19 march 2008 apple store regent street london uk
The time had finally come. It was time for me to lose weight. Only I didn’t really know it yet.
I had steadily gained weight since the 1980s. I had gone from 150 pounds in 1977 on my return from Alaska, to 160 in 1987, to 180 in 1997. By the new century, I passed a new century, over 200 pounds.
And I wasn’t well. I had signs of depression probably caused by obesity. I was killing myself in my sleep with snoring and sleep apnea. I was clogging my arteries with bacon fat. My blood pressure was in the danger zone and my cholesterol was just barely being controlled with medication.
And I knew better. I was the butt of jokes about my weight. I made jokes at my own expense. I knew I was fat, but the mirror wasn’t telling me yet that it was time to act. I still thought I was a damned good looking guy. The picture above should have told me something. Other people were.
I tried the South Beach Diet and lost nothing. I thought it was ridiculous and I called it the South Park Diet. I had a treadmill and a stationary bike and didn’t use them.
When a new diet would come out I would scoff: “I could write that book. I would call it How to Lose Weight: Get Up Off Your Ass and Stop Stuffing Your Face.” I clearly knew the formula; I just wouldn’t apply it. “No pain, no pain” was my slogan.
Here’s how I knew it was time: At 6:30 AM on Saturday 19 April 2008, my wife got out of bed and announced to me, “Get up. Get dressed. We’re going to Weight Watchers.”
I didn’t want to get up at 6:30 on a Saturday to go to no damned Weight Watchers. “We don’t belong to Weight Watchers.”
“They have a seven o’clock meeting up on Mellor Avenue. We can walk. Get up, Get dressed.” This was not a request or an invitation. After 35 years I know the difference.
“It doesn’t work. I lost five pounds in six month last time.”
“You didn’t take it seriously. Get up. Get dressed.” I was out of excuses. I got up. I got dressed. We walked to Weight Watchers.
I weighed in at 241.2 pounds. I am only five foot six inches tall. And consider that since the end of February I had been suffering chronic diarrhea, 241.2 probably was not my peak weight. 250 anyone? They gave me a goal weight of 150 pounds.
150? Were they nuts? I hadn’t seen 150 since about 1985. 150! In what alternate reality did anyone think I was going to lose more than 90 pounds?
But I stayed for the meeting. Jody gave me all the little booklets and showed me how to count points and to calculate how many points I would get a week. It seemed a little complicated. But I would give it six weeks.
Starting at week one, I was determined to show Herself that I could take it seriously and it still wouldn’t work. But the bathroom scale had other ideas. My weight went down, down, down. I ate lots of fruit. But still there was a chocolate cake on the counter. On Wednesday I picked up that cake, took one last bite and put it icing side down into the trash can. I drank a short glass of milk to chase it. Boy that was good.
On Saturday, we went to weigh in. I lost 11 pounds.
Second week, 4.8 pounds.
Third week, only 0.4 pounds. Still the first three weeks I lost a whopping total of 16.2 pounds!
Maybe this was going to work for me.
