For 40 years, I was fat. No sartorial trickery could hide it. No amount of career or personal success made me forget it. I want to say I learned to be comfortable in my skin, but it's not true. I hated being seen with my shirt off -- which meant no gyms, no swimming pools or beaches. I hated the multiple-angle mirrors of dressing rooms. I even felt self-conscious ordering food at restaurants. Then, two years ago, I moved to New York City -- and within 11 months, I wasn't fat anymore. [. . .] Back in the Midwest, where I lived my entire adult life, the most common question was, "How did you do it?" Some people asked with a wink and nod -- you know those vain coastal people and their shortcuts. No, I didn't have surgery, didn't take supplements, didn't hire a trainer or even buy a miracle-cure book. I walked more, and I ate less. Part of my diet plan was simple necessity. Back home, I drove a car everywhere I went. I cherry-picked parking spo...