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Previously on Charlie’s Blog. Charlie commemorated his ten thousandth day of dieting with a look back over twenty-seven years of pain, suffering, and Chex Mix. During that era, there arose The Great Diets, standing far above the rest. We left off with 1,032 days of the Third Great Diet still unaccounted for.
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The Third Great Diet began with cancer diagnosis and treatment and ended with—well, the good news is it hasn’t ended. I never gained it all back, so technically speaking, this diet is still going. I sleep well at night knowing that I haven’t screwed it up. Yet.
I’m sure giving it a shot, though.
As much weight as I lost during cancer treatment in 2012 (around 40 pounds), I did gain about ten of it back by Christmas that year. That particular gain (right after that very particular loss) alarmed me enough to declare, “Never Again!” and it worked. By the end of 2014, two years later, I was down another thirty. And I did it all without the help of Rituximab, Cyclophosphamide, Hydroxydaunorubicin, or Ensure shakes.
“I did it!” I shouted on that fateful day I hit my previously-unattainable goal weight.
“You did it!” my scale shouted back to me, sharing my triumph.
That momentous occasion called for celebration. And celebrate I did. To the tune of gaining forty pounds back over the next two years.
Through all my years of yo-yoing, one thing was a given: the weight I gained quickly always came off quickly. If ever I gained ten or fifteen around the holidays (hahaha . . . I said “if”) then come January, those last ten or fifteen peeled off as quickly as they went on. By the end of 2016, I had no reason to believe this wouldn’t continue.
“It’s okay, Charlie! Shovel in another bucketful of Chex Mix. Come January, these last ten or fifteen pounds will peel off as quickly as they’re going on.”
Except they didn’t.
Weight loss is controlled by a little known organ in the body called the squizzard. It secretes an enzyme (called stopstuphinurfase) into the blood stream that tells your brain to tell your hands to stop stuffing your face. I don’t know if because I’m getting older, or all this yo-yo dieting has finally caught up to me, but my squizzard is broken and I can no longer afford the stopstuphinurfase injections on my new insurance.
January turned to February. February to March. And March somehow went right into September. And no matter what I did, I just couldn’t make it happen.
“But this is what I do!” I exclaimed in desperation one morning as the scale refuses to budge.”
“No, this is what you used to do,” the scale replied. “Before you broke your squizzard.”
I think what I really need is a vacation. While most people use vacations as an excuse to over-indulge in the gastronomical delights, I tend to pull way back. I’ve had several business trips this year. When I returned from the longest one, I found myself miraculously back in Onederland. When I returned from my most recent one, same thing.
“Check it out!” I said to my scale both times. “I’m definitely back!”
Two days later, I’d be up three or four pounds again.
“No. No you’re not,” the scale mocked.
So as of today (Day 10,007, Diet #129, Reboot 1) I’m still pretty much hovering where I’ve been for most of the year. On the bright side, I am down about fifteen pounds since The Disaster of 2016. But that still means I have twenty-five to go. And at the rate I’m going, I’ll hit it . . . um . . . around . . .
Looks like I’ll see you all back here for an exciting update on Friday, June 12, 2020!