He was my best friend in the fourth grade. Then four years ago, he became my husband. And now he's become my weight-loss partner.
I've been begging him to join Weight Watcher for me for quite some time, but it was never something that he wanted to do. But then he started going to the gym when a friend begged him, and while he suddenly became a weight-lifting superstar, he wasn't seeing the results he wanted. So DH joined with me, and for the first time ever, conquering this 60-lb bulge seems doable. We've instituted a new rule, which he calls "If I bite it, I write it". We plan our meals, do the dishes, and then get out our respective I-devices and track our meals. We cheer each other on, instead of accidentally sabotaging each other.
And God love him, he's even coming with me to Hot Yoga--which in prior times, might have been his vision of hell. (The room itself feels like hell--as it's heated to around 95 degrees...) But he goes, and contrary to my original thought, he's not even going because my spandex-clad body parts are in strange positions in front of him.
Certainly, all this "together" is good for our health-- it's a whole lot easier this way. And it sheds new light on "Two are better than one... for if one falls, who will help him up?" But the best part is that it gives us a common interest-- and for two people as different as we are, that's kind of nice. We are, after all, better together.