I’ve lost 65 pounds, as of today. After I’ve lost one more pound, I will have lost an amount of weight equal to twenty-two 3 lb. cans of Crisco. When I visualize what that stack of cans of pure vegetable shortening looks like, I’m frankly stunned that I was carrying that much extra weight around on my body.
It’s about the weight of eight gallons of water. It’s the weight of a small child. It’s the weight of a female Chinese gymnast. It’s a bit over four and a half stone, for our friends in the U.K.
It has slowed me down, hurt my back, hurt my feet and knees, and made me uncomfortable for years. It has probably shortened my life. It has made me huff and puff to get up a single flight of stairs. It has made me miserable, self-conscious, and has kept me from doing many things I would have loved to do. It has made me avoid even gentle hills on my bike.
With that weight gone, bike riding has been more enjoyable—I can deal with hills that I would have avoided a few months ago, and I can ride faster and farther. By next summer, I fully expect to be able to squeeze my butt into a pair of biking shorts without getting big laughs.
I’m not there yet; by my reckoning, I’ve got about 17 more cans of lard to lose before I am at what I would consider a pretty normal weight for someone my height. But the fact that I’ve lost 22 of those rascals so far makes me believe it just might be possible.