I AM ON A DIET.
Effective yesterday, when I stepped on my scale. Over the last nine months, I have turned into a bloated blue whale of a man, as a result of nothing more complicated extremely poor eating habits and sloth. No slow metabolism, etc., for me, just high caloric intake and a relatively sedentary life style.
This is not an aesthetic issue; this is a health and self-esteem issue. I am only one year younger than Jesus and Chris Farley were when they died, and one of those deaths was definitely heft-related.
I am presently x+31 pounds, where x is not exactly any of your business but is generally a weight I would set as the upper bound of my ideal range. At the start of 2003, I was x-10 pounds.
Yes, that means that I have gained 41 pounds in 9 months, or a little more than a pound a week. (Or, alternatively, an upward climb of about two-and-a-third ounces every single day of 2003!) By point of reference, when I got the job at Wisconsin and realized I was moving to the state with the highest obesity rates in America, I said if I ever got up to x+45 pounds I would quit my job immediately and flee the state.
I am announcing this to my weblog as a way of making public my committment and increasing the stakes if I should fail. Readers should feel free to call me out if they see me scarfing down on something that is obviously inconsistent with my stated goal. "Hey, Jeremy, are you down to x yet? No? Then WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT DONUT!!!" is perfectly permissible.
No more ice cream. No more non-diet soda. My official goal weight is x. I will persevere. Root for me. Updates to follow.