WAP: Wide Ass Professor (Patreon)

Author’s Note: I put this up as a poll (it won) because a friend told me it would be an excellent opportunity to put in a story. The reason why is because the story is roughly based on my experience. I instruct a college course as a staff member, and for a shirt time, the Dean took it from me and made us co-teach with faculty. This year I taught my class 25% in-person, 75% online because of the Pandemic. No faculty member wanted to teach it. Due to quarantine, I only leave my house twice a week, and I’ve lost muscle mass and lung capacity. I can’t stand up to teach for longer than 15 minutes. It’s a turn on, and I thought, “Hey, wouldn’t it be erotic if I was over 600 pounds teaching personal health while drinking a giant soda?” I did teach a lesson like this in early November. My poor students watched me sweat and struggle. I was gasping for breath constantly in a class that meets for an hour and fifteen minutes per week.

Wide Ass Professor

I told myself I’d never teach this class again. At one point, I enjoyed teaching College 101: Academic Orientation. I’m a staff member, but I enjoyed involvement with my students in a different way. As old memories faded and administrators made changes, I became jaded. I’ve worked with college students, many of them first year or first-generation, for years. I’m in tune with their concerns and needs, unlike the faculty that only teach juniors and seniors.

Two years ago, the Dean’s office relieved me of my teaching duties because, quite frankly, the new co-teaching model didn’t value me or my methods. Full-time faculty took the lead on the course, but more students dropped out of the program, contrary to research that states that first-time, first-year students need to connect to full-time faculty. We changed the whole model for the interim Dean to make her look better and or her in a position where she could officially claim her place as Dean. During that time, the Dean continued to change the structure of the college. I took on more administrative tasks, like creating professional development opportunities and coordinating internships instead of teaching.

However, at the start of August, I attended a faculty meeting. One of the agenda topics was filling the “to be announced” spot under the instructor for College 101 on the schedule of classes. No one wanted to teach the class. The faculty felt that they didn’t understand the student experience for new first-year students. One faculty member commented that when she taught it last year, she “forgot how terrible freshmen smell.” Another faculty member thought first-year students were “too time-intensive and had too many needs.” A third faculty member refused to teach the class because she “only works with seniors in Capstone.” It became clear that the faculty didn’t have the student development theories under their belt to provide support in a class that prepared students to be successful through their college careers; I volunteered to teach the course by myself.

The first few months were tough, but I learned to cope despite my expanding waistline. The easiest way to preserve my dignity was to make adjustments to my class. I knew the Dean wouldn’t be incredibly happy for me to move my class entirely online. I claimed that my disability prevented me from spending excessive amounts in the classroom. Thus, we made a compromise to provide appropriate accommodations for me: a hybrid modality. For eight weeks of the semester, my class would meet face to face and meet remotely via Microsoft Teams for eight weeks. The Dean reluctantly approved my proposal, but with the understanding, the first four weeks of the semester would meet in person to make connections. The last four weeks would be in person to make sure students felt supported before finals week.

It felt like a fair trade-off for a class that was never taught in a hybrid format before. I prepared my shared classroom early to consider my disability, but I knew by her face that she didn’t think I truly deserved accommodations. The subtle clues in her facial structure screamed, “Obesity is not a disability,” but she awkwardly smiled and felt forced to approve everything I needed to teach because a law suit would blemish her record. I want to make it clear that I can do my job with accommodations, so I’m qualified despite my obesity. I’ve proved it all semester. However, I’m a little shy to admit that my weight is out of control, and I’m worried about how bad I’ve let myself go. The word “obese” doesn’t do my size justice.

I don’t know how much I weigh, but I think it’s a little over 700. Everyone is scared for me. My co-workers think it’s a miracle I can still get out of my bed and walk. Well, the correct word is waddle. After all, if my enormous size wasn’t enough to shock someone, everyone knows that most people don’t back away from this kind of morbid obesity. They know when you’re this size, you’re likely to become bed-bound, and every organ is dying. I sometimes use a cane or a scooter to get around in the grocery store, but I’m afraid of what my students and coworkers would think of me if I came to class with assistance, so I suck it up and suffer through it. I tell myself it’s not that bad, and the course will be over soon.

