Fat or Fit?

Many years ago I worked with a Warrant Officer in Germany who was a shade... er... portly. Nice guy, very gentlemanly, almost old-fashioned you might say now.

At some point he decided that he would visit the Medical Officer for advice.
On returning to the Squadron he told me that he had asked the MO how to lose weight and get fit. The MO's response was, "Which do you want, Mike? You want to lose weight or get fit?"
Mike was puzzled, "Are they not one and the same thing?"
The MO laughed and said, "They are completely different. There are Rugby players out there who are fat but fit as fleas. There are also thin guys who are extremely unfit. Choose."

There is, on 'Facebook', a dear soul who has a myriad children and yet is superbly fit. Up until a short time ago, when an operation stopped her, she was also doing these 'Spartan' competitions and running through mud and stuff.
Now she is working hard to get herself back to supreme fitness in a pre-operation condition.
Stirling lady.

Another person on 'Facebook' is of similar ilk but, instead of doing physical competitions involving ropes, nets, sundry obstacles and mud, works strenuously hard to appear in competitions of a rather more glamorous nature. She is slim, shapely and stunning. She also has children.

Where do these people get the time?
There is, obviously, the same number of hours in each day for them as there is for everyone else and yet...

I am in awe of these souls.

I am in awe especially now when I have decided, at long last, to lose weight.
You might say, and quite rightly so, too, that at my age it is all a bit pointless. The probability is that I have little time remaining to me so why not continue in my current lifestyle and enjoy myself?

In 1970 I stopped drinking alcohol. Did I feel better for it? Was my wallet fatter as a result? Neither of these things was obvious.
I received a lot of abuse for not drinking. Comments like, "Do you make your own dresses?" were commonplace especially in the Sergeant's Mess where you were expected to drink yourself into a stupor frequently.
Apparently only real men drink.

In 1997 my youngest son, he was four, asked me to stop smoking. He said that he did not want me to die. A commendable suggestion that enticed me into screwing up my cigarette packet and hurling it into the bin with the oath, "No more!"
I have not smoked since.
Do I feel better for it? Is my wallet fatter? No. Neither of these things were apparent.
Am I fatter? Oh, yes!

The other morning I entered the bathroom and then, as one does, removed my clothing. Not a pretty sight, you might agree. My wife is made of strong stuff!
Looking in the mirror it dawned on me that, many years ago, I had a six-pack. Now I have a layer of fat that obscures it.
I worked out that I am carrying about twenty-five two pound bags of sugar around with me and tried to imagine holding that much sugar in my ams and then going up the stairs.

As a result of that I have started a diet. There are many diets out there and some are, undoubtedly, better than others.
The one I have selected is to go without potatoes (including chips!), bread, rice and to have all my meat and fish grilled, baked, roasted or steamed.
Some people have given me various advice - including moderation, but my mind is made up. This is how it will be initially. Perhaps, later, it may be modified, perhaps not. We shall see.

Getting fitter?
I already have the biggest keyboard I can find.