Greetings, dear readers.
Apologies for missing last week's update. It's been crazy here at Fat Diaries HQ what with the Mayor calling, the parade organizer texting me every five minutes, and having to break in the new PR guy who, between you and me, is not doing such a great job with media. He booked me on Leno after I specifically told him, "No, we do Letterman first."
But first I owe you an explanation about what's going on. You might recall that I've been trying to lose weight. And that I've been stuck at 234 pounds for weeks. WEEKS! I even lost five pounds one week and then mysteriously gained it back on weigh-in day. You do the cardio, you work the diet, you ignore the frustrations of plateauing, and with your head down you butt forward like a ram without looking back.
My doctor gave me an appetite suppressant and suggested eating 1,000-1,200 calories a day. So that's what I've been doing. Day after day after day, week after week.
And still -- 234 pounds.
I even checked different scales to make sure I wasn't being setup by "Candid Camera."
Then it happened. One day last week I stepped onto the scale, blah blah blah, 234 again, I know, and then ... and then ... and then ... the scale said 233.
OK. I've seen that movie too. Let's wait until tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.
And there it was, still. 233.
WELL!
How about that? Now, I realize there are larger achievements in life. People who have climbed mountains. With one leg. Maybe even with no head, I don't know. People who have recovered from or endured a disease day after day. Xeni from BoingBoing, for example, has just ended her round of chemo. There's my dear friend who is still recovering from massive brain trauma. I have an online friend whose sister has this one summer left to live.
OK, so compared to these people, me losing my stupid pound seems so trivial. And it is. It's just one fat guy who lost a dumb pound who otherwise is in fine health. Wait -- hold on. It's the Smithsonian on the phone. They want to confirm which one is the treadmill I regularly use at the gym. I've told them already! It's the third from the left on the first row.
Now they want to know which left. I tell them "stage left." They need to remove it for the exhibition. They want to honour how I lost that pound. I was so humbled by the offer. "Please, you're embarrassing me," I told them. "But now that I have you on the phone, I wonder if we can talk placement. I was thinking maybe you could move the T-Rex skeleton off to the side in order to make room for my -- sorry, our -- exhibition. Could I get you down as a maybe on that?"
But back to what I was saying. So, yes, it's a little humbling to see how others would like to share in the celebration with me. One thing led to another and the next thing, Katie Couric is on my door step. I told her to wait just a sec and closed the door. I was just finishing up a really important "Words With Friends" move. Damn! "Middest" is TOO a word!"
So it occurs to me, how does one celebrate a small achievement like losing a pound after working so hard? Especially in the context of all the suffering that surrounds us? Family, friends, "likes" -- there are always a steady stream of stories about people who continue to go day after day with so much more pain and suffering. And here I am, some schmuck who -- wooptie doo -- lost one freakin' pound.
Wait. It's the gym calling. Apparently people are upset that the movers just hauled off a perfectly working treadmill and put it on a truck headed for Washington, D.C. There's more. It isn't "people" who complained, it's one person...who was using the treadmill at the time...who is STILL on the treadmill? People and their problems! So, anyway, I'm trying to find how best to celebrate this small milestone, this humbling little achievement.
Well, the truck can't stop now. They have to make D.C. by Wednesday in order to have the President speak at the unveiling...