Breaking Through

I have struggled with weight issues, my entire life. 

For a good 10 years (1983 - 1993) I had it somewhat under control, that enlightened decade notwithstanding, the scale has never been my friend.

My mother used to joke that prior to my birth she and my grandmother were at the Bronx Zoo. When they passed by the elephant sanctuary her water broke. The EMT's arrived and took her to the hospital where the doctors extracted a 10 lbs. bowling ball from her overly-extended torso. 

That bowling ball was me.

It wasn't until I moved to California, where I was surrounded by young people who were all aspiring models and actors, that I decided to spring into action. I started running, biking and most importantly, eating cleaner. 

The weight fell off immediately. And my athleticism grew exponentially. 

Before long I was dating a woman who was obsessed with 10K races. I was racing on Super Bowl Sundays. New Years Eve. Anywhere and everywhere race organizers could find a course and squeeze an entry fee out of nipple-bleeding runners. Before long I had collected a bevy of useless medals and cheap 10K T-shirts.

Then Life set in. 

And with it, large family meals. Exercise time reduced in order to spend time with the girls. And endless readings of The Hungry Caterpilllar, Where the Wild Things Are, Curious George and Zundl the Tailor. Each turned page seemed to add a centimeter to my waistline. 

I turned into a big Fatty Fat.

I could do a thousand more words making fun of myself, as I take weird pleasure in self deprecation. But my grief therapist has convinced me to lay off the Rich Siegel jokes. 

Now I cook for myself. I shop for myself. And I talk to myself, mostly along the lines of, "stop eating sugar. Stop with the processed food. And get down there and give me some pushups."

It's only 8:30 in the morning and I've already knocked out 40. By EOD I will have surpassed 100+.

I'm also on the Peloton everyday. And plan to start riding my outdoor bike with a friend whenever time and geography and freeway traffic permit.

And it's working. Yesterday, I stripped down to my birthday suit (sorry for that image) and stepped on my new digital Smart Scale, which I appropriately named Fatty Fat and the first number in the three digit readout was a 1. Not a 2.

The last time that happened Flock of Seagulls were touring the country and women were teasing their hair to new unheard-of dimensions.

Naturally a celebration was in order so I seared 6 ounces of Halibut, cut up some tomato and avocado, 7 cashew nuts and one 100 calorie Strawberry Mango Topo Chico.

Next time I write about my weight I'm hoping the second digit will be an eight. Wish me luck.

Time for more push ups.