food. The result was inevitable. I began to get fat. I had a big
chest--forty-six inches--and the fat filled in underneath. That big
chest, combined with my broad shoulders, concealed the size of my
paunch, and I didn't realize I was accumulating that paunch until it
was soldered, riveted, lashed, glued, nailed and otherwise fastened to
me.

When I got my growth I weighed about one hundred and eighty-five pounds
and was a pretty formidable physical proposition. When I woke up to
the fact that I was getting fat I found I weighed two hundred and
twenty pounds. That extra thirty-five pounds was mostly fat--excess
baggage. Still, it didn't bother me any. I had the strength to tote
it round and had the shoulders and the chest to conceal it. I didn't
show any bay window, as most fat men do. As they used to say: "You're
big all over. You carry it all right."

All this time I was eating three or four times a day and eating
everything that came my way. Also, I drank some--not excessively, but
some whisky and some beer, and occasionally some wine and
cocktails--about the average amount of drinking the average man does.
I thought I was getting too fat, and I wrestled with a bicycle all one
summer, taking long rides and plugging round a good deal. I did some
centuries, but continued eating like a horse--naturally because of the
outdoor exercise--and drank a good deal of beer. As will be seen, all
the fat I had was legitimate enough. I put it on myself. There was no
hereditary nonsense about it. I was responsible for every ounce of it.
The net result of that summer's bicycle campaign was a gain of five
pounds in weight. I was harder--but I was fatter, too.

When I was thirty-five I began to experiment. I then weighed two