Survival of the fattest, a game of ounces and inches; my summer 2010 diet progress

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Other than the minor detail of my inside the waistband holsters being far more comfortable to wear, this post has nothing to do with guns. Since my stature only casts a short shadow in any light of day, excess weight is an unattractive accessory for me to leave hanging on my frame.

While still far from svelte, I can now comfortably wear pants with a 34’’ waist; down from the 36’’ waist pants that I wedged and wiggled into when weighing between 215 – 240 lbs (at some point during the upper end of my weight gain I should have moved up to 38’’ waist pants but I was too vain). Progress has been slow. I have only managed to drop 15 lbs from the 210 lbs on March 1 to my current weight of 195. Even losing that small amount has made quite a difference in my stamina. Breaking through the 200 lbs barrier was stone cold torture, but having successfully maintained 195 lbs for just over a month makes me believe that I am safely beyond that quagmire. In retrospect, dropping from 240 lbs to 220 lbs was much easier. For years, my doctor and I were both happy with my staying at or just below 220 lbs, but my advancing years with the added inactivity from being retired has made corpulence and good health mutually exclusive; there is a huge difference between being “fat but fit” and just being “fat.”

The diet plan I am on is nothing exotic, simply to have a minimum number of active hours per day and avoid rich food. If it tastes good, it is food to avoid. Ye gads, I am sick to death of salads.

If I ever again weigh 175 lbs, I’ll declare victory but achieving that goal could take another couple of years; I didn’t put on all of this weight in a rush so I don’t expect to lose it any faster than I gained it. From here on out it will be a slow grind. To return to anything near the form I had over a quarter-century ago, I’ll need grudgingly to dust off the barbells, unwind my jump rope, and pound the heavy-bag as I did in the old days, although the arthritis in my right hand makes weight training and boxing near insufferable. Regardless of my methods, somehow I need to move my activity up to a higher level if I hope ever to drop another 20 lbs.

One promising sign is that I am no longer preoccupied with food. I don’t have the same appetite and cravings that plagued me for years. In an earlier life, after recovering from the poverty caused by a divorce-settlement, eating became a celebration of success, a declaration of independence. I was making a bold statement to myself that I could afford to eat and drink whatever I wanted whenever I chose to. My body suffered from the indulgences; it turns out that what I could afford to eat my body could not afford carry. Now I just eat a small meal whenever I get hungry; I no longer eat on a schedule.

No cigars, no alcohol, and no satiating food; the old axiom is spot on, "Getting old is not for sissies."

EDIT:  IWB holster by Del Fatti Leather

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