By Charles Karel Bouley II

Even before I knew I was gay, I knew I was fat. I was reminded of it all the time, much like I would be later in life about the gay part. I was humiliated time after time in P.E. class because I just was too fat, or too out of shape, to perform up to some standard set by some bureaucrat in charge of the California Physical Fitness Exam for grade school and high school students. How many times did I stare at that dreaded rope with knots in it, me at the bottom, a line of kids behind me, waiting to effortlessly pull themselves up, while I got to knot number three, maybe four, before it all ended badly.

Little did I know I would be staring up that rope the rest of my life. Being fat made me an outcast in school, it always does. In high school, right about the time the gay thing kicked in, I fell in love with a boy. In one semester I lost 50 pounds. I taught aerobics for my third period class (me, leg warmers, Dolphin shorts ... what a sight), I cut out sweets, I got more active.

A few years after high school, about the time the boy and I were no longer, the weight found me again. Or, rather, I found it. You never really lose weight, you just put it away somewhere, where it lurks, waiting to come out again and glob on to your thighs, your butt, your stomach.

It was then, after high school and after gaining back the 50 I lost, that I realized gay men are just like everybody else: on the whole they don't like fat people, either. If being fat made me an outcast in high school, it nearly made me a leper in the gay community. It soon became apparent that gay men had the same problem straight women have: They want to catch a man, and men are pigs. So, in order to appeal to a man, they spend their lives dieting, jogging, biking, puking. Straight and gay men alike want to look however they want to look, but want their partners to be gods. Men are pigs, but I like pork, so what was I to do?

Over the years the weight has been an issue for one reason or another. Some suggest I accept my girth and become a bear -- you know, an overweight gay man, usually with hair as well, who is proud of his girth. Bears show it off, have contests, and enjoy their bellies while wearing their boots. They try to find cubs, cuter, smaller gay men who like larger gay men. On average, it's one cub per 20 bears, at least that's what I've seen. But I don't want to be a bear. I don't want my fat to define me, any more than my sexuality, let alone combine the two.

And gay men can be cruel. I've experienced first hand how gay men have an ideal of perfect in their heads, like their straight counterparts, and if you don't fit in to that then you're out of the running. And please don't give me the "beauty in the eye of the beholder" thing, or "your true love will see around things like weight." The fact is, if you're fat and gay, you know a unique loneliness, one only shared by, oddly enough, a straight, fat woman.

So, what to do? Launch an "accept me for who I am" campaign? Write columns deriding all of those "shallow" people who don't even give me a chance because I'm larger than they like? Hell no. I've started walking along the beach for 45 minutes a day. I'm slowly making my way back to the gym. Nothing fancy, just three times a week. Most weeks. OK, some weeks. OK, I'm still working on that one. I eat better, or at least not as bad. And I lose.

Because face it, we can be as idealistic as we like and say weight doesn't matter, but it does. While most of us are overweight as Americans, it doesn't matter, we still idolize thin. And gay men lead the trends, and we're not just thin, we're ripped. The only way I'll have six pack abs is to rent them for an hour or two.

So, if you're gay and fat, yes, you have it harder. Especially in today's times. But it's one thing you can change. You can't change being gay, but your waist size, you can. And do change it, if you can, when you can. I've experienced it first hand: Where there's fat, there's lonely. One way or another.

People always ask if I could change anything, what would it be? Well, a few things come to mind, but the biggest is that I wish someone had taken the time with me when I was younger and made me exercise, showed me which foods to eat and not to eat. My parents were meat and potatoes every night, and cakes and cookies about for snacks. That was their era. It's why we're all fat now. I wish someone had intervened back then.

But they didn't. So here I am, all 240 pounds of me. I gained 40 after Andrew died, in four years. And I wonder why I'm single. But that can change. Believe it or not, it's the one thing over which we still have control: our bodies. Being fit doesn't make being gay easier, it makes life easier. Being fit doesn't make you more attractive, it makes you more appealing. Being fit won't be your life, but sure can change it.