the revelation

When I was a college junior living in Fribourg, Switzerland, as part of my French major (Georgetown juniors majoring in a foreign language had a study-abroad option, which almost every eligible student took advantage of), I discovered a love for walking. This probably had more to do with the beautiful landscape, which Switzerland is famous for, than with any desire on my part to get in shape or be less lazy. It was a sincere pleasure, every weekday, to walk to the Université de Fribourg. My path was a vertical U from the little village of Bourguillon, right next to Fribourg, into Fribourg centre-ville itself. I would start in Bourguillon, go downhill, cross two bridges (one of which was an awesome bridge spanning Les Gorges du Götteron; the bridge would vibrate scarily whenever trucks passed over it), then go uphill to the uni campus. It was just like the old Bill Cosby joke about walking uphill both ways to school. On weekends, I'd walk all over the local region for hours, venturing out to satellite villages like Marly and Villars-sur-Glâne, and when I had some vacation time, I used the camping gear my parents had sent me to go hiking and camping, delighting in clearing space for my tarp and making safe, little cookfires for my meals.

I had been placed with a Swiss family, which meant I ate breakfast and dinner with them, and I was also given a small monthly stipend to cover the cost of lunch in town. Lunch was either from some local Turkish restos that served interesting fare or from the uni's mensa (cafeteria; one meaning of mensa in Latin is "table"). The stipend was maybe the equivalent of six dollars in 1989 money, so I wasn't at liberty to splurge unless I skipped a meal. And when I ate at home, the meals were cooked by my talented but very precise Swiss "mom." The adults would have wine at dinner; we kids were almost always given tea. As is typical in Europe, the glasses for our drinks were small by American standards, so I, being a thirsty boy, would often have second and third glasses. The meals themselves were simple and spare and healthy. A typical meal might be a thin savory tarte accompanied by a salad with a single leafy green.

My point in mentioning all this is that my Swiss environment, quite without my knowing it, was providing me with all the factors needed for weight loss. When I arrived in Switzerland, I weighed what I now again weigh: about 230 pounds (104.3 kg). I was walking everywhere, and for long periods. I was eating healthy, whether at home or on campus. And slowly but surely, the pounds were melting away, all while I was thoroughly enjoying my European adventure.

Then came the day, in the spring of 1990, while I was walking the uphill part of the route home to Bourguillon, when I randomly scratched my side and discovered... that I no longer had a love handle. I remember that day (if not the date) so clearly. It was bright and sunny; I was under some trees that lined the sidewalk for that portion of the walk home. The path curved rightward, slightly uphill as I approached the Götteron Bridge. And there I was, amazed by a strange smoothness that had taken the place of a fatty bulge that had been there for years. My side was smooth! No love handle! I hadn't weighed myself once since coming to Switzerland, and now, I was suddenly curious as to how much I weighed. 

What a revelation this was!

Years later, in Korea, I was flipping through a photo album and showing my buddy JW pictures from my past. We were looking at the Switzerland pics, and one photo showed the seven American Georgetown students who had joined the Fribourg study-abroad program. There I was in the picture, lined up with my classmates.

"Who's that?" asked JW as he looked at the line-up.

"That's me," I said, smiling. JW stared in shock, obviously horrified at the beast I had become over the intervening years.

And now here we are, yet again, with me down to around 230 pounds. Life is a circle sometimes. I'm now back to where I was, pre-Switzerland, so in a sense, this is now the real beginning of the weight-loss journey. It took a stroke and the Newcastle Diet to get me here, but I'm here. With 30 pounds to go to hit my goal weight of 90 kg/200 pounds, I'm going to go slowly and, I hope, shed the weight over the coming year. No rush. I now have a much better notion of how to eat healthily, and I'm on a non-stop exercise program that keeps me moving six days a week—and sometimes, I'll even walk on Sundays just for the hell of it. So, the way I see it, as long as I stay on a healthy track, the weight will keep coming off. It might take some time, but I have faith I'm on a good path.