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The plan was hatched over cheese fries and fizzy, sugary drinks.
Consider it the last meal for two death-row inmates.
After two solid months of stress-driven soda binges and 2 a.m. romps to Cook Out, it was time for Joe and me to finally take our health seriously.
As longtime friends and now colleagues, we have watched each other's waistlines suffer for far too long. Being twenty-somethings, back fat is not really on the list of things that either of us wanted for ourselves.
Sadly, this is not the first time I have had this realization.
Two years ago, when constant back and neck pain sent me scrambling to a series of medical experts, one doctor finally gave it to me straight.
"Lose 20 pounds," she said. "You'll feel a lot better."
I was 205 pounds. But I was not one of those self-hating fat girls, whining that certain fancy shops don't sell clothes above size 8.
I liked myself, for whatever that was worth.
I looked on the bright side: When you are a size 16, you can shop at The Gap and Lane Bryant.
Besides, I just wasn't ready to commit to a lifestyle change.
It took another three months to hit rock bottom: I called the Chinese takeout restaurant in town and they recited my order from memory — before I ordered.
I joined the gym that night.
Within a few weeks, I felt like a different person.
I eventually lost 25 pounds and two pants sizes.
But, more importantly, I went weeks without a stress headache. When I went to bed at night, I fell asleep without any trouble.
My butt — with the help of a persistent trainer with the patience and enthusiasm of a kindergarten teacher — was tight and shapely. And what the heck, I liked it.
I was consistent for nearly a year, until a major life change (I moved 1,000 miles for a new job) left me a little discombobulated.
Suddenly, I no longer had a gym membership and I was stressed while I adjusted to the new environment.
Cheese fries.
Soft drinks.
Brownie sundaes.
Hardee's mushroom and Swiss burgers.
These became my refuge.
The chub slipped back around my thighs. The headaches returned, along with the caffeine habit.
So, I knew what was coming when I stepped on the scale at the doctor's office last week.
The heavy metal components clinked as the nurse slid the balance nearly to the end of the slide.
The total: 196 pounds.
Yeesh.
That brings us back to the cheese-fry pact.
Saturday night, Joe and I plunged greasy fingers into melty layers of Monterrey jack and cheddar, and we pledged those Outback cheese fries would be our last late-night binge for a long time.
We are going to keep each other on a healthy track.
I aim to lose 10 pounds by May, by going to the gym four days a week, cutting out the soda and eating more fruits and veggies.
We both joined the Get Healthy Guilford challenge just to keep us honest.
Then there is this — our Cheese Fry Nation blog (at News-Record.com) and weekly print updates — to embarrass us into making it happen.
In the end, we will eat cheese fries again.
Only this time we'll do it after a long workout and not in the middle of the night.