So... what now?

The final photos have been taken. The cake has been cut and smashed in my face accordingly. The glass has been stomped, the champagne toasted, and cards have all been opened.

There was also a splendid honeymoon, nine nights of absolutely no worries or regrets (aside from the mixture of alabaster white skin meeting the sun for the first time in years- ow, ow, ow). Snorkels have been deployed, fish disturbed, contests won, and ports of call pillaged.

So it all begs the questions... what now, and where do I go from here? More specifically, how do I motivate myself now?

First, let's review the blessings of the last month, since I last put words to page. The wedding was spectacular, the bride gorgeous, and aside from oppressive heat, resulting sweat, and dinosaur-sized bees, we had a wonderful ceremony.

The reception was a blur. Yep, my boys lifted me up in the chair whilst our guests danced to Hora around us. The pace seemed dizzying, from the time we got to the site until we ended the night in true UCMB fashion by singing "Piano Man." We arrived back at the hotel to find Megan's car completely covered in streamers, window paint, Vasoline, confetti, balloons, and latex contraceptives.

Two days later, we were in the Caribbean, enjoying the true fruits of our labor as we spent a great deal of time poolside. Throwing aside a lifetime of modesty, the shirt came off. My skin singed, turned red, peeled, then was briefly brown for a day, before it burned again.

Weight-wise, I never quite hit the 80 pounds, but I got pretty darn close. Within two pounds, to be exact. I even managed to do a much coveted pull-up, without aid, and then two more. Mt muscles have genuine definition. I almost felt comfortable with my shirt off.

The year's worth of Weight Watching, ubergyming, and sweets sacrificing was definitely worth it. I am proud to show off these pics, and that's coming from a guy who has spent the better part of 20 years avoiding cameras.

That's right, I got ups! Perhaps this image is NSFW?

But now everything we'd been preparing for, savoring, and stressing about is over. The milestone is behind us. My goal all along had been to lose as much weight as possible before the wedding. At this point, the wedding is well in the rear-view mirror.

I need a new motivator, and if I don't find one, I'm in danger.

The bad thing about a wedding (and then more weddings, birthday parties, and cruise buffets) is that is impossible to eat responsibly. You are surrounded by all things sugary, fattening, and delicious. Throw in open bars and frilly foo-foo umbrella drinks (of which there were several on the cruise), and you have great weight peril.

In the month since the wedding, I've gained eight pounds. Granted, I was unable to go to the gym at my usual frequency, but eight pounds in a month is scary. Imagine five months, or 10. This weight could come back with a vengeance. And that, more than any movie involving carnivorous fish, is terrifying.

I need to recommit. While the wedding is no longer a motivator, there are other things coming up that would behoove me to look slender and jacked. In fact, both occur in the same weekend.

The Manchester Road Race is still a goal. On Thanksgiving, I am steadfast in my quest to run that course. It will be a much easier jog if I am not carrying 30 extra pounds.

Then, the next day, comes an event 10 years in the making. It's my high school reunion, populated by scores of classmates who remember a much rounder, chubbier me. Granted, many of them have read this here blog, so they may know they're getting a different Matt than they can recall. But, there will still be plenty of surprised faces in I walk into the room, gorgeous new wife on my arm, and about 100 pounds lighter than I was the day I got my high school diploma.

Those are events. The true test comes with trying to maintain a healthy lifestyle for the rest of my years, no matter what obstacles present themselves. That marks the most difficult prospect of all, one that begs to question my strength more than any pull-up bar.

In the meantime, it's back to work. I don't know how much longer this blog will continue, but there will still be plenty to chronicle. The Wedding Fast is over. The Reunion Reduction is now underway.

Before I give the final stats, here's a quick plug. This weekend, I am once again participating in Relay for Life, this time as a member of Team Goodwin College. For anyone who would like to support the cause, here's the link:

http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR/RelayForLife/RFLFY10National?px=13455107&pg=personal&fr_id=27536

And now, here's the final stats of the Great Wedding Fast.

Weeks until the wedding: -5

Peak weight loss: 78 lbs

Percentage toward overall 80-lb. goal: 97.5

Reasons to stop now: Can't think of any.

Most inspirational person through the process: Unquestionably, Megan.

Biggest hurdles: Carrot cake, muffins, nacho platters, Ben and his dastardly friend Jerry

Peak percentage of weight loss: 26.5.

Next life milestone: Buying a house?

Four-legged friend that could come with a house: a dog!

Movie quote trivia contests won on the cruise ship: one

Cruise ship record set in said contest: Now belongs to the new Mr. and Mrs. Engelhardt

Matt when he left high school: bitter, confused, timid, obese

Matt on his reunion: To be determined, but I've got a helluva head start!

Toweled Texters, and Other New Characters

"So there I was, post-workout in the locker room, texting away while wearing nothing but a towel..."

This type of character is the kind of person comedians like Lewis Black would make a living out of mocking. Hell, a year ago, I would have cracked more than a few jokes myself. The perpetrator in the following quote is violating two of the main rules for gym etiquette, at least in terms of the standards I hold dear.

1. Thou shalt not spend more than 60 seconds engaging in text messages whilst in a public setting.
2. Thou shalt do everything possible to reduce the amount of time spent nude or near nude in a public locker room.

So who was this vile offender, so callous in the face of decency? Yep, he'd got two thumbs and is pointing at his own chest tight now.

It was me. Oh, the shame.

It seems in the span of less than a year, I've become one of the characters I once blogged against. Back in October, I wrote about the Five People You meet at the Gym. For those of you who need a refresher, here's the link back to that post.

http://weddingfast.blogspot.com/2009/10/five-people-you-meet-at-gym.html

Now, I'd like to introduce you to some new characters who I've encountered, and sad as it is, appear to have become. This time, I'm going to go into a little more detail about each, with some personal anecdotes mixed in for good measure...

1. The World Cup Obsessive

This character doesn't get to come out very often, typically only once every few years during the World Cup, the Olympics, or any other brief period when America joins the rest of the world in soccer obsession. Lately, the WCOs have been out in force, and nowhere are they more charged up than at the gym. The morning locker room appears to be their favorite stomping ground, a place they can speak ad nauseum about the merits of "real football," the beauty and grace of Lionel Messi's skills, and wonder aloud about whether the Americans are for real. Most of the WCOs aren't particularly interested in Team USA; they're more concerned about how countries of their heritage, especially Italy or England, are faring.

Personally, I enjoy soccer. I grew up in Middletown, a city with a large Italian population and where all kids are weened in youth soccer leagues. I like to play, and had a few seasons where I scored an occasional goal. However, like most overweight kids, coaches were reluctant to put me up front or in the midfield. Chubby translates into fullback, coaches seem to think, and despite my great desire to play as striker and one season when I racked up nine goals, most of the time I was relegated to defense. By middle school, my interest in playing soccer had waned, but i still enjoy watching from time to time. I root for the USA, the English, and the Dutch, and have been known to absolutely dominate FIFA video games, playing as Chelsea out of the English Premier League.

But I am far from obsessive. I get excited for the Cup, and was as delighted as anyone when Landon Donovan sent the USA into the knockout round. I also enjoyed a bit of schadenfraude at failure of the Italians and the French, especially given the superior attitudes of many of the kids I played with as a youth. However, in any locker room right now, you will find plenty of people who don't know where the line is drawn, and insist that soccer will become one of the major professional sports once the Cup is through.

One man especially comes to mind. About a week ago, Greece was set to play Argentina in group play. Fans know that the Greeks had a remote chance to beat the powerful Argentines, about as remote as your typical you know what in a hurricane, or of Greece rising from economic ruin to once again become the center of the world. However, on this particular morning, one overzealous Greece fan was more than confident that his squad could knock off the favorites. So confident, in fact, that ran from bench to bench, yelling "Go Greece!" as if seized by the spirit of Zorba himself.

He's not alone in his obsession. Others I know have been sporting jerseys at the gym, from Portugal to Brazil. It's a bit amusing to see, but sad to think how these folks will have their spirits dashed once the Cup ends and soccer, again, becomes an afterthought until the next Cup is played.

