Now, Meet Jonathan...

That's a tough act to follow...but then again, that's always been Jonathan's MO. We met when he was a 17-year-old, scrawny, knock-kneed teenager, but even then he had a big, big heart, that was always prominently displayed on his sleeve. But more than that, he had an earnestness, and a sense of determination in his reedy tenor and soft gray eyes. He was always bound for bigger and better things, so went off to journalism school, followed swiftly by law school, and Big Firm after Big Firm a la Michael Creighton. He always seemed to know exactly what he wanted and exactly what he needed to do to get it. Which was my approach to life as well: I wanted to go to Harvard (I did). I wanted to become a doctor (I did). Academically speaking, I met with triumph after triumph, but on the personal front always seemed destined for failure. In fact, I was so convinced at age 16 that I was "all washed up" and would never find love, never marry, and hence never get to walk down that aisle, that I actually wore a big, white, lace-trimmed ballgown to my prom. I would wear the white dress if it killed me. So, now, in my mid-thirties, as I watch friend after friend marry, have children, and find happiness (ok, some of them are miserable and now divorced, but still; they once were happy, and at least had a family, if only for a while) I can't help but wonder where I took a wrong turn and got off that road that everyone else seems to be on. J was one of them. Married, 2.5 kids, white picket fence, success, stability, a house, a minivan, the whole nine yards. And somehow he bounded back into my life post-domestic fast-track, while I was mid-professional meltdown. I had just abandoned my medical career, was unemployed, dating one more guy in a long, long, long line of WMITIWMs (Wrong Man I Thought I Would Marry; I know, I know, but she said she'd never get married, that little teenage liar! I thought that then, but I'm more hopeful now; Hopelessly hopeful). And somewhere along the way, while J honed his career and legal acumen to razor sharpness, became a loving husband and no doubt a stellar father (iPhone display of his beaming little girl is a testament to that), he gained weight. Not just a few pounds of pudge some men put on as they hit 30; a LOT of weight. So much so that I almost didn't recognize him when we first met, after all those long years. I recognized the voice, the dry wit that sneaks up at you because he's such a mensch! and the eyes, of course, but wow, had he gained weight. And who am I to say how people should treat themselves? After all, I abuse myself on a daily basis, dating WM (wrong man) after WM, getting my heart battered into almost certain cardiac arrest. But while I do know there is a real medical condition known as Broken Heart Syndrome that can actually be fatal, good ol' cardiac risk factors like obesity, hypertension, hyperlipidemia and diabetes kill more people every single day. And I worry about my friend I love so much. Hence, the pact. The blog was born. He dared me to change my life, and I dared him to change his. And being overachieving emotional daredevils, we can't pass up a good offer. So, can the man who took me to Le Bernardin when WM#234758 broke my heart last month go on a low-carb diet? Can the woman who drowned her tears by choking back one or two bites of chocolate ganache and foie gras regain her appetite for life? Join us and find out...