Deflecting the monkey wrenches

Going gung ho can only last you for so long.



I guess that given the hectic pace of my life over the last few months, my immune system was due for a crash. This weight loss challenge has kept me focused on taking care of myself like never before. Free time has been spent at the gym or driving from place to place. Work has been killer lately, especially with the election. When I haven't been at work, I've spent much of my time doing homework. If that weren't enough, I took on Relay for Life, recruiting team members and hassling friends for donations (thanks again, all who helped). Plus, there's that small wedding manner that keeps coming closer week by week.



But the semester was wrapping up. The election was over, and Relay for Life came to a successful close. Surely, now was the best time to rededicate myself to exercise, helping out more at home, and taking a moment to catch my breath.



Enter the cold season. I should have expected this. Almost like clockwork, every November I seem to get sick. Not clutching myself into a ball, praying to deities for relief, and filling out a last will and testament sick, but ill enough to put me on the shelf for a couple of days. No, it's not the dreaded swine flu, just a seasonal cold, but nonetheless, I've spent many moments this week feeling sorry for anyone who's had to listen to me cough. (oh, there's my lung!)



My reaction to getting sick has been much different this year, however. Instead of worrying about having to take a sick day, whether I should call or doctor, or trying to protect loved ones from contracting whatever is ailing me, my biggest annoyance has been my inability to get to the gym. I've woken up in the morning feeling well enough to say, "alright, I'm not wheezing, if I still feel this good by the end of the day, it's to the stair machine!" Three hours later, as I eat my 34th cough drop of the day (how many points for mentholyptus? Is that even a word?), I'm still holding out hope for a brief workout. By the end of the work day, I'm too tired to think about anything but a nap, and it's only when I steer my car toward the route home and instead of toward the gym that I start to get mad.



I had intended for this to be a great week. I mean, fantastic progress, like another five-pound star and perhaps a contract to start training contestants on The Biggest Loser. It was set up perfectly, and with all the walking I did at Relay on Saturday, I would make sure my flat status of last week wouldn't happen again. But when you're body is too weak, you have to listen, and this I spent most of me free time in bed or being tended to by my beautiful live-in nurse.



I guess that's the thing about trying to lose weight. There are always going to be monkey wrenches thrown your way, factors you can't see in advance. This week, it was a cold. Maybe in a few weeks it'll be something else. You have to be able to improvise and take what comes at you. I'm learning that now. So, instead of busting my rear, I was anal retentive about counting my points and staying on plan.



My reward: a good week after all. Perhaps not interview with Oprah- worthy, but I still dropped a few pounds this week. And, with any luck and some more chicken soup, maybe this cold will pass and I'll be back amongst the gym rats within a few days.



At least chicken soup is low in calories. It's a good thing that New England Clam Chowder isn't considered a good cold remedy.



STATS!

Weeks until wedding: 36
Week 11 pounds lost: 2.2
Total weight lost: 32.4
32.4 rounds to: 32
Famous athletes who wore #32: Karl Malone, Magic Johnson, Rip Hamilton, The Mailman, Sandy Koufax, Jim Brown, Karl the Mailman Malone, Shaq, Karl Malone, and Matt Engelhardt, during his summers at Fundamental Basketball Camp that he attended in elementary school. The name on the back of his shirt: the Mailman. Ya, I need help.
Average weight loss per week: 2.9
Percentage of overall 60-pound goal: 54 percent
Pounds remaining to lose: 27.6
Number of subscribers to this blog: 21
Number last week: 20. Still willing to accept dares.
Things that impede typing: cats in lap
Evidence that I should stop filling my pockets with tuna fish: frequency of cats in lap. Seriously. this freakin' cat won't leave me alone.
Pictures of progress: coming soon. I promise.

How to succeed in weight loss without really trying...

In response to the title of this entry, the truth is that it's impossible.