2. The Overdressed Exerciser

Here is an example of another person I've been at one time or another. This person usually overdresses by accident. Some article of clothing is forgotten when packing a gym bag, typically something minor. In my case, it's usually socks. I will remember the shorts, the tee shirt, and the sneakers, but blank about packing athletic socks. The result is either subtle or hilarious. If the work outfit called for black socks, they can be carefully tucked down to give the appearance that they are just block cotton socks, and not the dress variety. Far less subtle, and all the more hilarious, are when the mistake comes when the wearer has chosen brown socks, especially in my case, horizontally striped brown socks in multiple shades. There's no passing them off as anything but dress socks in that situation, and you either live with the public shaming, or you head home without a workout.

Today, however, I saw something very strange. A Musclehead was lifting a 75-pound dumbell with one hand, jumping from a squat position to raise the weight above his head. I might not have noticed if not for the grunting, but once I saw this guy, I was highly amused. While he was wearing shorts and a muscleshirt, his feet were adorned with loafers. Not sneakers of any type, but ridiculous khaki loafers that looked straight out of a JCrew catalog. Perhaps this fellow was a yachter of some kind and was headed for the marina following his workout. Unfortunately for him, he found himself grunting while wearing stupid shoes in front of a blogger in search of material.


3. The Underdresser

She's the exact opposite of the Overdresser. While some wear clothes more appropriate for the office than the gym, the Underdresser has a different characteristic. She is barely dressed at all, especially during the summer, when wearing a shirt over a sports bra is just too damn hot and constricting. She's not dressed for the nightclub, but rather the beach, and to hell with society's views on decency.


Three Underdressers come immediately to mind. The first is a middle-aged woman who comes to work out wearing just a bra and tight shorts. She has a very large belly jewel that she apparently is quite proud to display, and can usually be found doing crunches to emphasize the fact that 40 is just a number.


The other two frequent my gym in Wethersfield. One was a teenybopper of sorts, maybe early 20s at the oldest. She wore a bright pink bra, which isn't unusual, but appeared to be wearing string as a shirt. Then, there's the gothish girl covered from head to toe in tattoos, including one that appears to run from her hip across her stomach and up to her neck.


My opinions of tattoos has changed through the years. I no longer consider them crazy or silly, but I still wouldn't get one, as I fear what might happen as skin gets older and more elastic. At some point, that adorable little dolphin appearing to jump from a girl's belly button can take on the appearance of the baby alien emerging from the guy's stomach. Every time I see this Underdresser, so proud of her tattoos, I wonder if she's considered the long term. Then I remember that not everyone is as anal retentive as I am.


4. The Right-Wing Nudists


These are quite possibly my favorite new characters. They are roughly 70 to 80 years old, fiercely conservative, and like to gather in the early morning locker room to discuss everything Republican. They diss Obama, curse Blumenthal, discuss hunting at length (complete with graphic descriptions of animals they've killed), and chat with great passion about retaking America through the guidance of Glenn Beck.

And, they do all this while being stark naked. Conservatism doesn't extend to locker room dress code. Hell, when it comes to nudity, these fellas are as liberal as they come!

These folks do an amazing amount of activities in the buff: shaving, sitting and talking, looking in the mirror for new and undiscovered moles, and talking about Sarah Palin. As an unabashed Progressive, their topics of conversation makes my skin crawl, but there's no way I'll express my disapproval. There's a time and place for political discourse, and more importantly, there's a dress code (namely, clothes).


I will continue to seek out interesting characters. If nothing else, they make getting up early to work out all the more entertaining.

Sputtering to the finish

A week can seem like a lifetime, at least when you're trying to get to the finish at 180 steps per minute.

There isn't much time left in this weight loss challenge of mine. The final weigh-in is six days away, which equates to about five more workouts before stepping on the scale. In the last year or so, I've put my body through as much stress as its seen in the previous 27 years together. I've ignored food temptations, "me" time on the couch in favor of sessions on the arc trainer, and have gotten myself in the best shape of my life for what will be the most important day of my life.

In terms of comedian Gabriel Iglesias, I've gone from level four of the "Five Levels of Fatness" to level one. No longer "fluffy", I am now safely in the "big" category. For those of you unfamiliar with the reference, Iglesias, who himself is a very, very large man, defines the five levels as "big," "healthy," "husky," "fluffy," and "damn!", recently adding a new category, "oh hell no!"

So with all these good changes, why does this last week feel like such a challenge?

My body is breaking down. I've pushed it too hard, and now it wants some payback. The 1,600-calories workouts have taken their toll on my muscles, my lungs, and my level of fatigue. Twice in the last week, I've had to stop before the end of a workout and change to an easier machine. Granted, part of this could be heat and humidity related- even in an air conditioned gym, it's still been 100 degrees outside, with humidity up somewhere around 15,000 percent.

More troubling, I still sweat like a 300-pound man. As a kid, I watched plenty of UConn basketball games with my family. UConn-Georgetown games back in the early 90s were especially memorable, and not just because it was a match-up of elite teams at the peak of their talent. Alonzo Mourning was a star center for Georgetown, and every time he took a trip to the foul line, the camera seemed to catch every bead of sweat pouring down his temples and arms as he prepped for a free throw. My mother, always a keen observer of player and fan attributes ("that big guy with the bad sweaters is sitting behind Calhoun again!"), never failed to make a disgusted comment at the volume of Mourning sweat.

Mom, I hate to break this to you, but it's a good thing you never see me at the gym. You would be shamed to learn that your baby boy perspires like Alonzo in a sauna.

The results are gross. The office upstairs, where I store my dirty laundry, consistently smells of sweaty Mattness. The gym clothes are segregated from other dirty clothes, out of fear that they'll soak up the rest of the laundry with moist must. Even after I shower at the gym, my body is still in perspiration mode, so the second the step outside, I find myself sweating again.

And then there's the cravings. I've been eating a ridiculous amount of fruit in recent months, replacing breads and grains as the centerpiece of my snacking routine. Lately, however, my tired body has been begging for a bagel. I've denied it as much as possible, but it's to the point where I no longer want to just fall off the wagon. I want to dive off into a pool of macaroni and cheese.

I am not going to make it to 80 pounds. With less than a week left, my weight loss stands at about 77 pounds. Unless I catch a stomach virus (something I'd rather avoid the week of my wedding, thank you), three more pounds is next to impossible. Even so, I'm very proud of the progress I've made, especially considering that the grand total from my fluffiest stage now stands at about 110 pounds lost.

But I also realize that everything that happens next week, including the wedding, doesn't change the fact that I made a commitment to take better care of myself. Working out six days a week for two hours a session may not be feasible with the responsibilities that I hope will come, and I may even allow myself to relax my routine a little bit. Yet this is a struggle that I will likely fight for the rest of my life, and if I'm not vigilant, the fluff will find its way back to my frame.

That, in turn, will be the bigger challenge, one that reaches far beyond the arbitrary finish line that comes with next Thursday's weigh-in. I feel like I am sputtering right now, and it's time to buck up.

In the meantime, I get married in nine friggin' days. Why does that feel less stressful than the concept of five more workouts?

To the STAT line for two free throws!

Days until wedding: 9 days. Wow.
Weight lost in Week 42-43: 1.6 pounds
Total weight loss after Week 40: 76.8 pounds
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 128 percent. It's just fun to keep calculating this!
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 96 percent. It may not happen by the wedding, but I will hit that A+
Weight left to lose: 3.2 pounds
Looking surprising suave in: tan suits
Favorite memory from the UConn-Georgetown rivalry: Ray Allen's off-balance runner drops, Iverson has no answer, Huskies win the Big East Tourney!
Full name of former Georgetown star center Dikembe Mutombo: Dikembe Mutombo Mpolondo Mukamba Jean-Jacques Wamutombo
Scrabble points awarded for putting down just one of those names on a Triple Word: unable to calculate as the result of game board explosion.

Down the stretch they come!

This the part of the race when the announcer gets all dramatic and starts forgetting to breathe.

Much of the race has already been run; there's only a handful of horses still in contention. The rest have fallen behind, perhaps daydreaming about going out to stud or worrying about a trip to the glue factory. Hell, I don't even care for horse racing and have no real betting interest, but this is the point when I perk up and get ready for the finish.

