In my mid 20s, I began gaining weight, slowly but steadily. Since I was rather thin at the time, the first 30 pounds or so were met with a "You're looking healthier!" from many of my friends. From about the 31st pound on, that abruptly changed to "You're getting fat!". My speculation at the time was that the weight gain was a side effect of a new medication. I stopped the medication, but the weight gain continued. By the time, years later, that I finally began to get a handle on it, my weight had nearly doubled. Along the way, there were nudges and expressions of concern that would come my way. Some were more gentle, like my doctor telling me that I had "reached my design limits". Others more blunt, like the school principal (the one year I was a part time band director) exhorting me "You want to be around to see your kids grow up, don't you?". Those exhortations, and others, hung over me, and still do, but with the sense that I may have dodged a bullet (so far), and am, in any case, grateful and blessed. 

20 years (or so, not entirely sure) ago, I was given a book about the glycemic index, which was a game changer in helping me understand how I was continually (and unknowingly) self sabotaging myself with food. I was finally able to stop the weight gain and, oh so slowly, begin to dial it back. Some years later, I began an ambitious walking regimen; 4 to 5 miles a day, most mornings, and things began to internally reset. These days I walk more modestly, but enough to keep my blood pressure in check and settle my weight into a much less dangerous place. Lately I've been back to hearing versions or "You're looking healthier" from many of my friends. Looking to continue in this direction.   :)    

Back in the 1990s, at pretty much my heaviest, I would occasionally sub in a trio where I may have been the lightest guy in the group. My guess was that the leader, John, possibly approached 400 pounds. (none of his habits were healthy, that I could observe). One night one of the patrons walked by us and asked "Hey, If I gain a few pounds, can I join the band?" Another night, I was talking to the club owner who, while looking out into the crowd, said "You know Joe, we have a ton of musicians here tonight". It took me a few minutes  ;?  Later on, John proposed renaming the band: "Men of Mirth, Men of Girth". Thankfully, it never went to a vote. In 2011, John died. He was in his 50s. 

Later on, I made the acquaintance of a fine pianist, Erik. Among other accomplishments, he had secured the enviable position of a Marine Corps musician and member of "The President's Own" (primarily playing events at the White House during the terms of Bill Clinton and George W Bush. He had lots of funny stories). Erik and I had a favorite chicken place where we would periodically meet for lunch. We both liked chicken. Unfortunately, Erik struggled to keep his weight in check. He soldiered on, even as he continued to gain weight; touring with a major jazz act, gigging all over the place, and eventually settling into a DC area church position. We were due for another round of chicken when, in 2018, Erik died. He was in his 50s.

And just last week, the sudden death of jazz organ legend Joey DeFrancesco was announced. In reading some of the postings, I learned that he had recently lost a lot of weight. But apparently he carried it with him for too long. He was 51. Last week was also my (quasi) annual physical, where, once again, I received a congratulatory clean bill of health from my doctor. The only real item of any concern is the a-fib that was diagnosed in 2016. Every night, as I lie in bed, I can hear the swish of my heart beat that (unlike in my musician world, never finds the pocket) reminds me both how fortunate and blessed I am, and how each day is a new gift, and a responsibility. None of us knows how much time we have here. For myself, I'm grateful to have some sense of what I am supposed to do with whatever that is. Purposing to make the most of it.