To whom it may concern:
It's time for a new belt hole. When I started my weight loss efforts in December, I was on the second hole of my belt. Since then, the entire concept of belt holes, insofar as they concern my current belt, has obsolesced. I've cut a couple of new holes, and it's time for a third. That's, like, six inches I've eliminated from my equator. Cool.
When I started, my body mass index was 45.5. Now, it's 40.7. I have almost 90 pounds to go before I earn "overweight" status (29.9), which is pretty difficult to get worked up about. In any case, my real goal is to go up the Barr Trail to the top of Pikes Peak this summer. It seems hard to do, but last year a 76-year-old went to the top and back in under 10 hours, so at least there's that.
Last weekend, I was comparing weight loss results with some new acquaintances. One said he was on the Richard Jeni diet which, he reminded me, consists of "stop eating, you fat bastard." That's been my basic strategy too. For a couple of weeks I counted my calories, which averaged a paltry 1,600, and that seems to have been sufficient to lower my stomach's expectations. I spent a month on a strict vegan diet for reasons I'll likely detail in a later dispatch, and now some fish has crept back in, with help from National Geographic, which had 67 pages this month about overfishing, and listed sustainable seafood that's OK to eat when you're trying to save the world with your fork.
Anyway, all of it has helped - saturated fats just aren't on my radar anymore, and few would say that's a bad thing (cattle ranchers come to mind).
ps. A note on Richard Jeni: he was a funny, oft-overlooked comedian, and I've just learned he killed himself earlier this month, just shy of his 50th birthday. Alas, poor Yorick, and all that.
pps. In the "small world" category: I just saw a coworker's car, here in Colorado, with a Southern Illinois University license plate holder. I was born there.
ppps. No, you may not have my mother's maiden name.