Of course, I am not a horse. I am not going to make the obligatory Mr. Ed reference there either. I can't even run very fast (but I'm working on it). In nuptial terms, however, I am very much approaching the finish, and it's a bit exhilarating.

In 28 days- that's one month or a movie title later, whether it be a Sandra Bullock chick flick or a zombie thriller- all the buildup will be over. The months of planning (and, let's face it, most of it by Megan) will have been completed. She and I will be married, and in turn, begin the actual marriage part of the whole shebang. There will be no more bachelor parties or bridal showers, at least not for us. We start (excuse the cliche) the rest of our lives, and it is a cool feeling to be where we are.

Part of me feels like Red at the end of Shawshank, excited to be starting a new adventure. But, at the risk of sounding a bit sappy, I know exactly what I am entering. Megan and I have been together for almost three years, and there are few surprises any more. It's nice to have someone who knows every aspect of me, and who fell in love with me when I was less than happy with the way I looked.

She is a remarkable woman and a beloved teacher. Together, we make a great pair, and we are very much ready for getting married. I'm eager to stomp the glass, and even more eager to embark on the honeymoon cruise. Mostly though, I'm eager to make it all official, and to have her as my wife.

Author's note: The sappy part of the blog ends now.

The pending wedding date also means it's almost time to make good on this little pledge o' mine. With less than a month to go, I am currently more than 75 pounds lighter than I was when I started this blog. I hit that figure last week, following another kamikaze few days at the gym. I am less than five pounds away from 80. I have lost more than 25 percent of my body weight.

In effect, Chubby Matt (or Griff, or Big Pun), is disappearing. He's always going to be lurking, but I no longer live in fear of him taking over my life. He has been replaced with a new, sleeker model. It's like trading in the bulky minivan for something sportier and with better gas mileage. Dear lord, it appears my stomach is having a midlife crisis... and I'm only 28 years old.

Seventy-five pounds also means more Weight Watchers bling, should I ever stay through a meeting. Things have been extremely busy lately, and it's been pretty difficult motivating myself to attend an entire meeting any more. At this point in the program, I feel like I know what I need to do. I am motivated to get this done, and I am winning.

I am going to try like hell to get to 80 pounds. Sometimes, you get some extra help when you didn't necessarily want it, like the day after your bachelor party. Most of the time, though, it is a struggle. I know the real battle will be later, when it is time to maintain this body for the rest of my life and not allow myself to go the way of the Duncan yoyo. I have a set goal, and if there's one thing I've learned about myself during this experiment, it's that those goals are more than empty promises to me. They mean something, and there is genuine satisfaction with setting a high mark and being able to reach it.

The other question is what happens with this blog. By my count, over the last 10 months or so, I've posted almost 60 times, and written the equivalent of a novel or memoir. I know I'm not going to continue the blog forever. There will be other goals and quests, and certainly other things to write about. But I worry about losing this crutch. This blog keeps me honest and puts me under the microscope. What happens when I take that away, and no longer have to hold myself accountable to an audience?



The challenges aren't going to cease. Motivation will have to come in different forms.



This has been so much fun. Writing is cathartic, and especially now that my journalistic days are behind me, it's imperative for me to find an outlet. In the weeks to come, I promise there will be more posts, and when I return from the honeymoon, there will be a conclusion. Perhaps- no promises, but just perhaps- there will be some poolside photos of me taken on the ship that I might just get brave enough to post.



So yes, I am in the final stretch, in so many different ways. Here's to a hell of a finish to what has been a tremendous ride.



And STATS is off to a big lead!



Days until wedding: 28. Really, at this point at night, it's closer to 27, but who's counting?

Weight lost in Week 40-41: 2.6 lbs

Total weight loss after Week 40: 75.2 pounds

Progress toward 60 lb goal: 125.33333 percent

Progress toward 80-pound goal: 94 percent

Weight left to lose: 4.8 pounds. That's 1.2 per week. Photo finish!

Things I know about horse racing: Secretariat was a good horsie?

Current obsession: World Cup Soccer, Wendy's as hangover cure

Cure to obsession: All vuvuzela, all the time.

An ode to Violet Beauregarde....

"Violet, you're turning Violet, Violet!" What an apt quote from what I consider one of the greatest character downfalls of all time.

For those of you not raised on Roald Dahl or Gene Wilder, Violet Beauregarde was one of the five children lucky enough to find a golden ticket to Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. Like everyone except Charlie Bucket, she does not make it through the tour. Her fatal flaw is her love of chewing gum, and when she chews the wrong piece, she becomes the world's largest blueberry.

Violet's endgame was my favorite part of the classic 1971 film (note: as far as I'm concerned, Gene Wilder is Willy Wonka, and Tim Burton's 2005 film can go straight to hell). Now, when I think about the scene, I get a little hungry.

The world's largest blueberry? If it weren't an act of cannibalism, that would be delicious.

For months now, I've craved all things blueberry. Whether pie, yogurt, or one night when I ate an entire container, those little purplish orbs have delighted me as much as chocolate, and that's coming from a man who enjoys his Kit Kat bars.

My best friend and his wife are the parents of an adorable 2-year-old girl. With her, they pulled off a genius ruse. Instead of serving her dessert in the form of cookies or pudding, they gave their daughter blueberries as an after-dinner treat. The result? The little girl now associates blueberries with dessert, and for much of her young life, has desired the fruit among all other snacks.

Yet every time they feed her the blueberries, I secretly get a little jealous. Hell, I'm plenty cute too. Where are my berries?

This craving has me puzzled. For years, I would satisfy hunger (or boredom) with peanut butter, ice cream, bread, chocolate, or a combination of three or more of those things. There really is nothing like a peanut butter sandwich sundae. Now, I'm Jonesing for blueberries or pineapple, and have been ignoring 100-calorie packs of cookies in favor of fruit or yogurt.

What the hell is wrong with me? When did I, a man who once valued Hostess products as highly as currency, become a healthy eater? Why do I now dream about salad instead of fried chicken? And, above all, when did blueberries become my own personal crack-cocaine?

I've heard that pregnant women will often crave foods rich in nutrients their body needs to help their babies develop. Granted, I don't believe that I am pregnant, given the whole "Matt's a dude" thing, but maybe there's some subconscious biochemistry going on here. Blueberries are rich in antioxidants, are low in calories, and are generally considered to be very healthy for you. Pineapple is loaded with Vitamin C, and my other favorite fruit, the banana, is valued for its potassium.

Lately, I've been testing my body to its absolute limits. It's become my norm to burn 1400+ calories in addition to 30 minutes of weight training on an almost daily basis. I've been waking up at 5:30 in the morning in order to get to the gym by 7 and get full workout before heading to the office. Night owl Matt is gone, for the most part: on weeknights, the lights are usually off by 10:30. I'm pretty serious about my commitment here, and a recent visit to the doctor gave me good reason to stay positive and dedicated.

I know that as soon as I stop my little routine, I risk packing the pounds back onto my frame. Yo-yoing is more than common; according to my doctor, about 99 percent of people who have lost 100 pounds end up gaining it all back. Going back to my worst weight, I've lost about 105 pounds.

I don't want to be among the 99 percent. I've worked too hard, and it would be a shame to revert back to the days of having people tell me I look like Peter Griffin.

So maybe my body is craving fruit for a good reason. I need to get those vitamins and potassium from somewhere, and as nice as Fiber-One bars taste, I'd much rather have a banana. And, hopefully, these new healthy eating habits will continue for a long time.

So bring on the Yoplait. And, if you see Violet Beauregarde around, give her a wink and send her my love.

You know what goes great with blueberry pie? Some STATS a la mode!


Days until wedding: 39. Holy Schnikes.
Weight lost in Week 38: 2.2 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 34: 72.6 pounds
Estimated amount of weight lost since last official weigh-in: 1.4 pounds
Total estimated weight loss, based on gym scale: 74 pounds.
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 123.3333 percent
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 92.5 percent
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 1
Weight left to lose: 6 pounds. I got this!
Favorite foods with blueberries: scones, muffins, yogurt, pie, pie, pie, buckle, cobbler, or just let me dive into a blueberry bucket
Attitude toward strawberries: bah. Gross berry with bad texture. Stay the hell away from my chocolate and vanilla ice cream and get your own damn carton!

