Saying goodbye to an old friend

Once again I take on the challenge of eating healthier, not to extend my life, but to feed my body the proper fuel that will make it not complain so much at my advancing years. I have discovered (make that rediscovered) to my horror that eating copious quantities of raw vegetables gives me terrible acid reflux, and no I won't "get used to it". The 3 tiny men trying to knife their way out through my ribcage this morning are impossible to get used to and I don't wait to revisit the period of my early life when I was on constant antacids. Cooking is the answer. Eat many vegetables, but cook them all quite soundly. Red swiss chard cooked for supper, with some nice bland potato perogies. Not all better, but down to one tiny knife-wielder and him only intermittently.
I have found since my D. became a flexitarian (mainly ovo-lacto vegetarian, but not militant about it) and we began eating many more vegetables that my taste buds and the appetite centre in my brain actually yearn for the green stuff. What a relief that eating more vegetables is not a chore for me; I don't even crave any of the old baddies that I used to require to feel satisfied about food. Except chicken fingers and chicken nuggets: wild midnight cravings for those still pounce on me and bother me for weeks if I deny them, and then I feel flushed with pleasure when I finally do break down and eat them.
Another aspect of trying to create a health body to carry me through a couple more decades on this Earth is the activity. Several friends have taken up jogging/running, and their tales of success have inspired me. Not to run, I'm actually anti-running for myself, but fast walking with my dog. I think that both she and I could stand to lose a little mass in order to produce healthier bodies with which to ride out this next little bit of the millennium.
One thing that bothers me about eating well and moving around more, is the possibility of losing weight, or bulk, heft, substance, mass. I am reluctant to give up some of my bulk. I wear it as a protective layer against the vicissitudes of the natural (read "human") world. While less agile with this bulk, I am warmer, better padded against knocks, and I have more landing space for falls, more weight to throw around or use as a defence; I am more easily spotted by speeding cars, less easily missed by passing waiters. When I was thin (yes, 20 years ago), I felt like a wraith, a nothing, barely recognized as existing by most people. Easily pushed over, quickly passed by, nothing to worry about, a puff of smoke in a crowded dance hall.
I have earned this bulk, this substance, this sign of my successful pursuit of gain, the proof of my opulent and decadent lifestyle, and I cringe to separate my psyche from my physical proof; I also have become friends with the mass of me that I have nurtured for 15 years, and I may need counselling to get over its loss. If I lose any of it. Last fall, I lost 3 pounds with barely trying, but then I put it back on with only a little bit of effort. We'll see if the walking and eating better result in less of me; I'll get used to the new me, just like I got used to the larger me. I'm sure there are some socio-political benefits to being a little slimmer than my current heft; I'll just have to figure them out as I go along. My D. says I could replace one type of bulk with better muscle strength, but let's just start with the walking program and see how that goes.