Romance:From Fat To Fatale(21)

She gave me websites to check, resources to study on line, charts to print out so that I could plan and record everything I ate. She sent me messages of encouragement via E-Mail and I kept her up to date with my progress because, after only a couple of weeks on the new regime, I began to notice the changes in my size. She told me to ignore the weighing scales. She said they were meaningless. My clothes would reveal the truth. And she was right again. Things got looser. When you start out at my size, the drop-off in weight can be dramatic so I really looked as if I was off to a flying start. I knew the weight-loss would slow down and even hit a plateau phase at some stage but for now the pounds were just melting away.

I. Was.

Getting. Thinner. Me - the amazing Misha Bulgari. And it felt so great. I'd substituted raw vegetables for candy snacks. I could have eggs as my one exception to the no-dairy rule. I was eating plenty of lean, organic meat and could pass a row of cakes and donuts without the slightest urge to reach out and grab one. It was as if I'd lost my appetite for sweet things. Bizarre? Tell me about it. I was walking twice a day, extending the length of the strolls, finding it easier, gradually less exhausting, and easier to breathe normally as I marched along the campus pathways, humming tunes and sometimes breaking into my interpretation of a groovy dance-step or two.

And during one of these walks I began to think more seriously about the lady nutritionist's advice to try swimming. The water would support my body weight, reduce the strain on my joints and give me my first taste of a full-body workout. So I splashed out on a one-piece swimsuit that must've taken the collective efforts of half a village of Chinese labourers to cut and sew and finish but, as I squeezed my protesting frame into the elasticated costume, I knew I was as ready as I could be to hit the water.





Chapter 14:


Close encounters of the aquatic kind





Now, as I'm sure you've noticed, we've been striving diligently so far for total, uncompromising and brutal honesty - so I think it's only fair to mention that at this point in time I couldn't actually swim. As you may recall, the great Bulgari clan simply couldn't understand the concept of exercise. You run round in circles like a dumb fool, sweat yourself half to death, lose weight, get sick and die. For why? Their answer to the risks of drowning was also elegantly simple - hey, dumb ass! Don't go near the water! It was so obvious, really.

So my first exposure to the swimming pool involved a nervous and gingerly descent into the shallow end, a full minute to get used to the water temperature and a slow walk across the breadth of the pool, using my arms with all the finesse of a Tyrannosaur attempting push-ups. But it felt good. Maybe not too many points for style.

But I'd found a place where I could move my bulk without scaring the wildlife, burn off a few calories and get some more movement into my flabby limbs. When the lady lifeguard bent down to me and asked me how I was doing, I assumed she was worried that I was causing a health hazard to the other pool users. But she was just curious to know if I'd ever thought about taking some swimming classes.

Never too late or too early to start, she said. There's a poster over yonder on the wall. You should try it. You just might enjoy it. She stood up and stretched her lean, low-carb, muscular frame. Nice swimsuit, she mentioned as she nodded down at me. I'd guess it was specially designed for swimming, right? Yeah. It was the college pool. Even the lifeguard was a budding Einstein. I was about to mention to her that NASA were still recruiting for night janitors when the idea of swimming classes really grabbed my attention. Me? Swimming? Under my own power? Well I sure had enough ballast on board to make any chance of sinking completely redundant so maybe the idea had merit.

Unsinkable. Hey. Isn't that what they said about the Titanic? Well there hadn't been too many iceberg incidents in the pool lately so I figured I'd take the chance and sign up for some seriously overdue swimming lessons. And I have to tell you that it definitely turned out to be one of my finer decisions.

OK. So you probably can't even remember what it was like to learn to swim, can you? Of course not. You probably learned as a kid, isn't that right? So let me refresh your memory, you naturally talented, web-footed, mer-person. First of all, swimming classes for adults are a little different from swimming classes for young kids. Kids learn a whole lot faster for a start. And they're usually really keen to get in the water and have a whole bunch of fun.

Secondly, the adult swimming classes at the college pool were intended for the completely aquatically-challenged members of the community and they attracted debutants of all ages and physical conditions.

So everything was done in hyper slo-mo, like an ultra low-budget kung fu flick. However, amongst the

collection of human oddities filling the classes, I fitted in perfectly. It turned out to be one of the few places on the planet where I didn't stand out like a refugee on the run from a traveling freak show. And I loved it. I hit the pool like a, well, a duck to water. I actually whooped and hollered and screamed and clapped like I'd just won an Olympic gold - and that was for swimming my very first width of the pool using a combination

breast-stroke/doggy paddle that wasn't particularly smooth or elegant but it got the job done. I could swim!

And, as the fates could never resist inflicting their whims upon the lives of mere, long-suffering, ordinary, overweight mortals, it was there that I first bumped into Larry Herschkowitz. No, not the Baltimore Herschkowitzes of home furnishings fame, those charity ball-attending, genteel, multi-millionaires and stalwarts of all that represented good taste and platinum-plated decorum. No. The other Hershkowitzes. The