A streak shattered

The streak is over.


The 1972 Dolphins can uncork their champagne. Joe DiMaggio and Cal Ripken have nothing to worry about. Maya Moore and company over at UConn can rest assured that my own personal weight loss streak has come to a close, and while not nearly impressive as the women winning something like 958 consecutive games, I was on a pretty good run.


How good? Since I began Weight Watchers, this blog, and the linking quest to lose 60 pounds by the wedding, I had not experienced a single weigh-in where I actually added pounds to my frame.


There were times when I stayed flat, others where I posted significant losses, and many more weigh-ins where my weight would drop incrementally. I had a system down: be very good about counting points from Monday-Thursday afternoon. Bust my butt at the gym, burning anywhere from 1,000 to 1,500 calories per workout. Get weighed on Thursday, then allow myself to take a few liberties from Thursday night through Sunday. Come Monday (again with the Jimmy Buffett), Indulgent Matt would once again give way to Intense, Obsessive Matt, and any pounds gained over the weekend would be gone within a couple of workouts.


When my body fat percentage was much higher and I had many more pounds to lose, the process worked without fail. But 70 -plus pounds later, there's not as much to lose, my metabolism is catching up with me, and I haven't made all the dietary changes necessary. I accept that, and I know I have to be better, otherwise 80 pounds is never going to happen.


Above all things, weight loss is about self control. I've never been an alcoholic or a drug addict, and thankfully I've never found myself on the business end of an intervention. My understanding is, however, that a person cannot change unless they accept that change is necessary. That philosophy was at the heart of my problems with weight, and likely will continue for the rest of my life.


For years, I was comfortable with being the friendly fat guy. I figured everyone loved having a chubby, funny, and huggable lout around, so in a way, I decided I was serving a role to society. But then you look at all the side effects of obesity, and you realize you are paying a huge price, and not just in terms of health. I was unhappy, and change was necessary. It's taken a great deal of discipline, more than I've ever required for any endeavor I've taken. But it has paid off in spades.


Since 2005, I have lost more than 100 pounds. At the risk of personal shame, I'll state the truth right here. At my worst, I weighed well more than 300 pounds. When I look back at those photos, I feel ill. I never want to look like that and feel like that again, especially given the many blessings in my life. I have plenty that I need and want to be healthy for, so why is temptation creeping back in?


The answer: temptation is natural. Everyone experiences it in some form. Mine comes in food. Megan and I are now less than two months from our wedding date. With the bridal showers and weekends with family come heaps of incredible goodies. Last weekend, red velvet cupcakes were my Waterloo, coupled with too much pizza and cookies consumed merely because they were there.


I overindulged, and for the first time, I wasn't able to make it up at the gym. I tried my best, but on Thursday, I was a pound heavier than I was the previous week.


The defeatist in me wanted to beat me up. However, the defeatist has to compete with a the new optimist that has emerged, and as such, I have a decision to make. Do I scrap my quest and decide I've done all I can? Hell no. There's still bathing suits to consider. Was this a wake-up call? Unquestionably, and unlike many an early morning, I refuse to hit the snooze button.


Then, there's this: gaining the occasional pound is part of the weight loss process (that according to the Weight Watchers leader). People go up and down, week by week, but as long as the overall trend is downward, I should be okay.


The temptations are not going to stop. Let's see how much self control I possess, and by all means, let's start a new streak next week.


Some red velvet STATS!

Days until wedding: 58.
Weight lost in Week 36: 0.4 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 34: 71.4 lbs
Weight lost in Week 37: + 1 lb. Call the Pentagon, we've got an emergency!
Total weight loss after Week 36: 70.4 pounds Cancel the Pentagon, we should have this under control.
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 117.3333 percent
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 88 percent
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 0
Weight left to lose: 9.6 lbs. Look out, elliptical. I'll be kicking your butt regularly.
Interesting nugget of new job: I am in charge of the college's Facebook account. hehehehe.
Number of town meetings sat through this week: not a one. Ah, academia.

More changes than merely measurements

Let's paint the scene a bit before we begin...


9:16 a.m. on May 6, 2010. Shots are fired at an East Hartford apartment complex. Three people are killed, a fourth is shot. The police department's PIO is meeting with media as investigators try to figure out what happened. Reporters from every television and newspaper outlet in the state is swarming, looking for information. At the JI, second deadline is fast approaching, and breaking the story in time for the afternoon paper is critical.


Had this all happened on May 5, I would have have been one of those reporters on the scene. On Thursday, however, I was watching it all unfold on TV news, checking for updates on the computer, and reading Facebook postings from journalists.


The shooting happened the very next day after I left the Journal Inquirer and five years of reporting, a career that started outside of San Diego, led me home to Middletown, and brought me to the scene of many breaking news events in East Hartford. I've covered homicides, murder trials, the state legislature, feuding ice cream truck drivers, plenty of education matters, ComicCon, renegade emus running amok, and even competitive eating contests. I've also had my image frequently on the second page, announcing the latest results of my weight loss progress and inviting everyone to read along.


Come Monday (ah, Jimmy Buffett), that's all over. I begin work as a communications coordinator for Goodwin College, and I have bid farewell to the JI newsroom. Frankly, it's a weird feeling... I know it's the right move, but alas, five years is five years. I've been a reporter longer than I was a college student or just about anything else. I'm excited too. This is going to be a great change, and I am ready for it.


Of course, it is heaping another big change in my life onto an already tall pile. In 2 and a half months, I'm getting married. I've lost 71 pounds and counting within the last eight months or so. I am working toward a Master's degree in education and certification to teach high school English. Now, in the midst of all of that, I'm changing careers. Might be a good time for me to take a deep breath. But all these changes are for the better. I have absolutely no doubt about that.


And with all these changes, I am determined that my physical measurements will continue to get better. According to my most recent figures, I've lost about eight inches off my waist and chest. My arms are getting slightly bigger, while my shoulders are losing their broadness. My head, however, continues to be massive and the recipient of many a bruise.


The new job is going to mean (gulp) a new routine. Through this personal challenge, the gym has been my destination during every weekday afternoon or mid morning, depending on my work schedule. Now I'll no longer have to worry about night meetings, so goodbye, split shifts. Instead of starting the day around 7, my mornings will now start at 9. As a result, I'm moving my workouts to the morning, meaning that by 7:30 a.m. on week days, I'll be treadmilling away.


A couple things to get used to here. First, getting ready for work in a locker room surrounded by strangers in various stages of undress. High school Matt didn't even like taking off his shirt in the locker room; now he'll be waiting in line for a shower. That definitely could take some time to adapt.


Second, a person's body weight changes throughout the day. Typically, you are lightest after you wake up and your stomach has had nothing to digest for several hours. By the end of the day, I can be seven pounds heavier after three meals, various snacks, and all the liquid that has been consumed. Weight Watcher weigh-ins, meanwhile, are in the late afternoon, usually after I've had my "last chance workout" to burn away whatever breakfast and lunch calories are in my system. This tactic has been effective- I can be as much as five pounds lighter by the time I finish exercising. At the same time, I usually appear as if someone has pushed me in the pool. Oh well.


I'm interested to see whether the routine change will yield new results, positive or negative. Varying routine is supposedly good for weight loss, but I've come to rely on that Thursday afternoon blitzkrieg. I just hope the stats continue to be reasons for celebration.


So farewell to the newsroom, the bylines, and the crime scenes. For a while, you've been all I've known as a professional, and, as crazy as it sometimes made me, I'll miss the scrambling around. It's much harder to say goodbye to the friends, and thankfully, I don't really have to do that. I'll be close enough that a lunch is always a possibility.


And the Great Wedding Fast will continue, though the author will soon have a new business card.


Past deadline, I'm filing some STATS!


