You'd think I'd be happy that my gut is about an inch or two smaller than it used to be. Logic would say that a man who is showing results in his plan to lose his excess weight and be healthy for the first time since he was a toddler would be glad to weigh 25 pounds less.

But I seem to be proving that wrong. I feel strange, odd and confused about it all.

I keep putting my hands over my stomach and remembering where how far it used to stick out, and noticing how different it is now. I still have some girth, just less.

It reminds me of what Garrison Keillor said of the obese middle-aged men in his fictional hometown of Lake Wobegon; how they never hid their bellies or tried to excercise them off. They just couldn't imagine being without their giant lumps of fat, like their guts were good friends they'd known all their lives.

I don't know what it's like to be skinny, or trim, or even close to what society considers "normal." Now that I'm determined to be fit and am actually getting there, I don't know how to deal with it and the prospect of it all actually scares me.

Being big has always been a part of my identity. For better or worse, I was the fat kid. I was teased, missed out on some activities and never really felt like I belonged with all the other kids. I keep wondering to myself: "If I lose this weight, will I still be myself? Or will I be someone different?"

The answer to both questions, though, is yes. I'll still be me, just a different sort. New & Improved, as they say.

But it still freaks me out. I was in the supermarket last month (five pounds ago) and looked at some packages of ground beef. I saw four five-pound parcels and thought "Gee, that's how much extra stuff I've been carrying around."

But what messes with my head the most is this: what will I look like? Seriously, I have no idea what my face will look like with all this extra stuff gone. My cheeks, my lips, my forehead and neck will all be different.

I guess I'll have to do a bunch more self-portraits, huh?