Canter Bridge

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So here I am, middle-aged and a little too rotund, when along comes a guy friend almost as middle aged and nearly as rotund who challenges me to a one-year fat-off competition.

Being a Guy Thing, this is not about mutual encouragement or any healthy kind of accountability. This is war, with all the mutual humiliation that goes with such unrelenting hostility.

So every morning, I roll out of bed and into my bathroom to do what all the Weight Loss Gurus tell you never to do: weigh myself daily.

The result is steadily decreasing poundage and a horizontal trendline on the body fat index.

What a tool!

We’re only two and half months into a year-long campaign, but the outcome is already in view. My friend is toast. He doesn’t have the willpower, the desperation, or the Tanita 2202 scale waiting for him every morning.