Days until wedding: 72. Just about 10 weeks.
Weight lost in Week 33-34: 2.2 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 34: 70.2 lbs
Weight lost in Week 35: 0.8 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 35: 71 pounds
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 118.3333 percent
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 88.75 B+
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 35
Weight left to lose: 9 lbs. That's less than a pound a week. Can it be done?
Towns written about during years as reporter: San Diego, Chula Vista, El Cajon, Lemon Grove, and La Mesa, CA; Middlefield, Durham, Middletown, Cromwell, Portland, East Hampton, East Haddam, Haddam, New Haven, Meriden, North Haven, South Windsor, East Hartford, Manchester, Windsor, Hartford, Storrs, Glastonbury, East Windsor, Bolton, Hebron, Enfield, Windsor Locks, Tolland, CT.
Rough estimate of bylines: 2,300.
Most obscure story: tie between the ice cream truck duel and the emu.

Push for Every Pound

For those who follow the old cliche that the "last 10 pounds are hardest..." well, they're right, and boo to that.

I'm starting to fondly remember the big number weigh-ins. The first couple months of Weight Watchers, there was little reason to fret when getting on the scale. I knew I was losing impressive amounts of weight on a weekly basis, and it was never a question of "did I lose any weight?", but rather "how many pounds are gone this week?"

That lasted, literally, about 45 pounds. I was putting up huge numbers every week. Four pounds, 7 pounds, 8 pounds... the chub seemed to be falling off of me-- which, when you think about it, is a bit of a disturbing visual. If it looked easy, quite frankly, it felt that way sometimes. It was mostly about diet back then, following a point system carefully, and exercising moderately. I didn't need to torture myself through 1,500-calorie workouts to ensure a good week.

Now, let's hit the "Live TV" button on the remote (Thank heavens for DVR). Yes, I have reached my initial 60-pound goal, and there have been no relapse weeks. Eighty pounds, however, is starting to feel elusive, like a tall building that is slowly coming closer, but distant enough that you know it's probably too far to walk.

The wedding is now less than three months away. That means about 12 weigh--ins, and 90 days or so to make good on my goal. It's Thursday today, but there won't be a weigh-in for me tonight as the result of a softball game. I'm confident that if I stepped on a scale (following my murderous last chance workout, of course), I would post another loss this week. However, if pushed to guess, I'd say the loss would be in the 0.something range, rather than a figure with a nice crooked number at the front of it.

According to the home jerk scale, I'm about 11 pounds away. That's close enough to consider the "last 10 pounds" cliche. And, if I still had the body fat percentage that I did when I started, those 11 pounds could easily be gone within a month.

Yet my body is changing-- for the better, as opposed to in those weird ways described in by awkward sexual education teachers. I daresay I'm showing some signs of muscle tone. I know longer look at myself and see a double-chin and bulging belly. I am even wearing some brands of shirts without any "extra" to the "large." These are wonderful signs of progress and I have many reasons to be proud of my progress.

But a promise is a promise, even if it is an arbitrary number. I want to hit that 80-pound mark. My workouts, which once were easy-going, are now brutal. On some days, I'm burning as much as 1600 calories in one session. My trainer actually told me I was a bit weak for my size, and that only lit the fire more, to the extent of more arm curls and push-ups than I've ever done before. Heck, a few weekends ago, Megan and I walked/ran (alright, mostly walked) a 4-mile stretch.


I'm eating less as well. Oh, I still pack a wallop during a meal (this is me, after all), but I am carefully counting points. To be more accurate, I'm carefully counting points between Monday and Thursday and allowing myself to indulge a bit too much on the weekends, but I am still relatively focused.


Yet every pound now feels like a major push. I know that if I am to reach my goal, those weekend indulgences will have to be reduced. I also know there are some major hurdles coming up, not too mention a professional change that I'll get into in a posting yet to be written. It's time for me to "hold, or cut bowstrings," as the old saying goes (and what it actually means, I haven't a clue).

One last push. It begins now... well, at least tomorrow, after trivia night at the bar.


You can't handle the STATS! (Yay, forgotten 90s movie reference!)

Days until wedding: 87. I can taste the cake already.
Weight Lost in Week 32: 0.6 lbs
Total weight loss after Week 32: 68 lbs
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 113.3333 percent
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 85 percent
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 32
Scouting report on my softball skills: fly ball pull hitter, weak glove, infield chatterer, prefers pitchers to belly-itchers
More challenging than necessary: Finding a left-handed baseball glove
Weight left to lose: 12 lbs
XXL shirts remaining in closet: handful
Those shirts now look: comically big

Way beyond the Figure Eight...

There was no shame quite like that of high school tennis practice. I had a sworn enemy, not a person, but the course we would run almost every day before hitting the courts.


The athletes of the former Middletown High School (now Woodrow Wilson Middle School) know the Figure Eight quite well. The 2.2-mile course winds its way from the school's front and up various side roads, down Ridge Road, then back to the school. Then, the course continues around Pat Kidney Field, down the long trot along Farm Hill Road before coming to a merciful stop somewhere near the football field.


For most, it was a minor annoyance, a leisurely jog to loosen up before practice. For me, it was pure, unfiltered hell, an errand of aggravation that played upon the scariest of asthmatic nightmares.


I never stood a chance running the Figure Eight. Within a tenth of a mile, I'd be walking. By the time I got up the hill, my inhaler would already be spent, and each passing car seemed only to mock my misery. I would trot when I could, but for the most part, I was the token fat kid lagging far behind his teammates, willing painfully toward being the last to finish, if finishing was even a possibility. I was actually a bit relieved on days when I would roll an ankle and wouldn't have to continue. A sprain goes away with a little ice and elevation. Nothing alleviates shame.


The worst part was the stretch in front of the school, down Hunting Hill. It went right by the high school track, where all the best athletes were jumping hurdles, tossing javelins, and flexing their muscles for no apparent reason. By the time I reached that road, my teammates were all well gone, and some had even finished the entire course.


Not me though. I would have to run the stretch all by myself, with the eyes of the entire track team delighting at the slow pace and shamed face lumbering before them. I would run with my inhaler out, in hopes that the students would see the small instrument and put together the pieces themselves that, "oh, he's asthmatic, and that's why he's so slow."


No dice. All the inhaler did was conjure more images of the chubby geek, and not a day went by without the nastiest of catcalls imaginable.


"Hey Fat Boy, why don't you take a cab next time?"


"Why you walking, Engelhardt? Afraid to actually burn a few calories?"


"You know, for a large man, your calf muscles are spectacular!" (note: this might not have been yelled in reality).


The inner argument was always the same, too. Why does a tennis player need to be able to run? Can't I just smash the ball and be done with it? And by the time I'd finish, there'd be the coach, his scowl angry as he watched me, sweaty and pathetic, pretend that I had been running hard the entire way.


By junior year, I was co-captain of the team, a role I held out of experience and for making inspirational speeches rather than talent and endurance. We had a running joke, pardon the pun: if you lose to one captain during the Figure Eight, you have to run harder the next day. If you lose to Engelhardt, you're off the team.


Those practices are awful memories. But that was many, many pounds ago, and if weight loss has taught me anything, it's that all challenges are worth making... and meeting.


Now there's a new challenge to pursue, beyond weight loss and looking good in a suit. I'm upping the ante yet again, foot by foot, as I attempt to do something I always thought to be, in the words of Vizzini, inconceivable.


I am pledging right now that come Thanksgiving 2010, I will earn every piece of pie I consume for dessert, because earlier on that day, I will be running the Manchester Road Race.


And, just as I make the race a new goal, my asthma is starting to sing. You may have fooled me for a while with your fancy treadmills, climbers, and free weights, says Asthma, but once you step out of the gym, I'm back. And just to show you I'm serious, I'm bringing the high school shame back with me...


As I write, I am just returning from a light jog around the block. I figured if I'm going to make good on this new goal... and the 4.75 mile course that comes with it...I'd better get out there and run. I've started to run on the treadmill, but that always has the handles at the ready to aid in the process. Outside, there's nothing to lean on, and what amounts to about 0.7 miles, from one end of my street and back, feels like a trek. My lungs burn, just like back on the Figure Eight. My feet hurt, and the bad karma of tennis practice is swirling in my brain.


The difference? There's no angry coach this time to chastise me for not running hard. It's all on me, and that, in a way, is even more daunting. There is no one harder on myself than, well, myself, and I swear I will make good on this promise.


Care to join me? I'll see you at the starting line come Thanksgiving Day. You may finish before me, and that's okay. I just want to finish. I want to run for a reason other than because some large animal is chasing me, or I'm going to miss a bus, or because it's part of tennis practice. I'm doing this to prove to myself that I can.


