my show, “Fat Fuck,” to hear more.)

Anyway, back to the physician, what he should have said was, “Tom, you still have a long way to go, but I’m proud of the strides you’ve made in the last six months. Keep it up.” Something like that.

Losing weight isn’t easy. All we heavies need is a little encouragement.

Brian McGuigan is a writer, performer and arts get-shit-done-er working on a one-man show about his own struggles with weight loss entitled “Fat Fuck.” He’ll be blogging weekly about A&E’s new docu-drama “Heavy” on his blog brianwithani.com.