The 100?

No, this isn't a sci-fi show on USA. This is my life. More accurately, it's me taking it back.

Here are the sad details.

I am 30 years old. I stand 6-8. I have a wonderful wife, and two gorgeous daughters. I am working as a sportswriter - my life's dream. I live in a great apartment - complete with vaulted ceilings and a fireplace! Honestly, I have a pretty decent life.

Now.

The truth is, it wasn't that way as recently as three months ago. Actually, pretty much my last five or six years have been borderline hell. My motto for most of that time? "It could always be worse." Unfortunately, whenever I said that to myself, things actually got worse. I won't go into graphic detail, but I will give you the Cliffs Notes version.

Over the course of four years, I lost three jobs, lost my grandmother, lost one of my best friends from high school, and watched my mom slowly die. My family spent time on welfare. We had catastrophic auto issues - $2,500 worth of repairs at a time. We were nearly evicted - twice. I helped start a magazine, gave up tome with my family, as well as turned down jobs that would help me care for them, and I ended up being forced out of my own creation.

Those four years could have been devastating for me, but luckily I had something to comfort me.

Food.

I never really knew it before all of this, but I am an emotional eater. Something bad happens? A box of Little Debbie's should do the trick. Have a good day? I'm gonna celebrate! Break out a box of Little Debbie's! I'd stop at McDonald's, and instead of having A burger and some fries, I'd have FOUR burgers and fries. Maybe toss a milkshake on, just for good measure. I'd order Chinese - a family-size meal - and clean the entire thing out in one sitting.

And the more I ate, the less energy I had. In 2001, I was playing basketball three times each week, lifting weights three times each week, and going for a quick one-mile run at least once each week. It's gotten so bad, that even remembering those times gets me winded.

In all seriousness, I lose my breath from tying my shoes. Shoot, I lose my breath from breathing. We live on the third floor, and after climbing them to come home, I'm so out of breath that you'd think I just ran a quick 5K. I chase my daughter around for 10 minutes, and I need a break. It's bad.

I'm scared to death for me and for my family. I'm 30 years old, and I'm an easy 100 pounds overweight. I have severe sleep apnea. I wake up choking two or three times each night. I get migraines weekly. I'm always tired. The way I'm going right now, my kids will be fatherless in ten years. My wife will be looking for a replacement. I don't want that to happen.

So here we are - at The 100. Why The 100? Well, each one of those digits represents a pound I need to lose. As my weight drops, the name of the bog will change. I lose 10 pounds - you'll be visiting The 90. Lose another 8? Welcome to The 82. When the number hits zero, the blog goes bye-bye.

So how will I be going about losing this weight, and what can you expect to see here? Well, I don't have the budget for a personal trainer. I don't own a Bowflex. I can't hire an in-home chef to make me the perfect meals. What I have is a small weight room in my apartment clubhouse, a new Men's Health every month, and a few hours a week to make it all happen. As for what you'll se here, I'm hoping to toss some before (2001), after (today), and way after (six months from now) pics up so you can keep track. On top of that, I plan on doing some video blogs, in which I'll discuss my workout routine, where I've fallen short, and how I've overcome challenges. I'm also hoping to get weighed and measured every few weeks so you can all keep track of my progress as we go.

Please, I beg of you, comment regularly. Motivate me. Yell at me for slacking. Tell me I'm still fat. Tell me I look great. This blog is my ticket to accountability. Hold me to this.

I'm hoping that 100 shrinks quickly. No offense, but I don't want you around here any longer than you need to be. Just like my belly.

Wish me luck.