On a number of fronts it is probably inadvisable to announce New Year's resolutions, particularly when most of them are ones that you failed at during the previous year. But hope springs eternal, even for a realist such as myself, and so here we go.
I am not technically overweight, according to the strict definition of the term, although I'm on slippery top slope of the normal body mass index (BMI) range. Every year my family doctor gives me the one raised eyebrow and cold, knowing stare upon reading my weight on the scale, a look that becomes permanently affixed after glancing down to my muffin-top waist. He then proceeds to ask me about my exercise regime, a question he already knows the answer to but asks anyway for rhetorical emphasis. A week later my cholesterol result comes back above 200, and the change in the tone of his voice says it all: I'm on the fat train to hell.
And hence, my New Year's Resolution Number 1: lose 17 pounds, or 56,700 calories, worth of body fat. As you can tell from the chart below I have given myself a slight head start, as this morning, January 1, I clocked in at 176.2.
Here we go, 2018.
