It’s the late seventies. I’m thirteen years old. I’m a tank. Precious, but a tank.
I weigh most of 90 kilos (200lbs) and it is school swim sports day. Yippee. I’d rather hit myself over the head with a hammer, but here I am. I don’t want to swim but I have no choice; it is mandatory. Private school rules. Everyone gets into a swim section. They all breed. I’m in the recovery section; the home of the geek, the uncoordinated and the fat.
I’m not fit. In fact, not fit would be a dramatic improvement. I aspire to ‘unfit’. I am embarrassed. I am embarrassed. I long for the superpower of invisibility. I am addicted to cartoons (and chocolate cake) and regularly fantasize about having my own special power. Flying and x-ray vision are always highly rated, but at the moment, invisibility seems somewhat appealing. I surpass most of my teachers. My gut cascades over my bathers like ice cream spilling down the side of a cone. I’m a pioneer of the muffin top, only on a slightly larger scale. I’m wearing a t-shirt to hide my width (one word). A teacher approaches me.
“Harper, take off your shirt.”
I feel sick and anxious.
“But sir, I burn easily and I have sensitive skin.”
“You can’t swim in it, take it off.”
“But I’m not allowed to, said the Doctor.”
“Do you have a note?”
Dejection. Silence.
“No sir.”
“Take it off, you’re swimming in a minute.”
I turn my back on the crowds and take off my shirt. I suck my stomach. That will help. Twenty seconds later, I can’t hold my breath any longer and my gut cascades once more. I walk to the starting area and wrap my arms around my waist in a futile attempt to hide what everyone can see clearly. I honor my nickname; Jumbo.
The headline calls out the misfits. The geeks, the uncoordinated, and the fat guys ride the starting blocks. Besides me, there is another fat boy. Although, he’s really not in my league, more chubby than fat. Fraud.
Something funny happens.
As I sit there on my starting block, for a second I forget my magnitude. For a moment, I forget what I look like or what people might be thinking. Strangely, I analyze my opposition. For the first time in my life, I truly believe that I am an outside chance to ‘win’ some kind of sports competition. A completely unprecedented thought or experience for me. Of course I don’t stand a chance, but I indulge anyway.
Somewhere deep within my totally anti-athletic subconscious, I hear these words, “what if?” I allow myself to dream for a second and, in the context of the moment and the situation, I experience a strange emotion; excitement. Fear, anxiety and shame have been replaced by something much more powerful; expect. A bunch of misfits, swimming in a race that no one cares about, and there I am, ready. Excited and hopeful. Nice emotions. New emotions for me.
The kid who is picked last on every sports team can smell greatness. Great for me anyway; everything is relative when you are fat and you are thirteen years old. Looking back, I’ve often wondered about the psychology behind letting kids pick their own teams. Being there alone while the team ‘captains’ argue because none of them want you on their team is not an experience I wish on anyone. Some teachers weren’t that smart in the ’70s.
The starting gun goes off and I have the reaction time of a cat. Maybe an old arthritic cat. Incredibly, I am the first to enter the water. I amaze myself. I don’t even know what ‘the zone’ is, but I’m in it. For a moment, I am an Olympian. The splash of my plunge into the water shocks half the field. I don’t mind. I create a tidal wave and make the other half surf in each other’s lanes. Okay, I made it up, but it would have been fun. My fat little arms pump like pistons, and halfway there I lift my head and take my first breath.
To my astonishment and everyone’s, I am winning. I’m winning the pointless race. But for me and the other rejects, this is our time. For us it is significant. Very. I’m not the only one trying. I look across the pool and if effort and attitude mean anything, we are all world champions. What my ‘competition’ and viewers have not taken into account is my secret weapon; ultimate buoyancy. I’m like a cork with legs.
While the skinny kids struggle to stay afloat, my body fat allows me to lie on the water like a yacht on the ocean. I am a human flotation device. For once in my life, my body is giving me an advantage. As the small, overgrown kids fight not only to get to the end of the pool, but also to avoid sinking to the bottom and drowning, all Jumbo has to do is propel his super buoyancy along the way.
Another strange thing happens.
I hear cheers. And in the middle, my name. Another new thing. This is, in fact, history in the making. I slide to the wall and knock… first. I see my competitors fight to the end and I am as happy as I can remember. A lady with a pretty face leans over to me, she pats me on the arm and says “well done, young man”. I feel incredible.
As I walk out of the pool, a man with a clipboard walks up to me and asks me a question I’ve never been asked before: “Are you the winner?” In fact, it is a day of firsts. I love being asked that question. “Yes,” I say proudly. “Well done,” he replies. He takes my data, he tells me my time and sends me to pick up my first place ribbon. Suddenly I’m not a fat kid anymore, I’m a winner and I’m on my way to getting my winner’s tape!
I love this feeling. This moment. I feel different. People pat me on the back. A teacher hugs me and congratulates me. I love attention, I love praise, and I love encouragement. For a moment I feel normal. I have never felt normal in an environment like this. This feeling is better than chocolate cake, and that’s saying something. The social outcast feels acceptance. It’s healing. It’s addictive. He feels so good.
Not long after that day, I started training properly. I changed my diet, started running, and lost 66 pounds (30 kilos) over the course of about five months. And I learned many, many lessons along the way. About other people, about me, about potential, about self-confidence, and about the importance of love, encouragement, and support. I’ve learned that often the people who get the least attention and encouragement are the ones who need it the most. I have always been aware of that and have tried to live accordingly.
Over the last twenty-five years, I’ve done a lot of great things. I have spoken all over the world, worked on TV and radio, met amazing people, built a great company, written for newspapers and magazines, but none of those things have given me the feeling and sense of accomplishment that I experienced on that day thirty years ago. Although I forget a lot of what I have done in the last two decades, I can remember that day and everything related to it with absolute clarity. Every detail. Every feeling. Every emotion. It was a defining moment for me.
As an adult, I have learned that on some level we are all fat, insecure kids who crave attention, love, encouragement, and support. I have also learned that by giving those things, it hurts both the one who gives and the one who receives; it is healing for both. Every day you and I have the opportunity to notice the unseen, to love the unloved, to hug the unhugged, and to encourage and support those who are emotionally starving in a sea of humanity. We have the opportunity to make an incredible difference with a few simple words and a few minutes of our time.
Let’s do that.
