I was the fat kid my whole life.
I hoovered down food like it was my job: no leftovers were safe, no refrigerator left unraided, no pantry unplundered. I was an active kid involved in hockey, soccer, basketball, karate, and football, but no amount of athletics kept the weight off, because I ate whatever was put in front of me and developed a raging sweet tooth.
I wore a T-shirt when I went to the pool. Yeah, I was that kid.
You all knew me, or maybe you were me. Fat and jolly with plenty of friends, but always the fat kid. I know, because I was constantly told how fat I was. Growing up, I learned to hate my body.
In high school, I spent a lot of time in the weight room. Still no matter, still fat. In college, I drank like Tara Reid. That just packed on the pounds, and I went as high as 360lbs. Post-college, the drinking slowed, then almost completely stopped, and I no longer slammed junk food in a drunken stupor before passing out. Some weight came off, but not much. I was 340lbs and figured I always would be.