The biggest irony? The Road Race course is more than twice as long as the Figure Eight. For good measure, maybe some of the old members of Middletown track team should line the course, so they can see for themselves that I am no longer in awe, and fear, of them and the awful things that come out of their mouths.


I just hope they don't still have those javelins.


Catcall up some STATS!

Days until wedding: 99. One for each bottle of beer on the wall.
Weight Lost in Week 31: 1 lb
Total weight loss after Week 31: 67.4 lbs
Progress toward 60 lb goal: 112.33 percent
Progress toward 80-pound goal: 84.25 percent
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 31
Months until Road Race: 7.5
Hindrances toward successful road races: cruise line buffets, but mmmm, crab legs.
Feelings about Duke basketball: nothing but bitter, bitter hatred
Number of professional sportswriters, journalists, and college basketball nuts involved in recent tourney pool: 10
Person who won second, including defeating me. The 11th person- Megan.
Consecutive years Megan has beat me in the NCAA pool: 3. That's just sad.

The Fattening Four

In weeks like this one, the college dining hall was always a source of delectable comfort and indigestion.


As some of you have pointed out (and I do thank you for staying interested), it has been a little while since my last post. It seems that every time I got ready to write over the past 10 days, something has taken precedence, whether it be work (budget season.... egghhhhh), school (back from Spring Break), or calamity (car). I owe two sets of stats, and don't worry, they're coming.


I've been stressed, and in years past, I would have dealt with all this flux in the traditional way: binge eating! Tenseness has always spelled trouble for nearby kitchens, and I've laid waste to my share of packages of EL Fudge cookies and jars of peanut butter in such occasions. Above all, the UConn dining options were the perfect places to execute the binge. One swipe of the card, and I turned into Belushi in Animal House, right down to the careful look-around before snarfing a Jello brick (or to be more accurate, a brownie). Ice cream always calmed the nerves, but I'm hoping those days are behind me.


So now the gym has become my stress outlet. That's bad news for the Keebler company, but good news for my waist line. For the first time in roughly 15 years, I'm wearing a shirt that contains no "X" on the tag. I feel myself getting healthier and happier, a far cry from my days of pouting over a trough of macaroni and cheese.


But that doesn't mean we can't delve back into Belly Bracketology. In our last episode, a field of 16 causes of college weight gain was narrowed down to the fattening four. It was a helluva battle for many participants, who did their best to increase my gut but just not enough to win their regionals.


Before we get to the semifinals, some business: One of my old fraternity brothers made a keen observation that I had forgotten. In addition to all the fried deliciousness offered, Jonathan's used to serve Freihofer's goodies. Had I remembered that, Jonathan's might just have eked out a regional victory over South Dining Hall. However, in any tournament, mitigating factors bite teams in the rear. Consider my forgetfulness a blown knee to Jonathan's. It was a game changer, but hindsight 20/20 doesn't equal advancement. Decision stands!


Also, some people have submitted some questions about establishments not included in the bracket. Kathy John's, for example, was omitted, mainly because I didn't know students who went to the restaurant unless their parents were visiting campus.


The Dairy Bar, in hindsight, should have been included, except I never really went there until after graduation. That's probably a good thing, otherwise I would have waddled more when I walked.


McDonald's and Friendly's also got ignored. Why? Because they're uberchains, and you van get a McFlurry or Conehead darn near anywhere.


So here we go. Lace em' up!

Semifinal #1: Chuck's/Margaritas vs. South Dining Hall

Margaritas goes into this matchup as the decided underdog, and sad to say, it is no Butler. South had Mexican food on its menu (though low quality) and a hamburger bar (ditto). It also had pizza, the Asian fusion station, and the comfort line, not to mention the dessert bars. If I'm headed up to campus now, I'd be glad to stop by Margaritas for a trumpet section reunion. However, South is a juggernaut. Winner: South Dining Hall



Semifinal #2: DP Dough vs. Wings over Storrs

This is the UConn vs. Duke of the tournament. It's a toss-up, and really just a question of who wants it more. Early in college, DP Dough was like that friend who you really never planned to see, but always ran into and hung out. I don't remember many evenings where Dough was a goal, but by midnight, I'd be tipping the delivery driver. Wings emerged over the years and became a staple of my late-night diet. DC-3s were the preferred course, but the fries never failed to be soggy and sucky. Dough, meanwhile, never failed me, from "healthier" varieties like pesto or eggplants to coronary threats like bacon cheeseburger or fried Twinkie and Cinnabon (I might have made that last one up). And since DP Dough did, in fact, make me doughier, it wins and goes on to the championship. Winner: DP Dough



Championship: South Dining Hall vs. DP Dough

If Dick Vitale were calling this matchup, three things would happen. First, he's find some way to praise Coach K, even though he has absolutely nothing to do with a UConn food tournament. Second, Vitale would say something that sounded vaguely inappropriate toward a cheeseburger or calzone, drawing a bewildered look from the play-by-play guy. And third, security would escort Vitale from the building, because I want him far away from my tournament.



Anyway, of all the food options at UConn, these were my most frequent choices. I practically own stock in DP Dough, and I nearly caused dining services to rethink its all-you-can-eat policy through my trips to South. Both of these establishments contributed mightily to my weight gain. And everyday, I miss them both terribly.



South wins for one simple reason: it was free. Well, free to me, anyway, since it was my poor parents who got the meal plan bill. Had DP Dough accepted HuskyBucks, or whatever the heck they were called, I would declare Dough the champion and wish them well as the staff climbed the greasy ladder to cut down the nets. But that wasn't the case then, and so South, it's time for your moment. This is for your soft serve machine, your bottomless tub of stuffing, your waffle fries, your ever-flowing soda fountain, and your dedication to ensuring that the Freshman 15 is part of the UConn experience.



And with that, here's two heaping, delicious spoonfuls... of STATS!

Days until wedding: 105.

Weight lost in Week 29: 0.8 lbs

Total weight loss after Week 29: 65.4 lbs

Weight Lost in Week 30: 1 lb

Total weight loss after Week 30: 66.4 lbs

Progress toward 60 lb goal: 110.67 percent

Progress toward 80-pound goal: 83 percent

Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 30. Take that, UConn Women's Basketball. You thought your streak was impressive?

Sickening thought: The New York Yankees and the Duke Blue Devils might win titles in the same year. I will now cry bitter tears into my Kevin Youkilis replica shirt.

Status of my 1996 Toyota Camry: Dead. And no longer mine, for that matter.

Status of my 2007 Toyota Corolla: Alive and quite peppy.

Afikoman status: hidden.

Easter Eggs status: Also hidden.

Belly Bracketology

Now that my calorie consumption is now under relative control, it's hard not to look back at my college eating habits without wanting to kick myself in the gut.


We all know about the Freshman 15, the weight that college students put on at the start of their post-high school education, when suddenly all-you-can-eat becomes the norm and beer flows from water fountains. For some people-myself, for example- 15 is nothing. In college, I would guess I gained about 45 pounds from the start of my freshman year til the day I got my diploma. Granted, my ruptured disc left me exercise-incapacitated my senior year, but that is still way too much weight.



The beer wasn't my undoing (I actually didn't become a big beer drinker until junior and senior year). No, for me, college weight gain was caused by my meal plan and the number of ordering-out options available on and off and campus.



Given the season, with March madness upon us and the Huskies still alive in the NIT (the "Not Invited Tournament), I thought it would only be appropriate to look back on my college habits the way I got through so many boring classes: Bracketology. I determined many important things, like my favorite comedians and movie characters, simply by seeding them all, placing them in a large bracket, and having them "play" each other until a winner was determined. It begs to reason the same would work to determine not necessarily the best food on campus, but what establishments caused my belly to bust. We'll do four regions, four "teams" per instead of 16 (otherwise this blog would go on forever). Without further ado...



The Wing Region


Matchup: #1 Wings over Storrs vs. #4 Wings Express


Wings over Storrs opened by freshman year and quickly became the source for wings. So much so, my buddy Bill and I once held a wing tournament to determine our favorite flavor. The big winner: Golden BBQ, over Teriyaki in the final. Wings Express, meanwhile, quickly lost favor.


