It all started with some stairs.

I work on the third floor of an office building but I often have to go to the first floor to drop things off. One day a couple of months ago I walked down and then back up, but I heard this sound that startled me. I happened to be walking past the copier and thought it was having mechanical problems, but it was off. And that’s when I realized — in a fit of horror — what was making the noise.

It was me. And I was wheezing from being out of breath. Like a full-on, Fatty McGee wheeze.

I’ve always been on the heavy side. Three years ago I freaked out when I stepped on the scale and saw I weighed 246 lbs. So I talked to a few of my fat guy friends and we decided to do something about it. We each put down $100 and had ourselves a weight loss challenge. My friend Alex lost 70-some odd pounds and I shed more than 30 myself. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to maintain my weight because Will was born and there just didn’t seem to be enough time to go to the gym when new dad duties were calling.

So it was no surprise to me that I put on weight. I grew out of my large shirts and moved into the “XL” territory. You should know MJ buys all my clothes and therefore I don’t even know what size I am. I noticed my x-large clothes started feeling tight, but suddenly I had new clothes and they fit so much better. I naively thought maybe I had miraculously shed a few pounds without working out or changing my ABYSMAL eating habits. So imagine my shock when I looked at the tag and saw the “XXL” staring me in the face.

I won’t lie, that shook me. And it forced me to find an answer to a question I had been dreading for months and months. How much did I weigh? I hadn’t had the guts to get on a scale, but at this point I was beginning to get concerned for my health. I was in XXL clothes, couldn’t walk up stairs without requiring oxygen and could barely play with my own son for more than a couple minutes at a time. So I sucked it up and stepped on the scale to see…

281 lbs.

If other people hadn’t been around at the time, I probably would’ve cried. Two hundred and eighty-one fucking pounds. I was disgusted, embarrassed and horrified. But more importantly, I was ANGRY. The anger is important because that’s what motivates me. I know I should want to lose weight for myself, for my family, to live longer and be a good role model — but that’s not gonna cut it. Horrible, I know. But it’s the truth.

Anger motivates me. So does competition. Knowing that, I contacted my friends Alex and Dave — two of my heavier friends — to see if they wanted to make some changes. They did. Suddenly emails were flying back and forth as we tried to come up with terms for a bet. This time, instead of money, we borrowed from the popular TV show “How I Met Your Mother” in which the characters on the show settle their friendly bets in a rather unorthodox way — the Slap Bet.

And that’s how FatSlap was born. Here are the rules:

We all weigh in on our own scales. You must use the same scale throughout the duration of the contest. The weight loss is measured by percentage. This is important since I’m actually the lightest guy, so it makes things a little more fair. Alex and I started the competition early at the beginning of January. Dave is going to join in starting Super Bowl weekend.

We have monthly weigh-ins and at each weigh-in, there will be slaps. The guy who has lost the most weight gets to open-hand slap the other two in the face. The second place finisher gets to slap the guy in third. Which means whoever finishes last will get slapped twice. Oh, and did I mention all of it will be on camera for people to enjoy on YouTube?

This will go on until the end of May. At the last weigh-in, slaps will still take place as usual. But as a bonus, the winner will get to have two “anytime” slaps. That means the winner will be able to slap the other two at any point with no restrictions. For example, if Alex wins and decides to wait until Will gets married and I’m making a speech at the wedding to smack me in front of everyone, then so be it.

Like I said, anger motivates me. OK, and fear as well. That’s why the mere thought of losing $100 in a bet won’t get me going. But lemme tell ya, the thought of my two huge friends with brute strength slapping the ever-lovin’ shit out of me multiple times gets my ass out of bed to run at 5 a.m.

And yes, I’ve been running. I was at 281 lbs and now I’m at 263. That’s 18 lbs in three weeks. Not bad. But Alex, who weighed in at 399 lbs, has lost 42 lbs in that time so I’m in some trouble. But I’ve been tracking every single calorie that’s entered my body and I completely changed my eating habits. I run 2.6 miles 3-4 times a week. It’s slow going but I’m doing it.

As for Alex, I’ll let him tell you his story in his own words. Be warned, he likes to talk even more than I do:

Well for starters, I’m fat. It may be stating the obvious, but that’s the most salient detail, isn’t it? In this context, that’s what people want to know more about anyway. Who cares about the other stuff?

There aren’t TV shows devoted to people losing weight so that the audience can find out that Fatty McFatterson is an avid reader and movie buff (as I am). The audience wants to know how many X’s are on the tag of his shirt- mine have four of them these days, though there are a few brands where a 3X is better. Fun fact: the size at which no men’s clothing can, under any circumstances, actually be said to “look good on you” is 4XL.