No, it's not impossible to pull off losing weight. However, after what was my first "flat" week. I know now that I have to devote all myself to making this happen. Short cuts won't work, and I must stay focused.

And like all important lessons in life, it makes the most sense when you learn from experience. Of course, it would have been much easier to have learned from the musical from which this entry title owes its thanks.

When I was 14, the middle school drama club took a trip to the Bushnell to see a traveling performance of the revival of "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying." Matthew Broderick had thrived in the revival, but since this was the traveling tour, we were treated to a true master thespian in the lead role of J. Pierrepont Finch. Forget Ferris Bueller, we had Daniel LaRusso. That's right. Ralph friggin' Macchio was singing and dancing. Thankfully, I avoided the urge to yell "Wax on, wax off" or launch crane kicks from the balcony.

Here's a brief synopsis: Finch-san (it is Macchio, after all) starts as a window washer and gets his hands on a book conveniently also titled "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying." It's basically a self help guide that he follows carefully, and before long, his overalls have been traded for a suit, and instead of a scaffold, he's in the board room.

But things aren't all peanut butter cups and llama races. He finds himself as VP of advertising, a dead-end for all who dare take on the position. He screws up badly, all the advice in the book is rendered useless, and if not for a happy ending, Finch would have been fired. All is well in the end, of course, and everyone is better for their experiences. Now let's go watch those llamas race.

So let's rewrite the story to apply to my little weight loss quest. Macchio is now playing me (ha ha, YES!). I'm trying to lose 60 pounds, and Weight Watchers has become my little guide. But at some point, I decide I can succeed without help from the program, and I stop counting my points. My reasoning: I've been working out so much and burning so many calories that it doesn't matter if my eating habits are a little off.

Except last week they were more than a little off. Halloween happened, and with it came fun-sized Snickers. Even more dangerous was Election Night, where in return for working til 2:30 a.m., the newspaper sprang for pizza. Plus, fellow staffers brought in chocolate cake and apple pie. It was a trifecta of temptation, and one I thought I could breeze through.

So at weigh-in on Thursday, I was expecting another good week. And yet, nothing. No loss. No gain either, but the pessimist in me can only find disappointment.

The leader is encouraging. She's said before that there will be difficult weeks and plateaus, but my momentum was such that I didn't think it applied to me. Now I realize I've become a typical Weight Watcher: obsessed with the scale, concerned over mere decimal points, and eager for quick results.

It's not going to be that easy. I can't just rely on treadmills and stair machines, especially considering that the gauntlet of Thanksgiving and the December holidays are upon us. The group leader tells us to refine our goals, to keep counting points as much as we can bear, and do our best to stay focused. By Thanksgiving dinner, I want to have some more results. And, if possible, by the time 2010 rolls in and the Resolutes hit the Weight Watchers and crowd the gym locker rooms, I want to be able to say I made it through with my waste intact, if not a little smaller.

It's going to get harder. Continuing on the Karate Kid theme, the holidays are the Cobra Kai. That makes Santa Claus Johnny Lawrence, and though I wouldn't like to have to kick Santa in the face, I should be prepared to defend myself from all chocolates shaped like him.

Before stats, I just wanted to thank everyone who supported the JI News Cycle at Relay for Life. We had more walkers than I expected, and we exceeded our $1,200 goal. Great thanks to everyone who came out on Saturday, and I was delighted with what we accomplished.

I'm starting the stat machine.... NOW!

Weeks until wedding: 37
Week 10 pounds lost: 0 (none gained, though. Yep, grasping at straws here)
Total weight lost: 30.2
Average weight loss per week: 3.02 pounds
Percentage of overall 60-pound goal: 50.333333333333 percent
Pounds remaining to lose: 29.666666666667
Number of subscribers to this blog: 20
Number last week: 18. If we get to 50 by the New Year, I'll take on some dares. Write them in the comment section.
Number of time Ralph Macchio played Daniel LaRusso: 3 (4 if you count the video for "Sweep the Leg")
Sad but true: They're doing a Karate Kid remake, called "Kung Fu Kid," starring Will Smith's son. The Fresh Prince himself is producing. I wish I were joking.
Other notable parts played by Ralph Macchio: Billy in "My Cousin Vinny," and that's pretty much it.
Miles walked at Relay for Life: about 4
Amount of junk food consumed that offsets walking all those miles: uh, back on the program today!

