One middle-aged's man's attempt to shed the blubber and return to fitness he previously [previously] enjoyed
Amazingly, soon I will reach 37 years of age. I say amazingly simply because endless hurdles have been placed in my way to prevent me from reaching such a perilous age, including the initial set back of being declared "dead-in-the-womb" shortly before my [caeserian] birth. I used to be fat. Okay, so I'm fat now, but I used to be REALLY fat. From the age of eleven, my weight forever matched my age. At twenty-four I finally gathered the wherewithal to get off my chubby butt and do something about it, and I did. In 1991 I shed 154 pounds! It took me a whole year, but it the pain of limited calorific intake was something I just had to accept. My target had been 182 pounds, but I eventually dropped to 180 (but didn't sustain it for long). This from a beginning of 336 pounds.
I kept the weight off for years, due to a discovered love of exercise. I cycled, jogged, played badminton and frequented the gym. I got married and fathered a couple of sprogs. Everything in my life improved tremendously.
Then I made a mistake. I took a job that virtually doubled my salary. The downside was it took me from my friends and family. I'd work away during the week, coming home at weekend. The job was fine - best I've ever had, but the life it caused me to lead was not for me. I couldn't quit because my family needed the money, but solace came through food and - more predictably - alcohol. The exercise vamooshed, and the pounds began to creep back on.
Then I got another job! My salary was raised and I could go home at nights. But once again I hit a set-back, this time in the form of mental illness. I was diagnosed as suffering from clinical depression. One of the upshots of this meant I lost weight, but once diagnosed, the drugs I was given increased my appetite and again I shoved on excess blubber.
It was a while but I managed to climb out of the pit, but then, in November last year I suffered another punch-in-the-gut when I lost someone I loved very deeply. I subsituted my lost friend with a new/old friend, Mr Alcohol, and still I increased in weight.
That's my sob-story but I know I've only myself to blame. If I possessed the maturity to handle dire situations in better ways I know I wouldn't be sitting here weighing close to 250 pounds. I want to be close to 180 pounds again, and I want to be fit. I'm fortunate in being a big bloke, so I can wear the weight well, and despite my size I'm still reasonably fit, but its not enough. No fads, no Atkins, no Weight-Watchers. Just eating less, eating sensibly and exercising regularily. Doesn't sound too hard, does it? Oh, and NO BEER 
So, it's the 20th of June, 2004. Father's day in the UK. This is my final day of laziness, I hope!