People aren’t interested in the fact that I travel 150-200 days and 125,000+ miles a year for a living. Not yet anyway. They want to know if I need one of those seat belt extensions on the plane- Believe it or not, almost never. However, there are a few planes that haven’t been refurbished since you could smoke on planes, flight attendants were called stewardesses, and many male stewards were called “confirmed bachelors.” On these planes I find one useful, but can get by without if I need to.

Who cares if I’m mid-thirties, single, with no kids? Folks want to know if I’m fat enough to break furniture- I am. Or more honestly, I have. It was patio furniture, sure, but that made it no less embarrassing. Oh, and one dining room chair, which I still maintain was of sub-par quality as it was probably 10 years ago and I was not that fat at the time (I weighed less than Aaron does now).

It’s okay. You can relax. I’m not bitter or angry. This isn’t where I snap and start typing in all caps, DO YOU WANT ME TO DANCE FOR YOU?  YOU WANT FATTY TO DANCE? Um, more to the point I guess it is. Just not seriously. I just figured this is what most everyone would want to know. I’m fat enough to be the baritone in a barbershop quartet in Skokie, IL. I’m talking like orca fat. Told you- movie buff. (As I hope you already know the whole “barber shop/orca” thing is a Usual Suspects reference. If you haven’t seen it, stop reading this right now and go watch it.

As the fattest participant in this competition, I’m either the odds-on favorite or the underdog depending on who you ask. For the record, I should be the favorite. I’ve lost large amounts of weight before. On one of said occasions I whipped my friends in a competition similar to this one (money only, unlike this time around no actual whipping). Aaron was one of them. Dave was not. It can be done.

Here’s hoping I do it again.

Brass Tacks:

Name: TheViking (I like to keep what comes up on a google search professional)

Website: www.mightyviking.com *

Twitter: @themightyviking *

Height: 5’10”

Starting Weight: 399lbs.**

Weight loss method: Healthy low carb. There are lots of diets with lots of different names that all push the same thing. And they’re all corporate money sucking machines that try to sell you chemical-ridden “bars” and the like. So I won’t use brand names. Think eggs for breakfast, salad for lunch, grilled chicken or lean steak and lots of veggies for dinner, with nuts for snacking. And lots of water.

*The domain “themightyviking” was taken, as was the twitter handle “@mightyviking”. It’s a little confusing, but it’s also too late to fix, so there it is.

**This isn’t an asterisk where I explain I had a big meal or my shoes on (true, false). I can hem and haw all I want, at the end of the day I was a four hundred pounder (“was” because, being the procrastinator I am, I’m writing this after the original weigh-in. As of this posting I’m closer to 350 than 400.  If you’re asking yourself “what’s the difference, you’re still huge?” good for you, you’re not fat- but there’s a difference. Also suck it, I’m working on it.) Either way, I’ve come to terms with 400. I own 400, so this isn’t an asterisk for that. This is an asterisk for those people who know me and are surprised to learn I weighed that much. This also goes for anyone who knows someone dieting (especially successfully). DO NOT TELL ME, NOW THAT I’M LOSING WEIGHT, HOW CONCERNED YOU WERE FOR ME (OR MY HEALTH, ETC…) AND HOW GLAD YOU ARE TO SEE ME DOING WELL LOSING WEIGHT. DO NOT REMARK ON HOW SURPRISED YOU WERE TO LEARN THE ACTUAL NUMBER. I plan to write about this in the near future, so I’ll save you the whys and wherefores right now. Just trust me on this. If you have to mention successful weight loss to anyone, tell them they look good (not better, good). I’ll leave it at that for now.

So there we are. Your first two participants. We’ll have Dave’s info when he joins us in a couple weeks. In the meantime, Alex and I are posting our “before” pictures even though it makes us physically ill to do so. Feel free to leave us comments (we appreciate the positive and we’ll feed off the negative) and we’ll post all the updates (and especially the slap videos) as they happen.

Alex & I in the dreaded “Before” pics:

Those were the marching orders from my personal trainer recently, as I once again attempted to avoid exercise. They say dentists are among the most hated professionals, but I think personal trainers and fitness coaches are right up there. They’re in great shape and do everything effortlessly, while your fat ass gets winded after five jumping jacks. Yet they feel the need to yell at you anyways.

“GO, GO, GO!”

I don’t want to go. And I’m cursing my parents for giving us their coat rack treadmill in the first place. Sure we bugged them for it for years, but now I realize it belongs back at their house, collecting dust in its rightful place.

“FASTER, FASTER, FASTER!”

