It's ... going.

The hardest part about getting my diet in check is going to be making sure I have snacks on hand in case I can't get to food when I'm supposed to eat.

I'm a journalist who keeps his office hours when people would normally eat dinner. I go to bed in the middle of the night, not the beginning. You'd think adjusting everything according to my schedule would be the easy fix, right?

Tell that to my girlfriend, my mom, even the dog.

Most days, I'm up around 6 a.m. getting Charlie, the dog, out for her first walk. It also gets the wind in my face, leaving me hopeless to re-retire and start the day later.

I picked up a gym membership at the Lab Gym, this place around the corner from my house that looks like a steroid freak's basement would be set up. It's perfect for me: open 24 hours, and filled with people who simply by being muscular for no reason will motivate me to work out the core.

And I need it bad. REALLY bad.

I sent off an email to Charlie for help. Charlie and I started FAMU at the same time. I knew him through my dealings at the school newspaper, and he also dated a good friend of mine. Lately, he's been educating me through his Facebook and Twitter pages on all the crap I'm doing wrong. based on the fact that I don't think he knows what bodyfat is, I'm gonna trust what he says so I can lose some of mine.

He told me to try to eat clean six days a week.

I have to start off at four. I know me enough to know that cold-turkey approaches don't really work when you barely have time to breathe alone. I stocked the fridge with sugar-free fruit cups, boneless chicken breast, eggs and other fresh produce.

I lost four pounds last week, and I've been taking it easy on running to prepare for my weekend in Tucson in the USTA National Championships. Not too shabby.