The Martlet

“How do you like my new face?”

I’m standing at a vending machine when I hear these nasal words, and I turn to find a trim older man grinning at me. I don’t recognize him at first.

“Will, it’s me,” the man says.

He has splotchy black bruises tightly clustered around his eyes. Gnarled stitches trace a long hairline incision. His skin is pulled tightly across his cheekbones like an old leathery drum.

“George?” I ask.

When I first met George, his chest looked like a baggy lifejacket of skin. He would trudge into the pool where I worked, totter uncomfortably at the edge, then lower his enormous frame into the water.

An ex-body builder, George’s bulky torso was held up by a pair of wobbly stick-thin legs that seemed like they were about to snap under the pressure. Easily 300 pounds, George had such poor circulation that his feet were a light blue colour and his shins had ugly brown birth mark-like stains collecting under his skin. He always looked on the verge of collapse, like an ancient barge about to sink.

But the man standing before me, waiting patiently for me to recognize him, looks nothing like George. He’s skinnier than I am, even muscular. The lines in his forehead are gone.

I do some quick math in my head and figure it’s been less than a year since I’ve seen him. How did this happen?

George proudly display his facelift wounds like they were earned on a battlefield.

He monologues to me about the power of positive thinking and brags about his brand new convertible and the 22-year-old Spanish boyfriend that came with it. For the last year he’s been on a strict diet and a seven-day-a-week workout schedule of swimming, running and rowing.

He is completely transformed.

I like to think of George whenever I stress about my weight.

My family is prone to big wine-filled bellies and husky bear bodies.

I am no exception, and since my arrival at UVic three years ago, I’ve gained a significant amount of heft.

It wasn’t always this way. Through high school I was a nationally-ranked competitive swimmer. I trained nine times a week. My teenage body was carved out of stone.

That all ended when I quit swimming in Grade 12. My frequent love affair with cheese and crackers, ice cream and alcohol has driven a couple more nails into the obesity coffin.

My attempts at turning this around — spin class, swimming laps on my own, taking month-long breaks from certain food groups — have been repeatedly foiled by my lazy urge to watch too much TV, party a little too excessively and indulge in late-night snacks.

Apparently, I’m not alone. The infamous “Freshman 15” refers to the trend that sees new students gain 15 pounds during their inaugural year. This widespread epidemic occurs all over Canada and the U.S.

The cause is usually an increase in carbohydrate and alcohol consumption, coupled with the sedentary lifestyles adopted by hard-studying and hard-partying first years.

Looking around UVic, it isn’t surprising to see that many of the carefully sculpted, beautiful bodies on display in September have morphed into gelatinous blobs by Christmas time.

Freshman 15, though? I’m looking at something closer to a Freshman 40.

But as I enter my third year, I’ve resolved to do something about this onslaught of weight.

I’ve taped a piece of paper to the door of my bedroom, listing how many push ups and crunches I complete each day.

I’m going to join a swim team and a keep going to spin class. I’m going to eat more fruit, less meat and try to keep the hard-drinking to less than once a week. I’m even going to buy myself a scale. I figure that’s a good start.

For inspiration I just think of the way George looked that day, smiling at me with wide eyes.

A week later, I clapped enthusiastically as George did a back flip off the diving board for the first time.