I’m going to start this off with the full disclosure that I wrote the majority of this article, using AI after giving significant feedback to the AI as a concept to see how it would perform.Overall, I was rather impressed, however it did miss some details. I had to go back and correct. Hope you enjoy!

My Journey from “Jelly Rolls” to Fitness Enthusiast

In middle school, classmates called me “Jelly Rolls” while adults politely described me as “husky.” Charity was never anyone’s strong suit, especially not mine.

I don’t remember my weight when I started sixth grade, but I certainly remember my eighth-grade number: 185 pounds. That weight made me one of the fattest kids in school. Not the fattest, mind you—there was always someone slightly ahead in that particular race, and I genuinely thanked God for his service.

Every single night, I prayed to be skinny, and every morning I woke up ready to fight for it. I started martial arts in sixth grade and bought an eight-minute ab video because late-night infomercials promised it was all I needed. For three solid years, I performed that workout religiously, often right after martial arts practice. I definitely had abs somewhere under there. They were simply insulated—protected from the elements, warm and presumably very comfortable.

But the problem wasn’t the eight-minute abs or the martial arts. The real culprit was the thirty-minute bowls of cereal I inhaled immediately after walking through the door each afternoon. Cap’n Crunch, as it turns out, doesn’t care about your prayers or your roundhouse kicks.

Then the summer before high school, something clicked. Instead of eating cereal as an after-school appetizer, I began doing my homework first. After that, I went outside to play instead of parking myself in front of the television with a mixing bowl full of Frosted Flakes. Simple changes, yet revolutionary results.

By the time I joined the military at seventeen—shipping out at eighteen—I weighed 155 pounds. During that journey, I discovered fitness wasn’t punishment; it was freedom. I eventually competed in a physique competition and trained extensively in martial arts. Against all statistical probability, I had become a fit person.

But here’s the thing about being a former fat kid: the fat kid never fully leaves.

The Holiday Season: A Three-Month Psychological Assault

Every year, starting in late October, a familiar enemy returns. It doesn’t arrive with fanfare. It arrives with fun-sized Snickers bars.

Halloween: The Gateway Drug to Holiday Weight Gain

Halloween kicks off this annual psychological assault designed to return me to my Jelly Rolls glory days. The candy appears first, innocently enough, in plastic pumpkins and office break rooms. “It’s just one piece,” I tell myself, as if I’ve ever eaten just one piece of anything in my entire life.

Thanksgiving: When Tradition Meets Overindulgence

Then comes Thanksgiving, that beautiful American tradition where we celebrate gratitude by eating until we hate ourselves. And pie for breakfast the next day isn’t indulgence; it’s tradition. You can’t argue with tradition. Tradition is sacred, after all.

Christmas: The Final Battle in Your Eating Struggle

By the time Christmas arrives, I’ve been marinating in sugar and guilt for nearly eight weeks. The cookies multiply. The eggnog flows. Someone’s grandmother inevitably made fudge, and it would be rude not to eat seven pieces.

Why Holiday Food Temptation Is So Powerful

Nobody forces you to eat this food. That’s precisely what makes it so insidious. There’s no villain here—no masked figure shoving gingerbread down your throat. There’s simply availability, abundance, and a cultural agreement that for two months annually, we collectively abandon the nutritional standards we pretend to uphold the other ten months.

Plus, the advertising is relentless. Commercials show happy families gathered around tables overflowing with food. Social media floods with recipes for “must-try” holiday treats. Meanwhile, your coworkers keep leaving baked goods in the break room. The message is clear: this is normal. This is expected. This is what we do.

45 and Still Fighting the Holiday Bulge

I’m forty-five years old now. I’ve kept the weight off for decades. I can do more than eight minutes of abs. I understand nutrition, discipline, and metabolic health inside and out.

And yet.

Every November, I still feel that old pull—the psychological tug-of-war between the man I’ve built and the kid who used to pray for a different body. The sweets I loved then, I love now. The only difference is I’ve learned to fight back, though not always successfully.

Most days, I win. Some days, the pumpkin pie wins. This isn’t about willpower; it’s about managing a lifetime of complicated relationships with food.

How to Resist Holiday Weight Gain: Strategies That Actually Work

Based on thirty years of experience, here are the tactics that genuinely help:

First, acknowledge the struggle. Pretending you’re immune to holiday food temptation is like pretending you don’t hear your name in a crowded room. It doesn’t work.

Second, create new traditions. Instead of baking cookies, try a family hike. Rather than eggnog, experiment with spiced tea. Make the activity—not the food—the centerpiece.

Third, plan your indulgences. Choose one event to enjoy freely. For the rest, eat beforehand and bring a healthy dish to share. That way, you’re never at the mercy of whatever shows up.

Finally, remember your “why.” When I see fudge, I remember being 185 pounds in eighth grade. You should remember what your goals cost you, too.

Final Thoughts: You’re Not Weak, You’re Just Human

The holidays weren’t designed to make you fat—but they sure weren’t designed to make it easy to stay thin. They were created by people who wanted to celebrate, indulge, and gather around tables heavy with food and memory. Beautiful intentions, yet dangerous execution.

So if you’re out there fighting the same fight—former fat kid or not—know this: the struggle doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re paying attention. It means you remember what it cost to become who you are.

Now put down the second cookie.

Or don’t. It’s the holidays, after all.