I just turned 27, and I think I’m a handsome bearish man despite my extreme weight. I have medium, brown hair with some gray streaks from stress and a neatly trimmed beard covering my double and maybe even triple chin at this point. My vast, blob belly jets out in front of me and down toward my knees. Two globes on my chest rests on top of the pendulous gut leading upward to two thick rings of neck fat that would choke me out at night if it weren’t for my CPAP.

The pants I wear are some of the biggest I can find at DXL, with elastic in the waistband. The pant's legs look like they could tear through the seams at any time because of my lymphedema. Long ago, my legs swelled up, taking in fluid due to my horrible circulation. The only shred of muscle under the fluid and fat is what I’ve managed to maintain by walking short distances. I mostly wear t-shirts these days, but when I teach, I wear a sweater, but they are becoming too small and show my underbelly if I’m not careful. Thank god the semester is almost over.

That leads to now and how I find myself in my current position. It’s the last class before Thanksgiving break, meaning I’m holding class face to face per the Dean’s demands. Walking is archaic torture for people my size. I hear my knees rattle and pop every time I start walking again after every twenty-something steps. I wish there were somewhere for me to sit and take a break in the hall, but I move onward. I’m sure my students think my presence coming down the hall is more like an elephant stomping on the tiles. My flab jiggles as I move.

I’m nervous about today’s lesson. Doubt enters my mind. How am I supposed to teach a lesson I didn’t create, let alone about healthy lifestyles? Do I look like a credible source of information about how to live healthily? I suppose I do what I have to do, even if it kills me, and right now, the walk to my classroom is killing me. I breathlessly make it to the door of the classroom. Did the passage get smaller? I don’t remember the frame being this narrow against my bulk. I squeeze through the door at an angle, telling myself I can sit soon enough.

The room, like the rest of the building, feels old with an outdated chalkboard and dated desks. However, the college invested in technology to keep up with the changes in student learning: the room also contained an enormous television with a computer built-in and a podium in the front center. My labored breathing causes me to cough for a second, lumbering up to the podium. I put the comically large soda I brought to class on the flat inside of the podium.

I notice the students become silent from their discussion. My breathing, like a fish out of water, travels to the back of the room. I look around the front of the room for the chair I requested from the Dean’s Office. The armless, reinforced seat is nowhere to be found. Shit. I specifically asked for this chair. My eyes scan the room as students await my lecture. I only find a room full of students watching me jiggle uncomfortably. For a brief moment, I think about canceling and heading home. There’s not even a spare student desk in my class of 25. I decide I can’t just cancel the class because I’m uncomfortable and in pain. I wonder how red my face looks. I hope it’s not too bad, but the sweat pouring down the sides of my face tells a different story.

I look right at the group of students. They seem shocked like I somehow gained 50 more pounds since we were last together. They knew I was obese. What do they expect? “H-hello class,” I attempt to ignore the burning sensation overtaking my body in my lung, heart, knees, and feet. It’s going to be a long hour, especially with them staring at me with concern on my face. I knew I should’ve taken the easy way out and used my scooter. Damn my pride.

“Today, we are covering healthy lifestyles,” I say nervously, feeling their eyes pierce through me.  I Push a button on the podium, causing my presentation to appear on the screen. I hear one student whisper to another, but I can’t make out what he says.

“Let’s go over the basic definitions to get us started,” I say, feeling the words leave my mouth quickly to overcompensate for my shortening breath.

“What is stress?” I ask the class.

“When I’m stressed, I become anxious, and tension builds in my body.”

“That’s very true. You can feel stress in a variety of ways. I feel mine in my chest sometimes,” I reply before I realize they don’t think it’s stress as much as it is my massive, pillow-like breasts crushing my heart and lungs.

“Anyone else?”

“It’s the body’s response to tension in a situation.”

“Excellent...” I briefly pause to inhale. I feel stress on my own body.

“The definition that Health Services uses on campus is the body’s reaction to circumstances that stimulate mental, emotional, and....physical... responses. Stressors are the stimulus that causes stress. You all know what stressors you specifically have...so it’s things like....work...grades... family obligations.... medical emergencies” I pause again, inhaling and exhaling, feeling like I’m about to have my own medical emergency. “Life is stressful...and some of us...don’t cope like we should...unhealthy behaviors...”

“Are you okay, Professor?”