Sweatin' to the funny

"Raviolis and a nap! Raviolis and a nap! Raviolis and a nap!"



Sound like a great afternoon? Well, if you're comedian John Pinette, that is your weight loss mantra and promise of reward for surviving 45 minutes on the elliptical machine.


As entertaining as I find the gym, the music they blast over the speakers is, quite plainly, awful. Yes, Pussycat Dolls, I also "hate this part right here," so by all means, stop singing it. Britney, we know he's a womanizer. How about laying off the nicotine so you're voice doesn't sound like a 60-year-old smoker?


The iPod holds the antidote to such terrible "music." And while I love the irony of listening to show tunes while sweating through a mesh shirt (nothing inspires a hard workout quite like "The Rainbow Connection"), comedians often provide the best motivation for keeping moving. Since the inception of stand-up, comics have rattled off about fat people, being fat themselves, and how much it sucks to have to lose that fat.


So who are my go-to comics while at the gym? I'm glad you asked! In fact, here are five....


5. Lewis Black, "The White Album" or "Rules of Enragement"


The world's great rage comic has some great things to say about weight loss. Granted, Lew may be getting older, but he's far from chubby. Still, he sums up well how much he hates health clubs, preferring much more to spend his time at his own health club... the International House of Pancakes, where Black rationalizes that there's always someone there who weighs 150 more pounds than you ever will ("It's on the menu, read it some time!")


Lew's best weight-related routine: "Rules of Enragement," Health Clubs

He muses on Speedos, the idiocy of watching people watch themselves work out, and the stupidity of New Yorkers paying money to use fancy stairs.

"If you're actually spending a portion of your week watching your muscle grow, your ego's reached a point where it's eating itself."


4. Mike Birbliglia, "Two Drink Mike"


My favorite comedian, but someone who also doesn't fall into the chubby category, Mike expounds on how he's not fat, but he's definitely the kind of guy who could "really out the breaks on" naughty group activity and how hard it is to impress women at the gym when you're a scrawny white guy, and the awkwardness of water aerobics.


Mike's best weight related routine: Two Drink Mike

He jokes about worrying that participating in naughty group activity (yep, trying to keep this family friendly) would be like playing pickup basketball, where no one passes him the ball and everyone asks him to put his shirt back on. Oh, and then there's the challenge of attracting the opposite sex while at the gym...

"Check out the guy in the dress socks. I saw him do one chin-up and then fall on the ground. That is hot!"



3. Jim Gaffigan, "Beyond the Pale" or "King Baby"


Jim's a bit on the pudgy guy, but not someone you'd necessarily call fat. However, when most of your routine revolves around your love of food ("when you're hungry, the Food Network's like porn."), and you bowling proves to be an overwhelming exercise, you qualify for this list. Gaffigan gets more points for being relatively clean in his act, but still undeniably funny.


Jim's best weight-related routine: "Beyond the Pale," Eat Healthy

This could go to any of Jim's bits, but I think this one best sums up how difficult it is to lay off the junk food.

"I mean I eat kind of healthy, compared to some of the Eskimos. Up in Alaska, they're eating blubber up there. I'm practically starving myself on my Cinnabon. I mean whale blubber, that's like eating a fat guy, isn't it?"


2. Patton Oswalt, "My Weakness is Strong"


A newer edition to my list, Patton has gradually gained weight through the years, culminating with his recent special where he bemoaned what's happening to his body, traveling back in time to warn his past self not to eat fried rice for breakfast, and taking pictures of his body to be published in Discover Magazine.


