I became a member of one of our country's biggest clubs recently — dieters. There are more than 160 million people on a diet, though I have no idea how they calculate that or how successful dieters are, considering that, according to some researchers, 3/4 of the American public is obese.
At any rate, I'm on a diet, and that is an official proclamation. If you're not officially ready to go on a diet, you say other things; "I need to lose a few pounds." "I'm trying to cut back." But once you say you're on a diet, it's like saying, "I'm going to India." There's no backing out. Two months later, if a friend says, "How was India," you should have an answer. And two months from now, a friend should be able to ask me, "You lose any weight?" And I should have an answer. Alright, let's make it three months.
Anyway, I had never officially been on a diet before, but a visit to my primary care physician in June was accompanied by a "that's not good" moment when I got on the scale. Not providing exact specific, but let's just say that the spectre of 200 pounds had suddenly asserted itself; a number that always seemed unapproachable. Understand, it was not right in front of me but out there on the horizon, just a rip current away from my reaching it. Excuse the metaphor, I've been at the beach for a couple weeks.
So, it was time to get serious, because if there's one thing I've learned, repeat after me: your metabolism slows down as you get older. I heard it so often that I began to imagine an actual human being on my back named Metabo Lism. Perhaps an ancient Romanian fisherman or a Bulgarian backpacker. But at any rate, Metabo Lism was always there, slowing me down, working against me, laughing at my feeble attempts to shed a few.
But I persevered — still persevering, in fact — against the biological reality that the older you get, the harder it is to lose weight. And I have been at least partially successful so far. Please do not take this as the word of a nutritionist, but here's how I approached it. Nothing novel.
I identified the things that were keeping the weight on me. #1: Vanilla lattes. Had them almost every day, with whole milk because why the hell have them at all if you're having skim? So no more vanilla lattes. As a longtime sports journalist, I should be slugging down black coffee, anyway. #2: Bread. Love bread. "But how do you cut out bread and have a sandwich," you ask. You don't. Sandwich consumption has gone down almost 100%. #3: Cheese. A regular grocery stop for me was the pound of jalapeno cheddar. I never slugged down six pieces at once, but I was a cheese sneak. English muffin in the morning (which is gone now, by the way) add a piece of cheese. Go by the fridge, grab a piece of cheese. Can't do that now, there's no cheese in there.
Fourth and finally, late night eating. Everyone knows you shouldn't do it but I did it. A bad practice learned early from being on the road, coming back to the hotel at midnight after covering a game, and being starved. I'm still starved at night a lot of the time, but I have a couple remedies. A pickle. Maybe one sourdough pretzel; filling but not overly caloric.
I combine all this with a walking routine — 6, 7, maybe 8 miles if there's time. Not all in one fell swoop, but broken into two or three walks. The result? So far, I've lost ten pounds. That was my initial goal, subsequently up to fifteen. But it's getting harder. Metabo Lism keeps making it harder. But I'm staying with it.
So, if you see me in public, give me some motivation. "Hey, have you lost a few pounds," you might say. I'd appreciate it. Just don't expect me to buy you a grilled cheese and a vanilla latte.
