Today, the scale reads 161.6 pounds.
Last week, the scale read 161.6 pounds.
Late last month, the scale read 161.6 pounds.
Is that good?
Yeah, sorta.
My original goal was 170, which I hit with no problem. Then I readjusted it to 165, which took a little work, but wasn’t that big a challenge.
Finally, I decided I wanted to tip the scales at 160, because with my height (5-9) and build (like a chimpanzee), 160 is considered my ideal weight.
First, however, I owe you a backstory.
Last summer – after spending several years as a healthy eater and averaging 163 pounds – I fell in with the wrong crowd and by “wrong crowd” I mean delicious food.
I certainly wasn’t going hungry before then, and I enjoyed what I ate for the most part.
I stayed away from candy, cakes, pies and ice cream, and ate quite a bit of fruit. Thing is, after you steer clear of “evil” food for a while, you forget about it.
But one day – I don’t really recall when – I was in a bakery-heavy grocery store when I heard a box of lemon squares call out to me.
Not wanting to be rude, I walked toward them to find out what they wanted and, it turns out, they wanted me to eat ‘em.
So I did.
I figured having a tasty dessert once in a while wouldn’t do any harm and, lord, these things are good. I’m not sure what’s in them, but they weigh about 75 pounds apiece and are covered in confectioners sugar.
After eating one you’re compelled to eat another (they come four to a box) and by the time you finish you look like Tony Montana in “Scarface” – right after he’s snorted the pile of coke off his desk.
I haven’t checked, but I’m guessing a four pack of lemon squares is about, oh, 6,000 calories.
But damn, they’re good.
Yet if that had been the end of it, I would’ve been OK. I could’ve looked at it like someone who went on a weekend bender but then straightened out after a couple days of detox.
But I was kidding myself because lemon squares are a gateway dessert and the gates flew wide-ass open.
A day later I was back at another grocery store, this time coveting strawberry cake with cream cheese icing.
Placed in an environmentally unfriendly plastic container, its label clearly stated that this one hunk of cake was 930 calories.
You know how long it took me to eat it?
Three minutes. I know because I was looking at the clock in my car while I ate it.
Chewing started at 11:47 a.m., chewing ended at 11:50 a.m.
And soon, the urge to eat like I was Scooby Doo and Shaggy overtook me.
I started buying two boxes of lemon squares and multiple pieces of strawberry cake.
Pop-Tarts returned to the rotation, and I’m talking the cherry frosted kind.
Did you know you can put a big ol’ slab of butter on a Pop-Tart and heat it in the oven?
You can, and I did.
But it wasn’t just sweets. My insatiable desire for Satan’s Snacks extended to big bags of mixed nuts and giant wedges of cheese – the large kind used to lure wharf rats.
A body built to carry 165 pounds was now hauling close to 190, and I began to look like a pregnant, mutant chimp.
We come in all different shapes and sizes, and some people look good with extra weight, but I’m not one of those people.
The lowest point came when I was lounging on the futon eating Lay’s potato chips and I could see my blurred reflection in the TV screen.
Had Princess Leia been at my feet, I would’ve sworn I was staring at Jabba The Hutt.
So Scotty The Hutt decided he had to get back in shape.
My wife got a FitBit for me so I could track calories and chart exercise, and that set the wheels in motion.
I went cold turkey on the lemon squares and strawberry cake.
I made it my mission to run, walk or crawl at least five miles every day.
And the grand prize at the end was hitting 160.
As I said, most of the pounds came off rather quickly and that inspired me to keep chasing my ultimate goal. Once I reached 165, my wife told me I should quit because I was looking too thin.
But we Adamsons aren’t quitters (unless we’re scared, hurt, under the weather, or know we’re beat,), so I was bound and determined to reach 160.0 so I could put the FitBit on maintenance mode and dance in the end zone.
But …
I can’t lose these last 1.6 pounds. Each day I eat less than the amount of calories I’m allowed, yet the scale won’t go any lower.
Each Friday I’m confident I’ve finally hit my goal, but all I can get is close – tantalizingly close.
Still, I continue to keep my eyes on the prize, and know in my heart that one day I’ll reach the magic number and it’ll be cause for a major celebration.
I probably shouldn’t celebrate with lemon squares, though.
Then again, 170 was my original goal, so ….
Fortunately for football fanatics in Chattanooga and beyond, that club was already there, one that has drawn more than 350,000 supporters since its inception.
To that end, the FFL – in theory – will be about as fan-friendly a football league as one could hope for.