Winner: Wings over Storrs


Matchup: #2 Bidwell Tavern vs. #3 Red Rock


Every UConn or ECSU student knows the legend of Bidwell's wings. Located a few miles off campus, the tavern was a bit of a field trip, but the flavors were fantastic. Dry rub or sauce, Bidwell's wings were the topic of epic poetry. Red Rock had some good wings in its own right, but compared to Bidwell, it didn't stack up. Winner: Bidwell


Regional Final: #1 Wings over Storrs vs. Bidwell Tavern



As great as Bidwell was, it was simply too far away to frequently clog my arteries. Wings, on the other hand, was right off campus and delivered until the wee hours of the morning. Today, I'd choose Bidwell in a heartbeat, but when you're a campus-stuck student, convenience is key.


Winner: Wings over Storrs



The Pizza/Calzone/Grinder Region



Matchup: #1 Willington Pizza vs. #4 Sgt. Pepperoni



Like Bidwell, Willington Pizza was a bit of a hike, but it was pretty darn good. However, it was a bit overseeded, the Duke of this bracket, you might say. Sgt. Pep's didn't have the greatest pizza, but the calzones were fantastic, and again, location counts for something. I'm calling the upset. Winner: Sgt. Pep's



Matchup: #2 DP Dough vs. #3 Ted's Grinders



As chicken cutlets go, I'm still dreaming of Ted's. Whether parmed or merely cheesed, the sandwiches were amazing. But DP Dough is an institution, and over the course of four years, I probably spent more on cheap quality calzones than I did on textbooks (just kidding Mom). Winner: DP Dough



Regional Final: #2 DP Dough vs. #4 Sgt. Pepperoni



Sgt. Pep's made a mean calzone, but you had to get inventive. DP Dough took care of the creativity and got you anything you could possibly imagine. My heart hurts just thinking about it. Winner: DP Dough

The "International" Region

Matchup: #1 Chang's Garden vs. #4 Tin Tsin

I am pretty sure the latter no longer exists, and anyone who ever had the eggroll-related indigestion knows that's not necessarily a bad thing. Chang's Garden made a great sesame chicken and usually had more friendly delivery people. Easy victory here. Winner: Chang's Garden

Matchup: #2 Chuck's/Margaritas vs. #3 Angellino's

Both these were popular places for when the parents came up to visit. I didn't develop my full love for Mexican food until I made it to the West Coast, but Margarita's was always a great place for trumpet section dinners. Winner: Chuck's/Margaritas

Regional Final: #1 Chang's Garden vs. #2 Chuck's Margaritas

As great as Chang's was, cheese is an awkward thing to add to Chinese food. With Mexican, on the other hand, it's one of the three major ingredients. Mmmmm, quesadillas. Winner: Chuck's/Margaritas

The Dining Services Region

Matchup: #1 South Dining Hall vs. #4 Towers Dining Hall

South was the standard for all you-can-gain dining. That place had stuffing every night, a full grill, ice cream, dessert stand, comfort food, pizza, and I think occasionally a violinist would serenade you and your friends while you ate. Towers got points for its Grab and Go (where I worked senior year) and for its kosher dining station, but head-to-head with South, it's like like 2004 Huskies taking on the 2010 Huskies. Winner: South Dining Hall

Matchup: #2 Jonathan's vs. #3 WEBB Site Grab and Go

This is a battle. Both places were great for stocking your dorm room pantry. Tell me if this sounds familiar: two weeks left in the semester, 48 meals left on the plan. Time to hit the grab-and-gos for all the Powerade, chips, and brownies you could bag. I heard Jonathan's might no longer be around, but it wins this battle by merit of onion rings and chicken dippers. Winner: Jonathan's

Regional Final: #1 South Dining Hall vs. #2 Jonathan's

South was the destination for every preseason band meal and many dinners year-round. Jonathan's was the cap to every AEPi chapter meeting. Between the two establishments, my cholesterol frequently threatened to punch me in the face. But Jonathan's didn't have all-you-can-eat stuffing or soft-serve machines. Word of advice: don't mix up the two. I do not recommend a cone full of Stove Top. Winner: South Dining Hall

So the "Fattening Four" stage is set. In one semifinal, we've got Wings over Storrs battling DP Dough. In the other, it's South Dining Hall vs. Chuck's/Margarita's. Who will win? Check back later this week, and maybe you can influence the matchups by voting via the comment section.



One things for sure: it's a miracle my waistline ever survived the UConn calorie gauntlet. In retrospect, I was lucky I only gained 45 pounds.




No great tournament would be complete without STATS!



Days until wedding: 119.
Pounds lost in Week 29: 1.8
Total weight lost: 64.6 lbs
Progress toward 60-pound goal: 107.67 percent
Progress toward new 80-pound goal: 80.75 percent
Weight left to lose before hitting new goal: 15.4 pounds
Body Fat: 21 percent. Apparently, that's within the range of an average adult my height.
Last time my body fat was "average": Week 33 as a fetus
Blog Subscribers: 46.
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 29
My tournament bracket: shredded. Why, oh why, do I keep picking Kansas?

Melon Equilibrium

I'm not kidding, that boy's head is like Sputnik; spherical but quite pointy at parts! Now that was offside, wasn't it? He'll be crying himself to sleep tonight, on his huge pillow. --"So I Married an Axe Murderer"


If word ever spreads that I'm in some sort of coma, you can bet it has something to do with a self-inflicted head injury.


I've been bumping my head on a regular basis for the past six months. My balance has been off, and for the first time in many years, my equilibrium is in a state of flux.


In truth, Sputnik is a little too small to accurately describe the size of my noggin. I have always had a huge cranium, even before the days when my body mass caught up to me. As a kid, I had that whole Pez dispenser thing going on. While I couldn't deliver candy from my neck, the effect was basically the same.


As I gained weight, my head became more proportional. I still had a massive head, and there were plenty of people who never let me forget it. Case in point: as a high school senior, I took a creative writing class. One day, the lesson focused on metaphors and similes. When asked for an example, one particular wise guy grinned smugly and said "Matt's head is as big as Europe."


Interesting choice of words. I don't know how that geography would work, i.e. if my nose were, say, Switzerland, my left ear Poland, and my right ear Ireland. I just know that my head is large, and for those wishing to buy me a gift, I would suggest not going with a fitted baseball cap.


Yet as a big guy, my head was proportional to the rest of my body. The same goes for my facial features. I had bigger ears than many of my classmates, but they seemed to fit me well. The same goes for the nose; while certainly not to the level of Steve Martin in "Roxanne," it's definitely on the larger side. Yet since the rest of me was also oversized, few people would ever look at me and mutter about the size of my schnoz.


My weight loss is up to about 63 pounds. And as much of me is shrinking in a good way, like my waistline and chest, there are other parts that cannot get smaller. As such, my head is starting to look ginormous again, and I've started to be a little subconscious about my ears.


The proportions, however, aren't the real problem. It's the balance. To put it bluntly, my melon's equilibrium is in a funk, and I'm in danger of getting juiced.


Here are just a few examples, all from within the time period of when I began Weight Watchers...


-Several instances of striking my forehead against the door frame of a car. I'd like to think it would just be misjudging the berth of someone else's vehicle, and certainly many of the bonks have been courtesy of Megan's car, but my own Camry has gotten a few good shots on my skull as well. And I've been driving that car for three years now.


-About a month ago, I was sitting at the dining room table at Megan's parents' house. I got up too quickly and forgot about the chandelier hanging overhead. I bumped my cranium right into one of the lamps, which, and there are witnesses to back me up, actually got brighter after making considerable contact with my head.


-Today, I was bringing a load of groceries in from the car. I opened the screen door to the apartment and nailed myself right between the eyes. My head still hurts, and the welt to prove it.


Am I truly worried? Well, not really, but one of these times, I'm going to knock myself out. A concussion is a respectable injury for a quarterback, but just for some goofball carrying groceries inside the house, it's not something to really brag about.


I'm not done yet with losing weight (at the very least, I'm hopeful to keep up the progress). I just hope I'm not going to have to start wearing a bike helmet everywhere I go.


