LETTER FROM THE PUBLISHER

J. D. Reed, whose report on athletes' diets begins on page 64, has given us the latest word on the state of his own shape, which is a svelte, for J.D., 236 pounds on a 6'2" frame.

"A friend of mine, another overweight writer, has pointed out to me that over the last 10 years I have lost almost 400 pounds. And gained back 350. There is something awesome about it—all these vaporized fat molecules coming and going, with a kind of tiresome regularity, like weekend visits from relatives.

"For years I have sought ways to rid myself, as the ads say, of unwanted fat. I tried Weight Watchers, and within 15 weeks I did, indeed, lose 45 of my 280 pounds, but I developed a neurosis about cabbage, celery and carrots. I found myself standing like a religious fanatic in the doorway of my local Dunkin' Donuts shop, delivering fire-and-brimstone sermons about fried cakes. But I soon put the 45 pounds back on. I then tried the standard high-protein diet: steak, steak and steak. I lost weight but went broke. Then came the high-carbohydrate diet. This cost almost nothing, but it didn't work. I could easily down a bowl of fettucine al pesto before breakfast and soon looked like Mario Lanza. I went on the water diet until I couldn't stand the sloshing noise I made. I fasted and had visions and hallucinations and cried openly for days.

"During the last decade I have counted calories, protein and carbohydrate grams, milligrams of cholesterol, sodium and potassium. I have eaten organically, broiled-only and raw, and the high-fiber craze had me consuming dump truckloads of Grape-Nuts. I have sounded the depths of gustatory despair, a Lost Weekend of haute cuisine which would find me in the kitchen at 3 a.m., poised to chug-a-lug a pint of béarnaise sauce, my wife weeping in the doorway, pleading, 'Don't do it, you don't need it.'

"But now I have found the answer. I have once more lost 45 pounds, and have kept them off for more than a year. The trick is not diet at all, but exercise. A normally sedentary American guy, I sat around swilling beer and hogging the sandwiches while watching sports events on TV and it never occurred to me, befuddled as I was on grilled cheese, to Do It Myself. I used to hate joggers, particularly the ones who preached, but they were right. I play tennis and/or squash five times a week now and eat almost as much as before, but I no longer have to sneak to the corner of the men's department where they sell clothes in what is called the 'executive cut,' meaning balloon-size.

"Physicians are always nagging at us to 'eat sensibly.' It is excellent advice. I can't do it. But if I keep on playing tennis I can still have the sweetbreads in cream sauce, a six-pack of beer, white bread and "real" butter, and, apparently, I am not going to need an executive-cut coffin."

PHOTO

J.D., STILL DEFINITELY REED-THIN