Patton's best weight-related routine: Fat

He worries about the standard he is setting for his unborn daughter ("I am a walking terrible example, that's all I am"), as well as being on the border of "B-word fat," where people can tell you're overweight without even looking at you based on your pronunciation of any words starting with B.

"This year, I have to commit to losing weight or I have to become fascinated with what's happening to me, like Jeff Goldblum in "The Fly."






1. John Pinette, "I'm Starvin!"


John has personal significance to me. He was the first big name act I saw live, when I was 15 during a trip to Caroline's in New York. He was, frankly, massive, joking about getting kicked out of Chinese buffets, how skinny people ruin buffets, and how dangerous water parks are for fat people. He had me in tears/in an asthma attack as I laughed, and he has remained one of my all time favorites.

Always a talented singer, John got cast a few years ago as Edna Turnblad in the Broadway production of "Hairspray." Despite the fact that he would be playing drag, more specifically an overweight woman popularized by Harvey Fierstein's take on the part, John was instructed to shed pounds in preparation for the role.

So John found himself on diets and at the gym. What transpires is the funniest routine ever on what it's like to be the fat guy at the gym for the first time. Nothing I could possibly describe or quote can do this routine justice.


John's best weight-related routine: Getting into Shape


Where to start: how he lost 100 pounds and people responded "I can really see it in your face." Or how about wearing a black Sean John sweatsuit and realizes he looked like a panda ("I didn't know you could get this close to them)? Or his fights with personal trainers, reasoning they should reward him for lifting weights with a cheese danish? His ability to "quit the gym cold turkey then eat the cold turkey?" Looking like a giant baby while working with a fitness orb? "Raviolis and a nap," as I led this blog with? It could be any, but here's a truly great quote about a trainer's repeated asking of "how do you feel."

"I feel like God is punishing me, and if I'm a better person he'll send an angel down with a chicken pot pie and a cupcake. Now don't ask me again!"

As I close this post, I once again bring up Relay for Life. The event is coming up this weekend, and the JI is sending a team. Any donation would be very much appreciated as we take part, so here's the link again.

http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR/RelayForLife/RFLFY09National?px=13455107&pg=personal&fr_id=16250

We need your support! Whether it's a dollar or $100, every donation counts.

The 11th Hour Kamikaze

Thursdays have become my day of reckoning.

Friday is a happy day. The weigh-in is past, and the next meeting is six days away. Sure, I'll have a piece of cake! I'll just make up for it by being really good this weekend!

Saturday and Sunday are a blur. The gym is far away, so really it's on me to watch my points. But the allure of the calorific concoctions are hard to resist, especially during a season like this, when fun-sized Snickers and M&Ms offer such a small but satisfying reward. "Just a taste" turns into "hey, look how many I can fit into my mouth!", and then shame.

Monday brings the first wave of "oh, crap." The scale shows vengeance for my weekend shenanigans. Suddenly that small square of brownie doesn't seem like such a good idea.

By Tuesday, I'm convinced my week is lost. My streak is over, I think. In front of all these people, I'm going to fail. The thought is irksome and gnawing, and thus my 11th hour kamikaze begins in earnest.

The premise is simple: with mere days before the weigh-in, I will exercise to the point of killing myself. Every second at the gym seems so valuable, every deep breath important, every bead of sweat a sign that the week might not be lost. Lately, my workouts have been uberintense. Last Tuesday, I burned 1,030 calories in one workout. And I felt I should of done more.

On Wednesday, it's back on the scale. What!!!! You've got to be kidding me! I've GAINED a pound! This scale blows! ARGGGGGGHHHH! The afternoon workout is no longer to reduce stress and to stay on the plan. It's life and death. I must lose weight. I cannot lose face in front of so many people. Last Wednesday, my workout went from intense to borderline psychotic. By the time I stepped off the machine, 1,155 calories had been burned. I was winded, sweaty, and exasperated. But dammit, I could not fail.

