When I was 31, I was so thin that if I turned sideways, people thought I'd left the room. I was 6' 5" tall, but I weighed only 150 pounds. Over the years this changed, dramatically. Recently I weighed 276 pounds, and if I turned sideways, I looked like Alfred Hitchcock (for older readers), or a sumo wrestler (for the younger crowd). I had, in effect, donned a perpetual backpack, with 125 pounds of stones in it. And I was carrying it around with me, 24/7.
This summer, my beloved wife Marci and I took a long trip, by rented car, through the West. August 15 - 24. On the trip my stomach started to diminish, more than somewhat. "What the......?" I thought to myself. "What was happening on this trip that was different than when we were back home?" Suddenly I realized, "Milk." I wasn't drinking any milk. Sat down that night in Helena, Montana, and did some figuring. I had been drinking an enormous amount of milk: 4 gallons of 1% per week. In a year, that was 200 gallons. A visual image popped into my mind: a conveyor belt, with 200 gallon-bottles of milk, all to be consumed by me. Yikes!
I realized the stuff tasted good, and made for strong bones, but clearly I was addicted to it. I wondered, do they have the equivalent of an AA meeting for milk addicts? "Hello, my name is Dick. I'm a milk-aholic. I haven't had a drink since August 15th."
I dunno. Anyway, I made up my own group. Haven't touched the stuff since I woke up. I've lost 16 pounds in three weeks, and expect my weight to continue to go down.
Ah, the benefits of kicking the stuff. I can start fitting into clothes that had applied for unemployment. My blood pressure, which was 210/110 not that long ago, is now down to 100/70. My vanity, wounded every time I would look in the mirror, now is beginning to heal. Things are really looking up. And I'm no longer looking down. At the stomach, that used to be.