When I was in medical residency, more than thirty years ago, I ran with a pack of fellow residents, all guys who were fit to varying degrees. Once, on an outing, we discussed the — hopefully — hypothetical question: “If the need arose, which one of us would we eat first?”
“Randy!” my friends gleefully concluded.
“His meat would be the most marbled,” one added.
I’ve never been fat. More accurately, my body …