Man he’s really on my ass today. And he’s hitting below the belt too. MJ just did 20 minutes on the treadmill and now this guy is making fun of me—insulting my very manhood—by insinuating my wife is better than I am. Well the joke’s on him because I figured out a long time ago MJ is better than me at just about everything, so I don’t feel bad at all. In fact, I’m so used to letting the defeat wash over me and bathing in its relaxing, lazy gooeyness that I have my own “ass dent” on the middle cushion of our couch. I could live there forever. Sitting there with my warm blanket and a bowl of ice cre—-

“HURRY UP!”

Screw you dude. Damn you’re annoying. Jesus Christ…fine. I will get on the goddamn treadmill if it means you will shut the fuck up and leave me the hell alone. Are you looking? I’m on it. And now I’m running. You see this shithead? Because of your constant badgering, there’s a 255-pound freight train shaking the house and knocking trinkets off shelves. The little green army men on the floor must feel like Godzilla is about to ransack the living room, while our neighbors can only assume I’m violently jacking it to computer porn because of all the panting and wheezing.

Oh. Wow. Somehow through all the complaining I just ran a continuous mile. And I did it in under 10 minutes which is slow as hell for normal people, but a modern day miracle for my fat ass. Hmmm. I feel kind of good too. Sore, but good. Accomplished actually. I guess I owe my personal trainer a great big thank you after all.

“You were fast! Good job dad.”

Hey, at least this personal trainer doesn’t cost me anything except for food, milk and hugs. Thanks buddy!

Some people drink or turn to drugs. MJ gets very focused and intent, and usually cleans the whole house from top to bottom. I truly didn’t think I had a problem dealing with stress, until my wife told me in a not-so-subtle way that I’m eating us out of house and home.

At first I got defensive and told her she didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. But then I took a good look in the mirror. After that I stepped on the scale, which confirmed her theory. I’m a stress eater. I literally eat my worries away. Some people get hammered, others cry hysterically…apparently I think I can eat my problems away.

I cannot believe I never noticed it before but I see it now. I’m not even hungry most nights but once Will and MJ go to bed and I’m left to my own devices, I inevitably begin to think of Alex. And I get sad. Which then leads me to the fridge where I will house an entire gallon of ice cream in one sitting. Yeah, you read that right. A gallon. I also have no problem eating an entire box of pasta these days.

Needless to say my waistline hasn’t just suffered, it’s disappeared under my fat man gut. And I can’t let it go on like this.

So I spent all day yesterday fixing up my old bicycle, which has been outside in the rain and three harsh New England winters since last we saw one another. Unbelievably, it wasn’t in terrible shape. It needed some tinkering and a shitload of WD-40, but I can still ride it. I vowed that today (my day off) I would jump on the bike path and ride my stress away instead of shove it down my gullet.

I did 10 miles in a little over an hour. Not good, but considering I haven’t ridden in three years not terrible either. My legs are pretty sore, but that’s nowhere near the pain I feel in my ass. I don’t remember a bike seat hurting that much in the past, but right now my ass feels like it just spent the night in a Colorado hotel room with Kobe Bryant. My ass didn’t sit on the bike seat so much as absorb it. Seriously, I think a piece is still lodged in there.

Anyway, it was a beautiful Cape Cod day so I rode on the bike path in Falmouth. There were lots of people on the trail. Kids with parents, retirees keeping in shape and women. Lots of women. Lots of scantily clad, sweaty, toned women.

As I traveled toward Woods Hole I came upon one such specimen who had an ass that should’ve been bronzed and studied by the world’s top scientists for cloning purposes. It was phenomenal. Truly. I know I’m married to a beautiful woman but if MJ had been there, even she would’ve been salivating and agreeing with me.

Needless to say I took my time behind her and enjoyed the “scenery.” When I finally decided to jet by her I moved to the other side of the path and prepared to give the standard audible courtesy of “On your left.”

And that’s when Dr. Freud interjected.

“On your ass,” I said, cringing immediately after it slipped out of my mouth.

A smart man would’ve just kept going. A smart man would’ve kept his cool and pedaled hard, never looking back. A smart man would’ve also realized she was listening to her iPod and didn’t even hear the offending remark in the first place.

But I am not a smart man.

Instead I slowed down and veered in front of her, which startled her and put her on edge.

“I’m sorry I said ass, I didn’t mean ass,” I said, talking way too fast and nervously.

At this point she stops running and looks at me suspiciously as she takes off her headphones.

“What? What’s wrong?” she said with confusion.

“Oh nothing, I didn’t mean to spook you,” I stammered, getting flushed in the face. “I just didn’t want you to be offended when I passed by you and said ‘On your ass’ because I meant ‘On your left.’ But I said ass instead. So…I’m sorry.”

