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According to the Center for Disease Control”s BMI Calculator, I’m teetering on the edge of overweight.  The CDC tells me that I should be between 108 and 145 lbs.  I’m 143 with no cap in sight.

More important than any number, I feel gross. I feel blubbery and uncomfortable. The ‘Pants Dance’ is required to get into newly washed jeans and the last time I had to wear a bikini was probably the beginning of an anxiety disorder.

There are two options: grow six inches taller or drop the weight. While continuing to hold out hope that the growth spurt I never had in high school is on the horizon, the reality of the situation is that I need to lose 20 pounds.

20 lbs.  = 4 reams of paper
20 lbs. = $400 in quarters
20 lbs. = a car tire
20 lbs. = back fat, fanny pack, saddle bags, muffin top, and rolls:

(It’s a harsh dose of reality to post these. Plus, before and after pictures are a reward in and of themselves.)

In addition to issues of will power and motivation, there’s another dashingly handsome issue: TB loves unhealthy food. Loooooves it.  It took a while, but I finally convinced him that we should go Clean in 2014 (a catchy name never hurts.) Only whole, organic, healthy food and drink with a gracious 1.5 years to gear up and eat as badly as he wants.

Then S got cancer.

And Clean in ’14 became Clean in ’13 (whew, the catchy name still works.)  In negotiating this with TB, Clean in ’13 was modified to bridge the gap and the 80/20 model was born. 80% clean, 20% dirty.  Baby steps.