Fat...

I am way too fat. Too fat for my own good and my own health. When I step on my digital scale at home the slightly annoying voice intones the damage: Two-hundred and sixty-eight pounds. As my drill seargent in my Army basic training used to say, "That's too much Coburn..." This isn't the heaviest I've ever weighed, but it's damn close. In the mid to late 80's I was hovering around the 300 pound mark. Now, I can carry quite a bit of weight easily; I have broad shoulders and wide hips - a frame built for abuse and heavy loads. If I were an automobile, I'd be a small, practical pick-up truck.

My cardiologist wants me to lose 100 pounds, which is bit much in my opinion. I think I weighed more than that after basic training. Personally, if I could lose the sixty-eight and make it an even 200 I'd be a happy camper. I know I would feel a lot happier and be a lot healthier.

But here's the rub...

I seriously lack the motivation. Yes, I want to be around for my children and granchildren; I want to feel better physically; I want to reduce the strain on my back; I want to fit into the majority of my wardrobe again; yadda yadda yadda, blah blah blah... I am more than fully aware of the benefits to be reaped by dropping the weight not only through the generally-accepted common sense thinking on the subject but through practical experience as well. Here is the problem: My work life sucks. My career has morphed into a job. The wonderful institution for which I used to work has been reduced to simply the place I go to punch a clock everyday. My preoccupation with the misery of my workplace that it overwhelms and pushes aside the care I need to give myself.

Give me some encouragement, please...