getting into my stride. It is strange how men, and especially fat men,
who haven't the nerve to reduce themselves, think a man must be sick if
he takes off flesh. I knew I wasn't sick. Indeed, I was just beginning
to get well.

By the end of three months I had taken off thirty-five pounds. It was
coming off well, too. My face wasn't haggard or wrinkled. I looked fit.
My eye was clear and my double chin had disappeared. Also, I had
conquered my fight with my appetite. I had won out. I was satisfied
with the smaller quantities of food and I felt better than I had in
twenty years--stronger, fitter--and was better, mentally and physically.
After that it was a cinch. I kept along, eating everything on the
bill-of-fare, but in small quantities. I didn't vary my diet a bit,
except for the eggs at breakfast. If I wanted pie I ate a small piece.
If I wanted ice cream I ate a small dish. If I wanted pudding I ate some
of that. I ate fat meat and lean meat and spaghetti, and everything else
interdicted by the reduction dietists--only in small quantities! And I
kept on getting smaller and smaller.

The fat came off from everywhere. I had been incased with it apparently.
My waist decreased seven inches. A big layer of fat came off my chest
and abdomen. My legs and arms grew smaller but harder. Even my fingers
grew smaller. My excess of chin evaporated. And at the end of the fifth
month I had taken off fifty-five pounds. I weighed then one hundred and
ninety-five pounds, which is what I weigh today.

Every person, I take it, has a normal weight; and if that person gives
his body a chance, and ill health does not intervene, the body will find
that normal and stay there. I take it that my normal weight, on account
of my big frame and bones, is about one hundred and ninety-five pounds,