When he hits his head, Roger Rabbit sees stars. I hit mine, and all I see are STATS!

Weeks until wedding: 21.
Pounds lost in Week 28: 0.6
Total weight lost: 62.8 lbs
Percentage toward 60-pound goal: 104.67 percent
Percentage toward new 80-pound goal: 78.5 percent
Weight left to lose before hitting new goal: 17.2 pounds.
Blog Subscribers: 46. No change from last week.
Consecutive weigh-ins without gaining weight: 28. I'm liking this streak. (just be glad I'm not streaking).
UConn men's NCAA hopes: nil.
And the UConn women: Shouldn't they just get a bye to the final game?
Weight of average person's head: 8 pounds, according to the kid in "Jerry Maguire."
Weight of my head: Guessing about 42 pounds.

Poolside phobia

It's been quite a while since I allowed the sun to have direct access to my bare chest, outside of the privacy of a fenced backyard.

How long, you might ask? There's a photo of taken circa 1989 that shows me on a beach in Cape Cod. There's little 7-year-old Matt, holding a little pail and a shovel, smiling goofily while wearing a red bathing suit.

And that picture represents the last time I ever let anyone take a photo of me with my shirt off. Hell, come to think of it, that photo might be the last time I've been shirtless in public. Maybe not, but it's been about 15 years since I felt remotely comfortable removing my shirt in front of the prying eyes of strangers, especially girls.

I hate my torso. I have since 9th grade gym class, when I overheard a nasty comment made by a classmate in the locker room. From that day forward, I was the kid who changed for gym class by sneaking into the bathroom stall. I didn't even like bearing my upper arms. In fact, I've had college roommates who have never seen me barechested. I really am that modest.

The worst days of all were gym classes in the swimming pool. Middletown High had a nice Olympic sized pool, a venue where many of my friends have swum for the team and had absolutely no qualms about strutting around in Speedos. To me, however, that pool represented the greatest of my phobias... a place where I would be required to shed my shirt and allow classmates (boys and girls) to see me in my most shameful state.

There were three strategies to employ to overcome this phobia....

1. Change really quickly into the bathing suit and jump into the pool before any of the girls had left their own locker room (worked once or twice before disaster).

2. Wear a shirt into the water and look like the typical fat kid afraid to take off his shirt (hide the skin? Yup, but quite immasculating).

3. Tell Mom that the chlorine in the pool irritated my skin, resulting in a note to the gym teacher (fantastic success rate, but total bull).

Hot summer days were especially tough. By high school, I was not only ashamed of my body's appearance, but also of the way I sweated. As a result, my typical summer wardrobe was a black t-shirt, even on the beach or poolside. Yeah, the black hid the sweat, but oy, the heat and the idiocy of being "that guy."

The farmer's tan, however, was always spectacular.

Swimming pools were so tempting, yet so scary. They offered friends, girls, and chicken fights involving those girls and your friends. Shirts, however, weren't exactly recommended attire. My solution to this problem was to either watch pathetically from the side, or to sit on the edge of the pool with my feet dipped into water, pretending that I didn't want someone to push me in fully clothed.

So now, let's fastforward to the present. I still have some work to do on my body before I feel exactly "beach ready," but the clock is ticking. Why? Well, the honeymoon has been booked, and Megan and I are headed on a Caribbean cruise. It's something I've wanted to do for years. The last time I cruised, it was the Disney variety and I was in 5th grade. I still remember the private island in the Bahamas when I was standing in a lagoon. A large fish swam by my leg. Curious, I turned to my father...

"Dad, what was that?"

"Uh, that was a barricuda."

"... I'm getting out of the water now."

Despite the incident, I've been eager to go again. This time, I'll be a bit older and on my honeymoon (though I still would be happy to see Donald Duck on board). I'll be married, so there won't be any pressure to impress anyone at poolside.

But will the shades of embarassment still be there? Will I still shy away from the sun and hide my torso safely behind a t-shirt and out of view of the fellow cruisers?

Nope.

Look out, Princess Cruises. I'm much lighter, sweating far less than I did in high school, and hopefully by the time we embark, I'll be as cut as I've ever been in my life. And, when I get to the pool, the t-shirt is landing on the deck.


P.S. I have no intention of counting points while on the cruise liner. Diet be damned, I'm laying waste to that buffet...

Super, Svelte Sixty....

For the first time since I started writing this blog, a cute intro is escaping me. I'm having trouble coming up with a witty one-liner to hook you in, and for someone who writes for a living, being short on words is not something very familiar.



But then again, neither is successful weight loss, at least not a goal that at one time seemed so far away and so difficult.



And now, exactly six months after I first stepped on a Weight Watchers scale and four and a half months before I hoped to approach this mark, perhaps I should leave it to three little words to tell the story.



I did it.



I did it, the guy who has struggled with his weight for so much of his life that the idea of diet and exercise seemed so frightening.



I did it, the guy nicknamed "Griff" in the college marching band due to his resemblance to the Family Guy.



I did it, the guy who still gets upset when he remembers being punched in the stomach by "friends" on the basketball court.



I did it, they guy who regularly hides from cameras, is afraid to remove his shirt at the beach, and who used to wonder whether XXL shirts were too small.



Holy crap, Matthew Engelhardt has officially lost more than 60 pounds.



Indeed, my One Shining Moment is here. And I must say, it feels pretty darn good.



I don't know if I've ever followed through with anything like I did on this little challenge of mine. Then again, I've never had this level of support in my life, nor such a reason to want to lose weight. You can scare people all you want with threats of diabetes, heart disease, and all the other scary terms doctors lob at overweight patients.



I needed some more motivation, and I found it in pending marriage. Then I found even more motivation by keeping this blog and worrying about making a fool of myself. Whatever the motivation was, it worked, and if it can happen to me, it can literally can happen to anyone (sorry for the moment of hokiness).



I'll never forget the feeling from Thursday. Megan and I had some wedding stuff to take care of in the afternoon which made attending the regular Weight Watchers meeting impossible. I found a meeting nearby to work, and after one last gym excursion, I found myself wandering into an unfamiliar building filled with faces who had never seen me before.





Six months ago, it took all sorts of coddling to get me into a Weight Watchers meeting. On Thursday, I went by myself, wearing a pair of nylon shorts in front of a group of total strangers.





There was no fanfare, no buildup, just me waiting in line. I stepped on the scale, the woman wrote down my weight, informed me I'd lost three pounds this week (thanks, food poisoning!), congratulated me, and gave me my twelfth five-pound star. With a smug grin on my face, I headed back to work, stopping to buy a baked good for the first time in months, and felt great.





Fittingly for a movie geek like me, it happened just before the Oscars. Aside from cutting down the nets at the Final Four, I've always thought winning an Academy Award would be the greatest thing imaginable. But while I'll never be able to dunk any basketball made by Nerf, and they don't give out Oscars for most Lord of the Rings references in a single conversation, I do have weight loss bling to show off.





So like an Oscar recipient, here are a few thank yous. To Megan, of course, for the motivation and all that comes next. To my parents for getting behind me and Megan's parents for joining in. To Katie, the group leader, and the trainers at the gym, and my coworkers who gave me a supportive ear.





But the most enjoyable part of it all has been this blog. As much as the exercise has done me well, so has writing, and I've been delighted to hear that some people have taken a bit of inspiration.





And I'm not done yet. Sixty pounds feels super and svelte, but there's much more Matt that needs to disappear. So I'll be back at the game come Monday, on the arc trainer burning away the calories and diligently counting my points. There's no reason to stop, so for now, we'll just push up the bar a little higher. Eighty pounds is the new goal, and we're off to one helluva head start...





And with that, here are the most satisfying STATS I've ever posted:

Weeks until wedding: 22.

Pounds lost in Week 27: 3.0

Total weight lost: 62.2 lbs

Percentage toward 60-pound goal: 104 percent

Percentage toward new 80-pound goal: 78 percent

Weight left to lose before hitting (initial) goal: none

Weight left to lose before hitting new goal: 17.8 pounds. Time for one last piece of carrot cake.

Blog Subscribers: 46. Approaching the half century mark!

UConn's bubble status: not looking so hot.

Matt in a plain white T-shirt: looking much hotter than 6 months ago.