Losin' It

The first 15 pounds were the quickest. I simply stopped soft drinks, switched to light beer, and went back to drinking coffee the way it was intended to be drunk - black. It wasn't necessarily easy, but by early February I was down to about 210. Still obese, but making progress. I stopped gasping for breath after walking to my car. I was encouraged that, maybe, I could do this. Then, things stalled. I didn't regain any weight, but I couldn't seem to shed any more, either. And, truth be told, I didn't notice much difference yet. My clothes fit the same. My head still looked like a pale watermelon with bad hair. And, I really, really wanted a donut. After a couple of weeks of stagnance it was clear that to make more progress I'd have to change something. I'd heard of people having success with the Atkins Diet, although, not Atkins himself, apparently. My parents, briefly, were advocates. So, for about 10 days I ate only meat. Made sense. Nothing beats a great steak, or smells better than Denies's roast. And, after being tormented by cold vegetables at my mother's dinner table as a child (they weren't served cold, but since the rule was that I'd sit there until I cleared me plate, I am not sure I ate a warm vegetable until I was 15 years old), eating only meat seemed like the ideal plan. More success. In that short period I dropped another 10 pounds. I'd squeezed my belly under the obesity line. Down to 200! Looking at that last sentence now makes me both laugh and cry. I think if I was at 200 now I'd be tempted to see what size dent a 200 pound man puts in a moving car. But, as February 2002 chilled on through the Burgh, I was quite pleased. In a short time I'd lost 25 pounds. I poked a new hole in my belt. Someone at church actually asked with that awkward, puzzled look we get if something was different about me? New glasses? New haircut? Why do we squint when asking such questions? I just smiled. Eating only meat was fun for a while. Kind of an adventure, really, experimenting with new ways to consume flesh of some who gave all. I learned to love my meal of 3 boiled eggs smashed up and mixed with a bit of hot salsa. Still a favorite. A plain burger topped with a slice of cheese was good, too. It became apparent that for much of my life what I'd enjoyed about a burger was the bun, the condiments. Most often, I'd not taken the time to truly enjoy food. It was more like a mindless, hand to mouth shovel fest in the car or in front of the television. Now - I caught the texture and luscious juiciness of the beef. Then, I watched my family enjoying Denise's mashed potatoes a couple times, the aroma flooding my senses like Niagara Falls to a dixie cup. Soon, on Sundays, I found myself looking around to see if anyone was watching me at church, tempted to take the entire communion matzo rather than breaking off a piece...or at least to break off a very large piece. Sorry if there's not enough for you. I needed lots of Jesus, I thought. I knew I was going to drop this plan soon. Just one slice of Rialto's, PLEASE. I'd have killed for one bite of their chicken ranch pizza with fries and onions. One very large bite. Again, something was going to have to give. Surely a guy can eat sensibly and lose weight. All things in moderation, right? Isn't that in the Bible somewhere? And, I really, really wanted a donut. Then it happened. Sensing my frustration, Denise suggested exercise. Running, maybe. What I thought she said was, 'asdoifoihaoighaoidshaghaoighoagh.' Ever patient, she repeated herself. And I knew. It was going to happen. I was going to try running.