Diets suck

13 01 2009

This year Glenn and I decided to do the trite activity of making a New Year’s resolution.  It actually kind of evolved into it slowly.  It started on Christmas Day with our daily coffee run and I happened to catch a profile view of him.  Usually, when I see him it is face on; or if not, I guess I just don’t pay that much attention.  But, that day, the angle of the sinking sun against the windows of the store outlined him perfectly and if I didn’t know better, I would have pegged him for third trimester – late second at best.

Now I must stop here to say I am no Morgan Fairchild or anything, but I’ve come to accept the bowl full of pudding I tuck into my waistline. Seeing it on a man that has in my eyes always been the tall, lanky type surprised the hell out of me.  Later that night, we sat down and had an all nighter conversation that turned into what I imagine coach’s do with each other before the play offs – planning their moves and game plays, step by step.  We decided to promptly start our diet on New Year’s, but I had already been planning much of this for myself already.  What can I say, Biggest Loser contestants scare me.

I created an Excel tracking file, to track our inches across 8 areas of our bodies; our weight; our water intake; our exercise; caloric intake; food bite by bite; fat gram intake.  You name it, I had it covered.  We would drink at least 64 ounces of water a day; find the time to put in at least one hour of working out a day; eat four servings of veggies, three of fruit, two proteins and one serving of free for all a day.  Calories were determined by our weight times 6.5.  Oh, it was on!
As week one went by, I watched as my beloved chucked back potato chips, fudge, extra helpings of this and that and went over his calories multiple times in a week.  And that minimum water intake – oh yeah, he substituted pop instead.  So after I spent a week choking down cantaloupe and gagging back water I was elated to hop on the scale and find I had lost 4.2 pounds in one week!  Hot damn.  I grabbed a celebratory bottle of water and waited patiently for that bum to fall out of bed – which he did.  I gloated proudly as I told him to hop on the scale.

He lost 7.6 pounds!  Son of a bitch.

But there was always week two.  I dropped my caloric intake even more, upped the water to 96 ounces a day and busted my ass on the bike and walking and jumping jacks – you name it, I was going to kick his ass!  And I watched him continue on ‘his’ diet plan.

Weigh in day, I gained .4 pounds and he lost another 2.4 pounds.  So today, I grabbed a celebratory Mickey D’s French fries and said screw it.

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