I'm embarrassed about my weight. That's no earth shattering news - a lot of my fellow citizens are, and if they're not they should be. But I'm especially embarrassed because by a lot of standards I'm supposedly an athlete. I work in a physically demanding profession, routinely on the move for up to 12 hours at a time. I can, and do, run a half-marathon distance about once every two months, although my times are pathetically slow.
I'm also in my early 40's, so this may be my mid-life crisis. But I know, from my first career and training in medicine, that my metabolism is starting to slow down and I can't keep eating like someone 20 years my junior. Or drink.
And I look around at my co-workers - most of whom are younger, but quite a few are my age or older - and realize that on the bell-curve of fitness, I'm on the far left side of weak, and a lot of that weakness can be attributed to the approximately 30 pounds of extra fat I'm lugging around every time I go for a run or head out to work. Admitting that number makes me cringe.
My cringing - and embarrassment - is why, for now, this is going to remain anonymous, and for the first six to eight weeks remain comment free. "Loosing weight" is the No. 1 promise for New Year's resolution, and the least likely to be achieved. But I'm going to document everything, right here. To be accountable, at least to myself.
My goal: 12% body fat.
