I’m floating around sub-170s these days, hitting a cool 165 mid-last-week. I started this journey thinking hitting 210 would be a welcome, if ambitious, goal, inching back to my most ardent cycling days. But I haven’t gotten sick of rowing or moderation, so I’m riding the wave. Too long, maybe?
In any event, someone at work asked someone else at work how I did it, and the person wondered about aloud about Ozympic. (they don’t know how I feel about needles obviously.) So now when people ask me what I’m doing, I wonder myself if that’s the answer they expect. Or suspect.
I don’t have a problem with medical interventions for anything. If you think that’s the best solution for you, and you’ve weighed the risks, go for it. But I did it the old-fashioned way. That’s not the better way or anything like that. It’s just how I did it. I never even considered asking my doctor about it. In the back of my mind, my thought about semaglutide isn’t a novel one, and it’s the same observation people make about weight-loss surgeries: does the treatment lead to long-term change?
Anyone who’s lost weight fears the day they find themselves searching for their old pants. This is true if you inject semaglutide, get gastric bypass surgery, or live in a calorie deficit. I learned what it’s like to do it myself. I’m happy about it but humble, too. My life allows me to find the time in a way that’s convenient. That’s all.

Me, October 2022

Me, September 2023