Good grief, is that my weight or my bowling score?

Yeah, it's a shock getting on the scale and you see the numbers go up, up, up, until you hit that magic number. The deal breaker. Or as I like to call it, your "FMF" number. FMF, in case you didn't know, stands for Fat Mother...well, you get the idea. I have officially hit my FMF number, and I am going to publish it here for the whole damned internet to see.

267

Yes, some time last year I hit 267 pounds. That's 33 pounds away from being Nero Wolfe, and I said, well, that's it. The missus and I joined a gym and I did pretty good for a while. Around Thanksgiving I got sick and then I was sick for two weeks, better for two weeks, sick for two etc until abut April.

"Well, Chubsy McBigbones" you remark, "It's June in case you hadn't noticed. What happened?" I got lazy. It's way easier to lay in bed than it is to haul my carcass out of bed at 5:30 am and drive to the gym. I admit it, I am lazy. This is why I have high blood pressure and cholesterol. This is why I have a big gut. This is why I have like 4 work shirts that fit me. This is why I can't shop at the discount rack.

Well, to hell with it. Today begins the SBFI or Sporty By Forty Initiative. I am almost thirty-eight, so I'm giving myself a little time.

Remember, it's not about getting the six-pack, it's about losing the pony keg!