And so Thursday comes. The scale routine, which I promised myself weeks ago that I would end, has continued. The allure is too much to avoid. I cannot be surprised. Noooo! I worked too hard! Rage proceeds. At work, all I can think about is one more workout, just 30 more minutes before it's time to face the music. I hit the gym one more time, pumping my legs as fast as I can take, urging myself in a state of asthmatic paranoia.

By the time I get home, it's not a matter of hours any more, but minutes. Did I drink enough water? Why did I eat that slice of pizza? Which pair of pants weighs less? Why, oh why, can't we just weight ourselves in our underwear and deal with that awkwardness in our way, perhaps by breaking into discussion groups? Why I am I thinking in italics?

Then we arrive at the meeting. The line seems endless. The group leader greets everyone as the members await their turn on the electronic scales. My fingernails were much longer before I got here. Oh well, so what if it is a bad habit. A little less weight with each nail I bite off!
I take the fateful step, and weight. The recorder seems to take forever to read the number. My breath is drawn in. I'm afraid to move.

"Congratulations. Another 3.2 pounds lost."

I'm all smiles now. The 11th hour kamikaze, stupid as it may be, has worked. I'm at a milestone now, more than 30 pounds down, and more than two months ahead of the goal I set to lose that much. I know I must not continue the routine like this. I must stick to the plan, count my points, and resist the Halloween candy.

But something is working. I have to be proud of what I have already accomplished. It's not time to get off-track, not with all this pressure I've put on myself. But now I have six stars on my little bookmark, a special keyring denoting I've passed the 10 percent mark of body weight lost, and pants with a smaller waist.

I have passed the halfway mark. I'd be lame to turn back or stop now. I will make this happen.

Knock, knock? Who's There? STATS!

Weeks until wedding: 38
Week 9 pounds lost: 3.2
Total weight lost: 30.2
Percentage of overall 60-pound goal: 50.333333333333 percent
Pounds remaining to lose: 29.666666666667
Number of subscribers to this blog: 18
Number last week: 17. Spread the joy!
Last time I weighed this little: sophomore year... of high school.
Part in school play during that year: Dr. Gibbs, Our Town
Dream part in any play: Tevye, Fiddler on the Roof. Tradition!
Other parts I've played: anatomically confused baby, Free to be You and Me; Werewolf Mack, Rock On!; Mr. Smee, Peter Pan; Mark Twain, Tom Sawyer; Marsellis Washburn, The Music Man; Nick Bottom, A Midsummer Night's Dream; Zebulun, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
Solo sung as Marsellis Washburn: "Shipoopi."
Respectable things about singing a song called "Shipoopi":...

Five ways adults ruin Halloween

With all due respect to Christmas, Hannukah, and every other holiday designed for children, there is no time of year quite like Halloween.

Ridiculous amounts of candy. Excuses to watch completely pointless, cheesy, and bloody movies. Seeing your classmates wear costumes that are designed for someone at least 10 years older than them.
And oh, the temptation of what is around the corner. Look around your local Target or Walmart. Near all those costumes for Bumble Bee the transformer and actual costumes for "sexy" bumble bees, retailers already have Christmas lights and other decorations just itching to go on sale. And in between is, of course, Thanksgiving, marking October 31 as not just Halloween, but also as the beginning of the overeater's gauntlet. If only kids got a day off of school, Halloween would be the greatest holiday ever (and, by the way, this year kids have it on Saturday).

But things get a little different once kids reach adulthood, and more changes than just the amount of cleavage shown by said bumble bee. So, continuing the theme of weekly lists, and inspired by daily such lists on Cracked.com, here are Five ways Adults Ruin Halloween...

