WHEN I’M in the zone, the way I am now, hunger is not something to endure, to bitch about, or even to assuage. It’s something to enjoy and take pride in.

For most of the last three-plus weeks, I’ve gone to bed hungry. The hollow feeling in my stomach returns sooner after meals. These are good things.

The day after Father’s Day, I stepped on a scale and saw a higher number than I’d ever seen before. Like, in my life. I wasn’t in any danger of showing up in B-roll footage that broadcast news airs whenever it does an obesity story, but my expanding waistline was making getting dressed each day a very uncomfortable chore.

Attention, I thought, must be paid.

Since then, I’ve tracked almost everything I’ve eaten. I’ve exercised regularly. And I’ve gone to bed hungry, because I’m using more calories then I take in. The numbers on the scale are moving in the right direction, and already my clothes are starting to fit better.

And the hunger? It’s more than my friend; it has become my obsession. | DL