The Not-so-Incredible Shrinking Man
So, for Lent I've already muffed the "no meat on Fridays" rule with a hamburger at Culver's, but that's pretty typical for me. I always forget because, friends, I'm a carnivore, and I do so love the infrequent butterburger.
What should please the angel sitting on my right shoulder is that I've maintained my sacrifice of no snacking. This doesn't mean I can't enjoy a good dessert. It means no nibbling between meals; no slice of lemon loaf with my latte; no cookies and milk before bedtime (in particular I gave up pop; I haven't had a Coke in weeks). I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and where I used to snack I now drink water, tea, or coffee. At first my stomach was attacked with the grumblies, and if I ate light at lunch I felt some pretty severe pangs. But eventually it went away. Except for an occasional craving for high-fructose corn syrup and caramel coloring, I haven't had a serious yen for goodies in about a week. And I didn't even tell myself I needed to "OBEY."
So, in a week in a half I've dropped 10 pounds. I've leveled off at 193. I know I could go lower, but I'd rather drop that weight and replace it with muscle via exercise. If I haven't said it enough, I miss hapkido. I was in the best shape of my life from about 2002 to 2006. I've retained enough fitness to still do forward and backward shoulder rolls-which entertains the hell out of Nate-but I miss action figure Dan. Anyway, let's get back to weight loss.
Now, I know that anything posted on the Internet has a direct correlation to your life and opinions, but I'm not going beyond the borders of my own 42-year-old frame.
I'm just... struck at the fact that that 10 extra pounds was sustained by between-meals garbage-cookies, candy, chips, and the like. Yeah, I know it's not exactly a "Eureka!" moment, but I'm floored all the same. My waistband is no longer snug. I don't feel myself jiggling. The bag of suet beneath my chin seems to be oozing elsewhere. I feel great.
Let's go for another 10, because I don't want Nate to have a lumpy fifty-something dad who can barely raise an arm to change the channel.