There is nothing entertaining about what I am about to tell you.

You might think it’s going to be entertaining. You might even think there is going to be a punchline at the end of this column that lets you know it’s all a big joke and that something hilarious is going to come from reading it. Well, there is not. This is not a joke. This is life and death and I need some help.

You see, yours truly is now in the midst of counting calories.

This is not something I have ever done before. I mean, I eat when I get hungry, I drink when I get thirsty and I do both when I’m really feeling crazy. I’ve never been a big guy or someone who couldn’t stop eating so I never had to worry about counting calories and making sure I was eating the “daily recommended amount” of anything.

Then I stepped on a scale and came to the startling conclusion that I am getting up there. And not just up there, but over there and around there.

For the most part, I carry this newfound weight pretty well. I’m 6’1” tall and there is more area to distribute my new friend LBS. But when you are used to seeing a ‘1’ at the start of your weight and suddenly a ‘2’ pops up and tells you it’s been there a while and it doesn’t want to go anywhere, well, you start thinking about making new choices.

So, I joined a gym. That worked for about a month or so when I learned that you could sleep and not go to the gym and it was easier. Then I went back to the gym and realized that gym life is just not for me.

Then, I tried adjusting my diet. I ate only stuff from the farmer’s market and organically grown food and food that was local or hormone-free. And that has worked fine, but you still have to keep an eye on what you are eating.

So, now I count calories. I have learned that there are 70 calories in one slice of bread. That there are 160 calories in every soda (and I am done with soda). That there are 80 calories in an egg, about 150 calories in a 4-ounce portion of beef and 75 calories for every 3-ounces of scallops.

See, I learned all this because I have to eat fewer calories. It’s the only way I can think of to avoid finding out that by the time I hit 40 there is a ‘3’ on the front of my scale number and I have to buy one of those elevator thingys to take me up and down my front door stairs.

I count. And count. And count some more. I find myself counting how many calories are in one pickle and whether or not it’s better to use olive oil or cooking spray for my sautés. But I do like counting that one salad is like 15 calories and there are dressings that only have 10 calories per serving.

But still with the counting and the counting.

It’s like I’m on Sesame Street with The Count. Now, if only I could get back to my weight when I was watching that.