5. Haunted Houses

Towns and really cool/slightly creepy neighbors often put on great displays for Halloween. In East Hartford, the Veteran's clubhouse has been completely transformed into a labyrinth of ghouls, werewolves, and demon clowns. The Haunted Graveyard at Lake Compounce started as a Middletown guy's yard display, then grew into the most frightening show this side of Salem. And for kids, what could be better than walking through a spooky house, only strobe lights and dry ice providing ambiance, and scaring a girl you have a crush on with a quick "boo!" just before a vampire jumps out at you, or more likely, a screenwriter pitches another vampire movie.

How adults screw it up: Two ways. One, the zealots who trick kids into coming into Hell Houses, attractions designed not to scare youngsters with ghosts and boogieman, but rather tales of sin and debauchery that only come to those who stray from the divine path. Second, parents who think haunted houses are too scary for their kids... or overestimate how brave their children are in reality. I would have had less sleepless nights if my folks simply understood that I was a major wuss.

4. Scary movies

One of my most vivid Halloween memories came when I was about 12. My Dad and brother decided a scary movie was in order and returned from the video store with a copy of "The Exorcist." Four two hours, I was horrified at Regan spitting the pee soup and saying things about deities that most kids ought not to hear. But that's the fun for a kid, getting to see scary movies filled with blood and sex that would otherwise be taboo any other time of year. Seriously kids, this Christmas, ask your parents to let you watch "Bad Santa," then give a plot synopsis of what you learned. You will not get any presents.

How adults ruin it: We can watch terrible movies any time of the year. Yet at Halloween, we break out the worst of the bunch, namely the "Scary Movie" series and who knows how many Michael Myers sequels, leaving us crabby and proving once again that the Wayans brothers should be banned from making films. "The Exorcist" haunts me to this day. "Scary Movie 2" just makes me feel ill.

3. Trick or Treating

Perhaps the greatest holiday tradition. It combines the two items yet to be revealed on the list, kids get plenty of exercise walking all over the neighborhood, freak out there parents by eating Snickers bars that have yet to be inspected for razor blades, and come home with pillow cases literally overflowing with sugar.

How adults ruin it: Well, the jerks who do the razor blade thing are the obvious. But really, it's parents freaking out about who lives in their neighborhood. When I was a kid, I lived in a neighborhood designed for Trick or Treating. Kids knew to hit the condos for the big candy scores, to avoid the dentist's house out of fear of receiving floss, and that Tootsie Rolls were terrible rewards for climbing long driveways. There would be hundreds of kids around, and aside from a few punks with eggs, it was good, wholesome, slightly nauseating fun. Now, parents accompany their kids everywhere, leaving Halloween as no longer a test of kids' endurance, but Mom and Dad's patience.

And extra negative points to teenagers who don't know when to give up. Here's a hint, if you're old enough that you can grow your own ugly beard instead of having to draw one one, you're too old to Trick or Treat.

2. Costumes

As a kid, Halloween was an excuse not just to overeat, but to buy a fake weapon. As I never let my parents forget, I wasn't allowed to play with fake guns. However, a pirate simply isn't complete without a sword, and so every year (when I didn't go as a pirate), I went as something that would allow me to buy a cheap plastic weapon. I collected an arsenal of swords, axes, and pitchforks, which I'd inevitably lose interest in, but still trumped the rules of the house. Plus, when you're a kid, you can be anything, from Spiderman to a hobo, and no one argues with you. It's your holiday. If you want to go as Pumbaa, go ahead.

How adults screw it up: We all know adults use Halloween costumes as an excuse to be a little naughty. It's not just the women in sexy costumes; just count how many men, particularly tough guys, use Halloween parties as an excuse to wear drag. But there are some costumes that adults shouldn't try to oversexify. Example, if you are going to a party as an American Girl Doll at a Rave, you're tarnishing precious memories of childhood. Not that I played with American Girl dolls, mind you, but I had a little sister.

Then there's the other side of the coin: people trying to pull off costumes they're not built to accommodate. Yes, I've lost some weight in recent months, but I'm not about to go to a party as a Spartan warrior from "300." That's not preparing for glory, but setting yourself up to see the most regrettable digital photos ever.

