The Gym. Place of all things sweat and iron. School had begun, and I was working out several times per week. The elliptical was my bitch. I sweated on that thing for 10, 20, and eventually 30 minutes at a time. I moved from weight machine to weight machine in a circuit I made up as I went, no real concept of what I was doing but I was WORKING OUT. Hell, I even came in drunk a couple of times. It was fantastic. With a key to the place and college angst as motivation, I had a new lease on life.
At this point, I didnt have any sort of scale to measure my progress. I measured progress in weight lifted, elliptical strides taken. Another notch on the weight stack. 5 more minutes of cardio. It was paying off, and I was getting stronger. At this point my parents had generously shelled out for a monthly supply of nutrisystem meals. 3 square meals a day, with the occasional desert? Everything the body needs, right in a plastic box. Between this fixed diet and the gym, a miracle happened: I began to shrink.