“Yeah,” I lie. “Sorry, I’m just still out of breath from the walk. Give me...a second.” The students watch me for two whole minutes, wheezing out, mostly catching my breath. I can’t fully recover due to not being able to sit anywhere. I’m so embarrassed. I reach for my soda and take several enormous gulps from the straw.

“Third definition. Resilience. Resilience is the ability to beat stress and overcome challenges. We use these definitions at the university to provide services that are practical and engages you in resilience-building practices we will discuss today. Whatever we don’t cover will be homework.”

”The topics we will cover are nutrition, movement, sleep, mindfulness, alcohol and substance abuse, and relationships.” I really don't want to discuss nutrition and physical exercise, but I don’t have a choice. I decide to get those topics over with quickly. Those two are the most embarrassing because they are the most visible. At least in the sleep portion, I don’t have to tell them about my midnight snacking, and CPAP uses or discuss my obesity-related erectile dysfunction. It’s hard to reach and cum when you’re over 700 pounds with poor circulation.

“Nutrition is first on our list,” I blush before sipping on my drink. “You’ve been told about the food pyramid and proper nutrition for many years. I learned about the pyramid in third grade. My teacher explained the pyramid in a play script we created, trying to explain the basic concepts to an alien that came to earth. I don’t want to spend a ton of time on the pyramid, but it will be posted online, and I want to go over servings.”

“According to nutritionists and other food scientists, the average person needs to consume 8 servings of water, 6 servings from the grains category, 3 servings of vegetables, 2 servings of fruit, 3 servings of dairy, 2 servings of proteins, and fats, oils, and sweets should be consumed sparingly,” I try to convince my class as they glance at my body and the Big Gulp soda. My stomach audibly growls despite having an enormous breakfast before class. I can’t help thinking about all the foods I love: Peanut butter, pizza, cheeseburgers, spaghetti, fried chicken, and tacos. Don’t get me started on the sweets. I love soda, ice cream, chocolate chip cookies, cobbler, and cheesecake. I catch myself drooling.

“Humans should try to maximize nutrient-dense foods. The best and easiest way to do this is eating accurate servings of food that are dark in colors.”

“What kind of colors?” a student asks.

“Think about the colors of fruits and vegetables like green, orange, red. Foods with these colors give you the most nutrients.” I don’t remember the last time I ate a vegetable.

“So we discussed a little bit about the food pyramid, but the new nutrition guidelines heavily favors a smart plate system. If you ask me, it’s very similar. Does anyone know what percentage of your diet should be nutrient-dense foods?” I pose the question to the class as if I’m an expert.

The class stares blankly at me. “80% of your diet is supposed to be nutrient-dense foods, and 20% can be calorie-dense.”

“What do you mean by ‘supposed to be’ nutrient-dense?”

“I’m not getting into the politics of health and bodies here, but I believe that dieting is much more challenging. Healthy food is expensive, people suffer from addiction, and we don’t all have access to farmer's markets. Also, for some of us, it’s a personal choice what we put on our plates, and I don’t think we should judge what people put on their plates,” I blush, dancing around the topic of my obesity. I’m almost sure at least one student is rolling their eyes thinking about Health at Every Size or fat logic.

“As part of your homework this week, I want you to put together a week’s worth of meals that are at least 80% nutrient-dense based on-campus dining locations and meals one could cook in a residence hall. Any questions before we move on to the next section?”

I almost feel kind of bad ruining the nutrition lesson. Did I bitch it because we have a lot to cover in one short class period, or am I just too embarrassed to admit to my students I make poor food choices? I vow to be a bit more thorough in the next section, even though everything is becoming painful. I feel sweat running down my pits and back. I pray any stains aren’t noticeable due to the thickness of my sweater. I tug my sweater down after feeling it ride up on my belly. My arm feels numb, and my ankles and feet pulse with desperation. I do my best to ignore it.

“Another way to become resilient and focus on your health is by incorporating movement into your daily activities. Our bodies are designed to move and need physical activity to keep us well. College students often fall victim to busy schedules and fast food. College campuses sometimes do not provide the healthiest options,” I wince slightly. “Thus, it is important to focus on your activity level.”