1. Candy

Butterfinger. Reese's. Nestle Crunch. M&M's. Candy Corn. Three Musketeers. Jolly Ranchers. Kit Kat...... I just drooled on my keyboard. And it's everywhere, starting the beginning of September and lasting all the way until October 31.

How Adults screw it up: Well, for one, there's the people who hand out raisins and granola instead of chocolate. Not cool. Kids are trick or treating for peanut butter cups, not for sale items at Whole Foods.

Also, we now print the calorie information on everything, and sadly I now know exactly how many calories are in each fun size Snickers. I was happier before I knew that. Frankly, I think my stomach bulged for the first time when they started printing nutritional information on bags. There are some things that go better unknown. Halloween candy is one of them.

Happy Halloween, everyone. Excuse me while I step into my Bumble Bee costume.

No longer the fat frat guy...

As much as I like to reminisce about my glorious days as a proud band nerd, there's another facet to my college life that brought me just as much fun. And, as much as some people are suprised to find, that part of me was my life in the fraternity.

At UConn, I spent four great years as a brother of Alpha Epsilon Pi. The chapter has grown considerably since I left (I hope that's coincidental), but our house in the Greek Village apparently still features the annual composite shots of the brothers.

In four straight of these composite shots, I loook like quite the rotund dork. The tight tie, the ill-fitting blue blazer... these are images I wish no one ever had access to seeing again. Yet sadly, to the new generations of AEPi, Matthew Engelhardt is the fat frat brother, the guy with the chubbiest face of any of the other brothers, and the one who no one should ever dare take on in a chicken nugget eating contest.

College is supposed to be the time in life when you look and feel your best. As for me, I now find myself a good 50-60 pounds lighter than the last time my photo was taken for the composite. Even my dreaded chins, which I blogged about hating mere weeks ago, are starting to take shape as one. I feel great now, certainly better about myself than I did five or six years ago.

This weekend, I got invited back to campus to speak about my time in the fraternity. I sat in front of 18 pledges, most of whom had only seen my picture from the composite. And of the brothers that were there, I certainly didn't expect them to notice that I was lighter, or at least ask about it. "That's something these guys probably wouldn't do," I told Megan, just before heading off to speak.

And yet, just as I opened up my mouth to speak, the chapter advisor interrupted: "Seriously, Engelhardt, how much weight have you lost?" As I looked in his direction, I heard murmurs throughout the room. Apparently, I had changed quite a bit. Even the current brothers noted, with one not so discrete brother stating something like, "yeah, you were much fatter in the composite." After nearly strangling him on general principle, I realized I might be blushing, told them my current loss, and accepted a round of snaps in recognition of the fact that yes, indeed, there's a little less Buddha to this belly.

It's an odd feeling, one I haven't gotten accustomed to yet. Instead of people silently wondering how much weight I've gained, they're speaking aloud that I look like I'm in better shape. It happens almost everywhere I go where people haven't seen me in a while. My future mother-in-law tells me I look like a different person every time I see her. My own mother is probably wondering how much money I'm going to ask for in buying new clothes.

The truth is, I still see myself as the fat guy in the composite. If things keep at this pace, and the weight continues to fall off, maybe the way I see myself will get better as well. So please, tell me if you think I'm looking slimmer. I may act embarassed on the outside (and feel that way on the inside, too), but honestly, you're helping me keep going.

I just wish I hadn't waited until after college to take on this challenge. Stupid D.P. Dough. Anyone who went to UConn understands what a few of those calzones does to your waistline.

On another note, some of you have already inquired about donating to or joining the JI News Cycle. This week, I intend to work hard at recruiting people to come aboard. I'd love to get a team of 10-15 people together, and if we can all raise $100, that's a hell of a donation to the American Cancer Society. Once again, here's the link....

http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR/RelayForLife/RFLFY09National?px=13455107&pg=personal&fr_id=16250#

Let's kick cancer in the face.

