Today marks the official start of the Biggest Loser competition at work. This means a few things:

  1. Initial weigh-in
  2. Initial BMI configuration
  3. Initial outbreak of hysteria

Wait. What’s that last one? Hysteria? What on earth for?

Well, I’ll tell you!

One of the guys brought in this torture device. It’s a machine that calculates BMI. Now, I know that BMI is an overrated way of figuring overall health, and I know that my BMI has always put me in the overly obese category, and I know that women are different than men, and I know…. I know a lot of things.

But this machine.


The way it figured BMI once I held onto the little silver handlebars said that I was at 39.2% and that I should lose 85 pounds. If I lost 85 pounds I would weigh 133 pounds. Quite frankly, I don’t believe that my SKELETON weighs less than 133. I would look ridiculously anorexic at 133 pounds.

And how do I know that I would look anorexic at 133 pounds?

Because this is me in the 170 to 175 range. THIS is where I need to be. NOT 133.


There is no room for me to lose 40 pounds when I’m at 170 or 175.

CONFESSION: I will never, nor do I want to ever, weigh 133.

In my group of Biggest Loser competitors are some of my technicians, most of whom are large. Like upper 200s to upper 300s large. According to the torture device that calculated our BMI, I had the second highest BMI. Second only to my 365 pound tech. Well, well, well. There may have been some outrage at that. I immediately went online to find the official calculation for figuring out BMI and did the calculation for every single person in our group, after which I dropped from second highest BMI to the lower end of the pack, which is where I thought I should be.

CONFESSION: I did not handle being second highest BMI gracefully!

Then my boss, who was diagnosed with gout and told by his doctor that he needed to drastically change his diet, decided to join our challenge as a way to remind him that he needs to be eating healthier and exercising more. My boss is maybe an inch taller than me and has a noticeable beer gut that we all give him crap for.

He weighs 20 pounds less than I do. TWENTY POUND LESS!

CONFESSION: Epic meltdown. “What the fucks” and “How the hells” and other terms of confusion and disbelief were involved. “How in the hell does he weigh LESS than me?” I believe I had that question on loop until my 365 pound tech factually stated, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but you’re, um, a bit more, er….top-heavy…than he is.”

UGH. Boobs!

CONFESSION: When I posted the other day and said that I joined this challenge knowing that I would not win and I was OK with that. I lied. I lied like a big fat lying liar lies! I’m not OK with that! I’m not OK with losing to the boys. I’m not OK with having the second highest BMI. And, quite frankly, I’m NOT OK with where my body is at the moment!

Things MUST change!

CONFESSION: I feel like a big fat loser.