Right, because these students will believe I exercise when I’m dying just standing here in front of them. I feel my heart rate increasing dramatically with every second that drags on. I don’t feel great. I’m not even through half the class. Should I let the students go to their next class and focus on my health? Do I call it quits? What would the Dean say to me if I don't finish my job? I haven't even finished talking about physical health and movement. Shit, I'm going to have to keep going.

“Does anyone know the benefits of physical exercise? Let’s go around and just name one of you can think of one,” I feel my breathing grow sharp. A raspiness grips my voice.

“My mother always kept me busy outside swimming in our pool or playing basketball because it was an outlet to expend my energy. It helped me sleep at night.”

“I’m taking a yoga class right now as an elective. It’s really taught me about the muscular system and how to work my muscles for endurance and flexibility.” That must be nice. I can’t even bend over, and if I fell or got on my knees, I’d need 12 muscular men to get me up.

“Sometimes, when I’m moody or anxious, I take time to release my emotions through jogging.” My heart pounds faster than before like I’m jogging.  Each beat from the struggling walls of my heart causes the tissue around my chest to ache with a dullness.

“Physical movement helps people manage their weight and prevents health issues.”

I knew what to expect when I asked that question. Everyone equates the lack of nutrition and movement to obesity. There is a correlation between obesity and health issues but not causation. However, it still feels like a blatant attack or at least an embarrassing moment. I’m a prime example of how obesity can conquer a body and push it to extremes. They know my hips and knees need replacements. Sitting up in bed every morning takes my breath away. I suffer from arthritis, pressure sores, sleep apnea, and high blood pressure. I retain water in my lower body due to poor circulation, which turns my skin into a pale scaly mess. Hell, I’m a mess right now in front of them.

The dull ache turns to a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest, one I’ve never felt before. My breath sharpens with each inhalation and exhalation. I wish I could see what I look like struggling to keep it together. I gather my students are uncomfortable and concerned based on their faces. I huff oxygen into my lungs as they look me eye to eye.

“Like what?” I ask with more curiosity. Will they call me out for being so large?

The class started at me silently before one student looks at me shyly. “Poor nutrition and movement continue to obesity. Obesity puts you at a greater risk for heart disease, diabetes, lung damage, infections, lymphedema, and cancers.”

The kid might as well be telling the class I’m killing myself. The reality is that I can hardly walk anymore. I don’t know how I’ve managed to stand this long, but I feel the gravity pulling my pannus toward the ground. My lower back feels like it might snap in half. I’m spending all my energy trying to stand up, but it’s straining my heart and lungs at this point. Where does it end? Bedridden at over 1,000 pounds? A foot in the grave? A strange, melancholy satisfaction tingles through my body, or maybe that’s my circulatory system shutting down. My feet go numb as my arm. I grab the portable podium to aid the burden that is becoming unsustainable. I don’t know what to do. I can’t think straight because I’m desperate to stay up and finish my lecture.  My priority is still my students, but they can see something is wrong.

“Are you okay, Professor?”

I feel my breath leaking from my lungs like a balloon with a hole. I can’t breathe well. “Sometimes... I get... a little dizzy...” I choke out. “I’m...fine.” I feel myself swaying back and forth. I clutch into the podium, my knuckles turning white from trying to keep my balance. “Campus...take the stairs... Student Recreation Center...cross-fit...”

“You’re not speaking in complete sentences anymore. I think you need to go back to your office and rest, professor,” a student suggests.

“Iʼm...trying...heavy,” I gasp for breath violently. “Canʼt...breathe.” I manage to shout “fuck” in agony, clutching a handful of the fat on my chest.

That’s when it happens. I feel my knees wobble from under me, and I collapse onto the ground with a thud. The whole class gasps as I tumble on my back rolls. I knead my doughy chest without thinking, the adipose suffocating my lungs. I imagine my face turning red from both embarrassment and the lack of air in my lungs. “Help! Heart... attack,” I gasp.

Before I know it, the class is out of their seats and surrounding me in a circle. “We’re going to get you help,” one of my students tells me, but I don’t know who. My body is shutting down, and my vision blurs under the fluorescent lights above me. I float in and out of consciousness, frightened that I’m going to die before I turn 30. Those are the consequences of not leading a healthy lifestyle. I wish it didn’t somehow make me shoot a load somewhere in my fat pad as I ultimately pass out.