Back those stats up!

Weeks until wedding: 39
Week 6 pounds lost: .6
Total weight lost: 27
Percentage of overall 60-pound goal: 45 percent
Pounds remaining to lose: 33
Number of subscribers to this blog: 17
Number last week: 14. You guys rock, and by all means, comment!
Pounds I've lost since senior year of college: 55
Fraternal nickname: Big Pun.
Reason I gave for that nickname: I'm clever with words!
Actual reason for nickname: I was a large musician
Shame factor over actual reason for nickname: 985

A blog with a cause...

Just as any good older brother would, I had my suspicions about the man my sister fell in love with a few years ago.

Sure, they turned out to be wrong. Katie had met a good man, someone who loved her and treated her with respect. He was as different as on possibly can be from me, in terms of politics, body type, and hair (the poor bloke was always jealous of my mass of fro). Plus, he was British, and as hard as I tried to explain American football to him, he worked just as hard to teach me the wonders of cricket. I still have no idea what he was talking about, but if someone gave me one of those cool cricket bats, I think I could do damage to some intruders.

At first, however, I had my doubts about Richard. For one thing, his very name upset me. Only one person in my life is allowed to be called Richard, and that’s my Dad (note: I don't call my father by his first name, but you understand how this would be an issue). For my sister to love another man with the same name was just perverse. So, half joking and half impishly, I gave Katie’s Richard an American alias: Dicky. A good-natured guy, Dicky accepted his nickname, and to his credit, never showed any offense when I called him that.

Their relationship had been complicated, but intriguing. They met while my sister was abroad in London. Dicky was an Orthodox Jew, and though my sister’s Jewish values are more reformed or conservative, they fell in love. She came home, and with Internet video chats, they stayed in as much contact as one can for two people living on opposite sides of the ocean. He came here for Thanksgiving, she went there on other holidays, and for a while, it worked.

Yet this posting is in the past tense, and while I wish I were merely writing a tale about lovers parting ways, this story has a sad ending.

Eventually, Katie and Dicky did go their separate ways, and he found his niche when he came to the New York area to study. He fell in love again, this time marrying a fellow Orthodox Jew. He had his life together, and now he had the New York Mets, which for some unfathomable reason considering the influence of so many Engelhardts and their Red Sox loyalties, became his favorite team.

Then, one day, a stunning announcement. Katie learned that Dicky had been diagnosed with leukemia. I didn’t know how to react. He was out of her life, true, but he was her first real love. He seemed to be doing okay, getting chemo and dealing with the cancer with high spirits and great strength of faith.

About a year ago, right before Hannukah, the news reached us. He’d had some kind of setback, was rushed to the hospital, and in a moment, Dicky was gone. Richard had been younger than me, and cancer had never taken anyone so close to our family.

It is in Richard’s memory, along with the countless number of cancer victims and survivors I’ve written about as a journalist, that I invite you all to join myself and Journal Inquirer staffers in Relay for Life.

I’ve been pretty blessed in my life. Yes, I’ve been overweight since I was a kid, but now I feel good to the point of wanting to use this blog, as my newfound fitness, to promote a good cause. For those of you not familiar with Relay, it is a fundraiser for the American Cancer Society. Most events run 24 hours. This event, Nov. 7 at Pratt and Whitney in East Hartford, will go for 12.

It works like this. A team is organized, and at least person has to walk the track for the duration of the event. You switch off team members throughout, and as long as someone is walking, you’re doing well. You raise money through pledges, and the link is here:

http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR?pg=entry&fr_id=16250

I hereby invite you to take part or give to the cause. Become a member of “JI News Cycle,” or simply make a pledge to help us kick cancer in the face. Either way, I’ll be at the Pratt and Whitney Hangar Museum from noon to midnight on Saturday, Nov. 7.

I’ll be doing it for Dicky and plenty of others, and I invite you to do the same.