I’m 41 today. One way or another, this is my last year as a fat guy. I’m determined.

I haven’t had McDonald’s for over a week. As a matter of fact, I’ve eaten rather healthfully for the seven days of our Miami Beach vacation. It’s easier when I’m with my wife and kids 24/7. I’m not craving McD’s much, but I do miss it. It’s quick. It’s easy. It’s comfortable. It’s like a bear hug from your big brother.

But McD’s is also Big Brother. It controls you. Manipulates you. Makes you want what you shouldn’t have, what hurts you. At it’s basest, a Big Mac is nothing more than a delivery system for factory processed, high-fat food that’s loaded with high fructose corn syrup. Trust me. It’s in the bread.

It will be harder next week. Erica will be back at work; the kids will be in school. The Golden Arches will be calling, and like a smoker struggling to quit I’ll want one last drag, one last hit. I didn’t plan that my last meal at McD’s would be my last. It just kind of happened. At the drive-in I ordered a Quarter Pounder with fries and a Hi-C orange drink, along with a Filet-o-Fish on the side. Ate it in the car driving aimlessly, and dumped the trash (read: destroyed the evidence) before heading home.

I realized the next day that had to be it. I’d betrayed myself and my family long enough. It didn’t make sense to keep eating Mickey D’s if I’d have to stop soon anyway. My first appointment with with the bariatric clinic was approaching and the decision felt right. I quit Cheez-Its the same week.

After WLS, I’ll need to learn to eat almost everything in moderation. But I know deep down that I’ll never succeed with some foods. That’s why Mickey D had to go.

I’m at the most lovely resort on Miami Beach, watching my kids play in the water. Ari, my three-year-old, just dumped a bucket of water on Annie, who’s nine. He’s so proud of himself. Annie is turning to mock-attack him with a splash and a smile. There are a few fathers in the pool, splashing with their own kids. I was in for a while, towing the kids on a boogie board and teaching Ari to kick while holding his hands. It’s getting late, so I stepped out, giving the kids a few extra minutes, racing to get my shirt on before anyone looks my way.

It’s great to escape the New England winter for a while.

There are many beautiful people here. Women in string bikinis, men with six-pack abs. I also see lots of overweight and obese folks, like myself. No doubt many of the beautiful people are naturally that way, especially the men, I would guess. Some have surely had ‘enhancements’ here and there. I can see a few who’ve gone too far – the woman with Michael Jackson lips and the one with impossibly large breasts squeezed into an ill-fitting swimsuit.

Then there are the regular folks. Hardly stunning nor majorly overweight, they’re just average. There’s the Wall Street stockbroker I talked to, with the slight paunch and sinking portfolio. The slim but dowdy mom, enjoying her kids and the sun. The older couple near the hot tub, hiding behind floppy hats and sunscreen, their loose, leathery tanned skin on display. These are the normal, average-looking people I see everyday at the mall, the supermarket, or waiting to pick up the kids all over town. Nobody stares at them; no one turns away either.

Sometimes, when I’m bingeing on Mallomars or burgers and fries, I think I’d kill for their average looks. Not for their lives, or their money or success. Just to trade my freak body for theirs. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be average. To walk in a business suit with no worry that people hear my thighs rubbing. To sit in a chair without squeezing between the arms. To swim with my kids minus my Man-Boobs. To change in the locker room.

I have no illusions that weight loss surgery will turn me into Keanu Reeves or Tom Selleck (the respective fantasy men of Erica and my Mom). I just don’t want to be the fat guy anymore. I want people to see an average-looking Mike. Oddly enough, some already do: “I never realized you saw yourself as the ‘fat guy,’” my friend Arlene wrote after first reading my blog. “I certainly never did. It is amazing how we see ourselves and even more amazing how others see us.”

Should have realized that myself.