Let's Talk about ...

Let's talk about my waistline.

Let's not.

Well, maybe just a little?

I was thinking the other night about something my father had done, years ago, that surprised me. I was in high school, and we were out at the Sears store at Southgate Plaza. (My parents loved Sears--got the catalogs, etc. Had the charge plates--no cards in those days.)

We were getting me some new pants. And at the men's section, the clerk, hearing my dad's request, asked what size. And my dad--without batting an eyelid--said: "30-30." Thirty-inch waist, thirty-inch inseam.

How did he know that? I had absolutely no idea about my, uh, measurements.

I didn't even try them on. Took them home. Fit perfectly. Oh, the things dads know!

I haven't seen that first thirty (the waistline) in quite a bit. Once I got into my twenties I started adding weight pretty steadily. At one point, my waistline reached a thirty-six.

And at that point one day, I ran into one of my grad school profs at Kent State. "How you doing, Fatter-Than-Me?" he asked.

I couldn't punch him. So I went on a diet. And was, after some months, back into pants very nearly a thirty. My weight had gone from 195 to 150.

Since then--that was in the 1970s--I've been up and down--never back to a thirty-six; a thirty-four is about all I'll tolerate.

I'm wearing thirty-threes right now, and it's difficult to maintain for a few reasons: (1) I'm older; (2) I'm on a med that has a weight-gain side-effect; (3) I have trouble exercising now--my balance is terrible, so I have stopped going out to the gym (which for years had been a fairly daily routine) until my doctors, who are somewhat otherwise occupied these days, can figure out what's going on; (4) I'm home-bound by the virus (Joyce and I try to walk a mile a day).

But I'm being careful about what I eat--no seconds, no desserts, no snacks--but I can tell from my cruel belt that I'm not exactly holding steady. I mean, I'm  not ballooning, but things are getting ... tighter.

Our daily diet is healthful, too: low-fat, low-cholesterol. NOT low-carb: I love my sourdough bread too much, though I eat only a couple of slices a day.

I've been on all kinds of diets over the decades. And all of them worked--until they didn't (i.e., I stopped). But the one that's always worked the best for me? Eat less, exercise more.

Well, I'm doing the first part, but the second part is very hard right now.

And, of course, I have a genetic history that makes weight gain even more easy. My dad put on weight easily--as did his brothers. It's probably why we survived, you know? We could store it up for the lean seasons.

But in modern American life for a middle-class guy like me there is no longer a "lean season."

And so my daily battle with the belt-line continues--a battle, as I'm fully aware, so many people around the world--here and everywhere--can never imagine during their daily struggles for food, for the sustenance that is their hope, their salvation.

I now feel ashamed, writing about this "problem" of mine.

So I'll stop ...