Move the Block

I don’t remember when, but I do remember where, the locker room at the JCC where I worked out three times a week. I haven’t been there in years, but the locker room is still vivid. The scale was one of those where you moved the blocks until you got the balance point, a big block that moved in 50-pound increments, and the small block which moved pound by pound from zero to 50. My big block was always on 150. At my worst the small block was somewhere in the 30’s. That’s when I was surprised by carotid artery surgery and a nutritionist who introduced me to intermittent fasting. I lost 30 pounds and as my weight dropped, I began to imagine moving the big block. Would I ever move it?

It never happened, although I got close a few times. Years went by. The balance scale was replaced by electronic miracles, even in my doctors’ offices, but I continued imagine that big block moving. Was it a goal? That’s not the right word. An aspiration? It certainly wasn’t a vow. For years, I’ve known what it would take to move the block – stay out of restaurants for a week, or even in a restaurant skip the bread or skip the dessert; skip the wine – but I never made the effort. I still thought about the block, but it was no longer an aspiration. It had become a curiosity – I’m getting older; will I ever move the block?

Life unfolds, one surprise after another. I find myself working with a nutritionist again. Do all nutritionist’s frown on wine? This time I’ve given up wine. Not completely: I’m not a renunciant, but it’s no longer an every-night thing and the occasional glass is something Dee and I are sharing. This nutritionist isn’t into weight loss. She’s into not putting poisons into my body. I’m old enough to think that might be a good idea. So, I’m cooperating, and strange thing: this morning the big block moved.