It's tough being the fat kid. It's funny how one characterization can define one's life, as it has for me.

I spent my entire childhood in that role, and it's a hard one to let go of, hard as I try.

I was the only boy in my family, and was accordingly spoiled. But along with that came what my young mind perceived as an overwhelming concern with weight and dieting, among other typically womanly issues.

My mother was overweight for most of her life, so she was determined that I not suffer the same fate. At the same time, my father filled the house with cookies and cake, none of which I was to touch.

Of course that made me want the illicit food even more, to the point where I would sneak handfuls of the contraband behind their backs. I don't know if they ever knew what I was doing, because they only said anything if they caught me before I ate the evidence.

I got progressively larger, but I wasn't getting any taller. So I morphed into a nice snowman-like shape; or for us children of the 80s, I was often compared to Peter, Rudy's chubby, white friend on "The Cosby Show" who never said a word. It was a fair comparison, I guess, but it did nothing for my self-esteem.

My mother was heavily involved in the PTA at my elementary school, and would often spend time with friends and neighbors, so I saw her being out in the world even though she was overweight. I don't remember feeling self-conscious about the way I looked when I was around my mother.

It wasn't until she died the summer before I started seventh grade that I came to the realization that I was fat. The fact that I was entering junior high where a majority of the students came from a different elementary school couldn't have helped.

I turned to food - and away from people - for comfort. I hated the way I looked and I tried as hard as I could to just fade into the background. I would never participate in class unless I absolutely had to. I didn't want anyone to notice me. This, of course, hurt my social life. I made no effort to make friends with the large group of people I didn't know, so I spent junior high and high school in my room (or in the kitchen).

My relatives were always concerned about my weight and I began weighing myself daily (and praying for a growth spurt that never came). I spent so much time concentrating on my weight that I never really found any hobbies (at least not any I stuck with for long). I avoided playing sports like the plague - gym class was torture. Anytime someone would touch me I would shy away, because it was usually to make a comment on my Pillsbury Doughboy-like exterior.

High school came and I was still in my room and I was still fat. Sometime around junior year I stopped eating for the most part. I came close to passing out a few times that summer at camp, but it was a pretty effective diet. My dad tried to convince me to eat, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

Being the fat kid was my identity. I told myself I would be happier if I was thinner, because with a better body would come higher self-esteem, and I would be more willing to talk to other people and would be better at making friends. All my problems tied into that. (Of course there were other issues, but that's another column).

During senior year of high school, I got really depressed. I looked back on six years of being left out and started working out. While eating as little as I could get away with, I practically lived on the treadmill in my house. It worked pretty well for me. I wasn't ashamed to pose for pictures with my relatives on my graduation day.

When I started at Penn State, I wasn't the fat kid. In fact, nobody here even knew who I was. But the thought of the Freshman 15 filled me with dread. Even though I lost about 30 pounds during my junior and senior years of high school, all the good things I assumed would happen didn't happen. I didn't suddenly find self-esteem or a social life.

It's difficult to suddenly develop these things after almost 20 years.

Although I went swimming for the first time in years last summer because I wasn't afraid to take my shirt off and no longer shy away from mirrors, I still feel like the fat kid.

It was easier to lose the weight than it is to lose the identity that's been such a big part of my life.