Goodbye, old friend.
That's what you were.
By my belly, year after year
Through long days and longer nights.
Dates, good and bad.
We had good fun, you and I.
But after one injury too many, it was time to let you go.
Simply put, I couldn't carry you anymore.
It was like carrying a child or a suitcase—all the effing time.
More though than the physical—it started to feel wrong, you know.
It's usually hard to let go, and so I tried to make it as easy as possible.
I gave us time and space.
I did more of what we loved to do (play futsal and golf, read and write, work).
And less of what we didn't (diet, run, drink, work out).
I ate food people from the mountains would call food.
I drank water.
I walked everywhere.
I tracked everything.
I learned to listen to my body—and to ignore everything else.
It came down to doing the simple things well, every day.
Slowly but surely, you started to disappear.
Ounce by ounce, week by week, month by month.
Maybe we'll meet again.
Maybe we never will.
15 Kilos—adios, amigo!