It's the middle of the summer, and I'm sweltering inside my tiny room on a chunk of land and water known as Cape Cod. I'm going to talk about this "paleo eating thing," and that "CrossFit thing." You know, the things I do that make my friends think I'm crazy. Or that I'll fall off the wagon in a few months. Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. I wasn't always this way. I wasn't always active, I wasn't healthy. I was everything that people pointed at when they thought of unhealthy people. Thankfully, I'd been outrunning the diabetes/cholesterol/thyroid problem, but I knew I couldn't keep that up forever. Nobody has forever, and eventually my good luck was probably going to run out.
My aunt's ran out when she was only 46 years old.
My younger brother, who was only 10 at the time -- found her dead of a heart attack. In case you're wondering, you guessed it -- she was morbidly obese. So was my father, who underwent gastric bypass some 10 years ago. He's gained almost all the weight back, but is trying desperately to change. He's even trying paleo.
I hope it works.
Clearly, the deck was stacked against me. I've only been doing this for a month and a half. I don't have a degree in nutrition, and I'm not a famous blogger or anything of the sort. I've always been a writer, and all I can hope for is that my story might resonate with someone. If I can help one person it will be enough. If I help no one but myself, it will still be enough.