What could possibly be more boring than a blog kept up in the service of a weight-loss journey? Gad, even typing “weight-loss journey” makes me want to hurl at the self-indulgence. A journey is a trek up Everest. Or simply walking into Mordor. Trying to ingest fewer Cheetos is not a freaking journey (thought the overwhelming deliciousness that is Cheeto does make it a difficult task).
But gird your loins, folks, because here we go.
Visited the pulmonologist today, hopefully for the last time, and he gave me the magic number: 85 pounds. Actually, it was 87, but I was wearing my coat, so I figure that’s my head start.
He said my heart is “stiff.” By that, he did not mean stoic. Or stalwart. Or even stubborn. He meant stiffity stiffstiff, as in unyielding and inflexible. On a muscular level. Apparently my heart is the only part of me that is not soft and gushy. And it should be.
So, in an effort to “not make it any worse,” I agreed to drop some significant poundage. I’ve already lost quite a bit, as before-and-after photos will attest, but this is a whole new ballgame.
People who know things say that you shouldn’t lose more than a pound a week. This seems woefully inadequate when compared to my pack-it-on superpower of gaining 10 pounds in a week with hardly any effort at all. Thirty in a month if I’m diligent. Anywho, at a measly pound a week this will take more than a year and half. Or roughly 8.5 Kim Kardashian marriages.
But it’s for a good cause. So if you stick around, in between the random rants that I’ve fallen behind on, you’ll be seeing poundage updates and hopefully a newfound love of exercise that has evaded me my entire adult life.