Sometimes in the shower I couldn’t see my toes. Often, I would see people staring at my man boobs. I would ask people not to stare at my man boobs – it’s a bit rude don’t ya think?
I was that bloke who could play sport. Any sport, even though I may not have been good at it. From rugby league to strip poker, I was in. I didn’t mind losing at strip poker.
This thirst to play meant that I had abs for many years, lean muscle and I ran. No, I didn’t run from the cops, relationships (possibly) or to catch a train, I ran a marathon, half marathons, City to Surfs and races in Greece.
From abs to obese: The wake-up call
Then one day I couldn’t. I was still playing, sport but moving slowly; I was the Tortoise vs the Hare, though with actual hair. If I played touch footy, I stayed on the wing not because I was fast, rather as I was tired just even thinking about playing. By October 2024, I was playing tennis against my lawyer mate Neeraj, my one-time basket-ball teammate from school. He never cares about results which means I win plenty. Then suddenly he had lost weight and I was struggling on court. Not in law-court, an actual tennis court as he started winning. Often, I would turn my back so he couldn’t see me puffing.
According to doctors, I had an on/off again chest “infection” and asthma. At my age, how did I suddenly become Darth Vader? Sure, we look the same and a mask always improves my face but suddenly I was as “asthmatic” as Vader was.
Neeraj had started using a CPAP machine to treat apnoea. No way would I look like the elephant man if I ever had apnoea. “Poor fella’ I thought, yet it changed his energy, weight and stamina in a positive way. He urged me to do the same. I had asthma I explained. I was a little deaf to advice, probably due to years of clubbing and loud music
The previous year I had been dumped, probably rightly, by my “perfect” match. A blow to the ego especially as she chose not a smart man, but a fit man. I was also working way too hard in my day job. I didn’t see the man in the mirror.
I was getting far too chubby as I stress ate more to keep smashing work. It didn’t help that I was able to date cool women, punching above my weight over the following year. I used humour to ignore my weight issue.
“Don’t touch my Billy belly, I’m expecting twins,” or “I’m training to be a sumo”.
The diagnosis dilemma: When everything goes wrong
By November 2024, my health fell off the cliff – I had ballooned to over 127 kilos. I’m 5,7, and that made me technically obese. When a little princess innocently asked, “Why are you fat Bill?” I realised my predicament.
My tennis partners usually play doubles with me. I pair up with the best player, I like to win. They felt something was amiss, yet like many good people around me, they didn’t make me feel bad except when they pointed out my Billy Belly blocked the floodlights.
With Tasso or George as my tennis partners, I was oblivious to how far I was falling as these lads are guns, meaning minimal sweat from me.
I went back to an old GP who managed an inner ear virus which wrecked me for about 14 weeks. Dr Teo worked out that in a short period I had picked up every disease imaginable. Except asthma, as it turns out, I never had it or a chest infection.
You name it I now had it, just as I commenced a new job, which meant I had to find a solution while balancing the needs of others including older parents who need me at many medical appointments. I rarely look after myself, preferring to help others first. I would have been useful on the Titanic.
Suddenly I had diabetes as well as, apnoea, dehydration, reflux, a million other small issues and late-night eating – because I’m a workaholic. I once ordered pizzas from rival companies at the same time to see who could arrive fastest. They arrived at the same time, much to their puzzlement – tasty experiment
To ensure I never overshadow the floodlights at tennis again, I did something I rarely do. I listened. Almost. To fight diabetes, I kept buying fruit from Vietnamese shops, full of sugar when I was already sweet enough.
The comeback: Beating diabetes and apnoea one kilo at a time
Since December, I changed the way I eat. I started using a fork, as Obi Wan would say, “Billy, use the fork.”
My mum was sensational at understanding, the same mum I once told I was a temporary vegetarian; she then served me lamb. Mum made sure I ate healthier. I reintroduced green tea. I listened to ways to beat diabetes. I took Neeraj’s advice to get a sleep test. it’s just a weird machine that makes Frankenstein’s monster look beautiful. I passed; I had apnoea.
I began my comeback. If I could shed 50 kilos, not by shaving my chest/back hair, by listening to advice, I could beat the apnoea and diabetes. I certainly didn’t have asthma; it was all related to apnoea and diabetes.
This November I shall undergo tests to confirm that I’ve beaten diabetes and apnoea. I’ve shed almost 30 kilos. I fully expect to meet my target by January.
Very few people stare at my man boobs any more. The point for men out there? Don’t ignore your health or weight. Be good to yourself.
My body may not be a temple, will focus on re-sculpting next year, it’s no longer a fun park either. I expect to be one of the few men to beat diabetes via diet and smash the apnoea machine the same way McEnroe smashed rackets.
*Billy Cotsis is a regular contributor to Neos Kosmos and is the author of Aristotle Roberto Carlos Smithopoulos
