About five years ago I finally struck upon the diet to end all diets. For fast and effective weight loss, nothing beats chemotherapy. Many long time fans of my bloggin’ will know that “Return to Onederland” was a major theme for years. (For the uninitiated, “Onederland” is that magical place where your weight, in pounds, begins with a one.) I’d been there before, when I was younger, but I wrote a lot of words about getting back there.
Then suddenly, there it was! Never mind that it was due to a life-threatening illness. Psssh. Cancer? Who cares. Going below two hundred? Now that’s news. And so it was then and there that I vowed I wouldn’t waste that golden opportunity. That would be both the first and last time that I’d be putting the “die” back in diet.
And guess what? I actually stuck to it.
Wait. No I didn’t. I did way better than just “stuck to it.” After a brief upward spike during The Holidays that year (October 31 through January 2) I spent 2013 and 2014 continuing to work on it. I watched my weight fall: 195, 190, 185, 180, 175. Toward the end of 2014 I dipped to a low of 173.5.
Oh, if the story only ended there.
For whatever reason, 2015 didn’t go well. I gained a little — not a lot — back. But it all went to heck in 2016. And the part that bothered me most is that it didn’t seem to bother me. Not really.
I mean, my higher order brain functions cared. I said, “One ninety! That’s the absolute upper limit, Charlie!” And then when I hit 191 I thought, “You know what sounds good? Two or three pizzas! Because one ninety five: that’s the real absolute upper limit.”
When I hit 196, I thought, “Oh no. Danger zone. I’d better do something about that. Right after this giant bag of potato chips. Besides, everyone knows the real upper limit is two hundred.”
When I hit 201, I thought. “Crap. This is…” The next word was supposed to be “serious” but I couldn’t say it because my mouth was full of Chex Mix and beer. Still, I wasn’t too alarmed. Because, as everyone knows, the real upper limit was 205.
Interesting fact: According to the very first web site that came up in my Google search on the topic, it states that the “average weight gain during the four-week holiday period is actually closer to one pound than the seven to 10 pounds that many people believe it is.” Man, the one area I would love to be “average.” Gaining one pound every four weeks? Hell, by New Years Eve I think I was gaining one pound an hour.
When I went to bed very early in the morning on January first, I felt awful. Full. Sick. Bloated. Dejected (aka “the usual”). And it was then and there that I vowed I wouldn’t waste that golden opportunity of five years ago. It’s not too late.
But first, assessing the damage. I stepped on the scale.
Two hundred and fifteen pounds.
That’s over forty pounds in just over two years, people. And most of that was just in the last year alone. And most of that was in the last week.
What to do. What to do…