Functionally ReTodded

Every day I try to do a little reading about politics and current events so I am not completely retarded when people want to talk about things.

Today I was reading some links from Boortz.com and stumbled across a story about a woman who was asked by Southwest to purchase a second ticket before boarding. The second ticket purchase was requested in accordance with the airline’s policy due to the woman’s size.

Here is a link to her completely biases (obviously) version of the events that transpired:

Linkage

Now, before you go too far, know that this woman wrote nearly 3,000 words on the subject. 3,000 words.

There are gay people being harassed and ridiculed and beaten to death and she’s spending the time it takes to write 3,000 words bitching about what happened to her because she was fat?

It’s tough to finish because she is so full of shit, but it’s worth it.

Gays, as we all know, are a protected class, as are women, the handicapped, minorities, etc. Fat is not a protected class. I’m not saying that every fat person chooses to be fat. I’m not even saying that any fat people choose to be fat. But the fact is that if you’re fat, life’s going to offer you some challenges.

Commercial aircraft aren’t like buses or our homes. They have been engineered to the nth degree to maximize their safety, capacity, and durability. A 767 is not a cruise ship. It’s not supposed to have luxuriously wide aisles. That’s a movie theater.

This woman goes on and on forever, but there’s only one real issue. Should Southwest have had a sign at the gate about this? Yes.

But all of the airlines have had this policy in place for years.

Why?

Because 99.9% of their passengers aren’t affected by it and that’s how businesses are run.

What does she think Southwest should do? Build an entire fleet of fat planes that will run 99.99% empty on all routes to acommodate her? Shit, they’d be better off to simply charter a private plane for every morbidly obese person that wants to fly.

See, I’ve sat in the back row in the middle seat next to a 500 pound guy. He was the nicest guy in the world and I would love to travel with him again. But I don’t want to sit next to him on the plane.

Why?

Because he was in my space and it’s not fair to me…the OTHER paying customer. Every open space between us was filled with his arms and side and legs and everything else. Again, he was very nice and apologetic, but why should I have to endure this?

This woman has the audacity to write:

“So let’s be realistic–if being in contact with my upper arm and thigh for one hour on a flight from Albuquerque to Tucson is so traumatic for you that you write to the airline about it, your problem is much bigger than my fat.”

No. It’s not. My only problem in that situation would be your fat. Period. And besides, you’re writing a fucking manifesto about it, so my NOT tolerating your upper arm and thigh on me is obviously an equally big deal to you.

If you’re fat (and I’m not talking 6′3″ and 250…I’m talking 5′8″ and 450), then you need to either fly business or first class or buy two seats in coach. Sue all you want and whine all you want. But the fact is that, when it’s all said and done, you’re “handicap” isn’t a chair or your height or your skin color or anything else. It’s your own ass.

I urge all airlines to post a sign every 20 feet around ticketing and to insert the same information into their mindless looping recordings when you call their offices:

“If you are over X height or X weight or both, you are required to buy a second coach seat on all flights. If the plane is less than full, your 2nd seat fare will be refunded to you immediately. Thanks for choosing Delta.”

How hard is that?

Well, tomorrow marks the three month anniversary of my bypass surgery. Since then, the following has happened:

We’ve added a new baby to the family.

I’ve gone from 250 pounds to, as of this morning, 210 pounds.

I have been cleared by my cardiologist to do anything I want to do.

I’ve bought a treadmill and I walk between 3.5 and 4.5 miles per day six days a week.

I bought a used bowflex and will begin my second exercise regimen Saturday in hopes of firming up this nearly 40 year old body.

My resting heart rate has dropped from 90 beats per minute to 62 bpm.

I drink way less. It’s not the carbs but the empty calories that get you.

I have only had two Mountain Dews since Halloween. Those who know me have probably seen me drink 10 of those in a day on several occasions in my past. I hadn’t gone a day without a Dew since about 1986, so quitting that seemed more foreign to me than quitting smoking.

(What made it easier was reading the label on a Mountain Dew. It has 170 calories and 46 grams of carbs in it. A Budweiser Select has 99 calories and 3.1 grams of carbs. I think you see where I am going with this…)

I have become aware of food labels. I don’t claim to know what they all mean, but I try to eat less bad carbs and bad fad and have increased my intake of fibre, good fat, good carbs and whole grain anything.

I have met with a nutritionist who measured my body’s resting caloric intake per day. That’s about 3200 calories. That also means there’s room for me to eat better to continue to lose weight.

My goal is to reach 200 by Memorial Day weekend. If I don’t it’s no big deal as long as I keepworking out and eating better and eating smaller, which is (in my opinion) the biggest key of all.

I have realized how shitty I felt for the past 18 months and probably longer. I am astounded at how much better I feel by changing relatively little in my life. I eat what I want. I simply eat less. I don’t order pizza nearly as much and when I do, I try to stop short of bloated. I eat a slice of cheese for a snack instead of a can of pringles. I eat far fewer chips and the like for snacks. I drink a glass of orange juice a day. Don’t know if that helps anything, but it makes me feel like I’m making a difference.

I hope that three months from now that I’m writing this at 202 pounds and feeling better still. But if I’m not, it won’t be due to a lack of effort on my part.

I’ll never go back to the way I was. I want to be around to torture my children when they are adults.