Smooth I am not.

Common sense finally kicked in and my fat ass pedaled away as fast as my chubby, out-of-shape legs would allow. And while I’m hopefully on my way to losing a few pounds, I confirmed there is absolutely no hope for my game with the ladies.

Faithful readers of this blog no doubt recall my repeated attempts to lose weight. Well, it’s time to add one more to that list.

Allow me to introduce you to The Fat Guy Foundation.

My buddy Alex (and possibly my friend Jim if he doesn’t wuss out) have started this as a way to kill several birds with one stone. First of all, we’re fat. And we’d like to be not so fat. But since we can’t seem to accomplish that goal on our own and we both thrive on cutthroat competition, we’ve made a little game out of it. We each set goals and whoever comes the closest to their goal by April 1 (no this isn’t an elaborate April Fool’s joke) wins.

But in addition to helping ourselves, we’re also trying to help others.

People (that means you guys if you’re so inclined) can bet on us. Kind of like race horses. Well, fat race horses who can’t make it around the track anyways. If you back the right horse (pick me, pick me!) and you pledged the most money, you will be able to choose where all the donations go. Each of us has picked three possible charities to choose from and the winner gets to choose one of them. At that point everyone who pledged money is on the honor system to send their donations.

My charities are the Crohn’s & Colitis Foundation of America (MJ has Crohn’s and it is a BITCH), the National Multiple Sclerosis Foundation (my aunt and my grandfather had it and so does my mother-in-law) and the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (because I’m a huge puss and I love dogs).

So for the next 11 weeks or so we’ll updating our progress regularly, talking a shitload of smack and trying to lose as much weight as we can while simultaneously raising as much money as possible for causes that are near and dear to us. It’s a win-win if you ask me. And, not to brag, but it’s a well known fact that fat people funnier than most, and we don’t disappoint. We are two witty motherfuckers and we will keep you entertained.

That entertainment will also include our good friend, Army Sgt. Kelly Woerdeman, putting us through drills. On video. On video that will then be posted on the site so you can laugh at us, mock us and watch us vomit profusely.

So I want to make this my official plea to all of you out there in various nether regions of the Internet. I want you to go to this site, leave a comment and bet on me. Because I will win. I started at 248 lbs and on Day 4 of the competition I had already lost 8 lbs. And that’s just by eating right, I haven’t even started working out yet. But when I do, I’m going to run my ass off. I don’t have my gym membership anymore, but I have Wii Fit and I know how to modify workouts so I can do them at home.

But if you’re not sold on me, check out the other guys. The important thing is to help a fat guy, make a contribution to a worthy cause and feel good about helping the obese and the needy. In my case, I’m needy AND obese so you’re really helping.

And if you can’t donate, that’s cool. Times are tough. But what you can do is re-post this on Facebook, Twitter, MySpace and any other social media site that could help us out.

Thanks guys, and again, I hope you’ll pick me as your representative fat guy. I’m Fat Guy Daddy Files and I approve this message.

Despite my better judgment and without a lick of training, I ran in my first road race in 13 years on Saturday. After meeting up with Cape Cod Gal, who has been training for a triathlon this weekend, we took our places at the starting line. Normally I don’t put myself in the position of losing to a girl, but I knew just by looking at CCG that I was in for it. I haven’t seen her in a few months and by God is she JACKED! Any slim hope I had been maintaining of somehow beating her and pulling off the biggest upset since the 1980 Miracle on Ice went right out the window at that moment.

First of all, it was hot. Damn hot. And the race was 5.2 miles, with roughly 5.1 miles in the direct sunlight. I’m not kidding, there was no shade along the course whatsoever. I stayed with CCG for the first mile and then lost sight of her before we hit the 2-mile mark. I was struggling the whole way but I made up it up all the hills without stopping. But towards the end of the race I had to stop and walk a few times to avoid passing out and/or throwing up.

My goal was to finish in under an hour. I finished in 1 hour and 1 minute. That’s good for a blistering 11:40 pace. I won’t disclose CCG’s time but she beat me handily.

I was bummed at first for not meeting my goal. But the more I thought about it, the happier I became. I had done almost no training leading up to this race in the last few months. I’m overweight. And the weather was hot and humid as balls. But I made it. I came in 861 out of 952 runners. Usually that wouldn’t be something to be proud of, but for a fat guy who just randomly decided to run a road race in the middle of summer, I’ll take it.

But more importantly, I have the itch to run again. I used to run in road races all the time when I was younger, and now I want to get back out there and mix it up again. I like challenging myself and seeing if I can get my times down. But mostly I want to beat CCG because I hate losing, especially to girls!