I’m 30 pounds overweight.

It is getting ridiculous. I have to squeeze into pants that John Candy would have been comfy in.

All right, not exactly, but that is the way I feel.

I have to drop some serious weight.  I went to the gym today and worked out for awhile. That’s at least a handful of steps in the right direction.

I blame the weight gain over the last couple of years on cancer.

When I was diagnosed in November of 2009, I figured the kidney cancer that had spread to my bones, lungs and even brain was going to kill me quickly.

That is way when we went out for breakfast, I ordered anything that took two platters and a forklift  to deliver. That is why I always had fries with my burger already over-burdened with cheddar cheese and bacon. That is why I never hesitated to grab a XXL pop and popcorn and box of Hot Tamales at the movie theatre.

I figured if I was going to die soon, what did I care if the coffin had to be bumped up a smidgen in size? I would be riding, not toting.

But it appears the eulogy has been put on hold for a considerable amount of time. For six months or more, scans reveal the cancer has either totally disappeared or has shrunken considerably.

Thanks for listening to all the prayers, God. Thank goodness You grade on a curve.

The worse news from my frequent visits to the doctor comes immediately after I step on the scale.

This has to stop. I feel like Chaz Bono in a jock strap or a hippo in Underoos.

I have to go for a run. I have to go for a jog. I have to go for a walk.  In the opposite direction of McDonalds.