Cheaters Never Lose

 

“I’ve already lost about twenty pounds on my new diet, and it wasn’t hard at all.” That statement is made by a good friend who does not lie. So it catches my attention. I really need to lose twenty pounds—well, okay, fifty pounds—but at least ten. Even five pounds would make me happy.

So, filled with renewed hope that finally a diet guru has invented a system I can follow, I borrow her book from the library. My friend, who never lies, tells me that on this diet, even though you’re eating all the time, the pounds keep melting off. I dive into the book, seeking out the basic rules of this magical diet. In between the nitty gritty, the author repeatedly insists that her diet is not a diet, which any dieter knows is always a lie. I find her weekly food plans and her twenty diet rules—ten do’s and ten don’ts.

Most of the do’s seem doable. Drink lots of water. Duh. Eat five times a day. Heck, I’ll eat ten times a day if it helps me lose weight. Exercise, but not too strenuously. I’m all over that—I broke up with the gym years ago. I balk at her commandment to eat first thing in the morning. It seems, according to guru lady, I’m a tub because I don’t eat when I’m not hungry. Well, I’m a trooper—I can always make myself eat if necessary.  Since one of the do’s is to follow her plan exactly for 28 days, I guess I’ll become a breakfast person for four weeks. Like she says, we can make ourselves do anything for 28 days, right? It’s the length of a February. I got this.

Then I start reading the don’ts. No sugar. Okay, that’s a no-brainer. Nowadays, no politically correct diet guru would dare allow sugar consumption. I suppose I can give up sweets for a few weeks. But then I see she also bans artificial sweeteners—except for Stevia, which absolutely does not work in coffee. Splenda does. This calls for an executive decision. They’re both sweeteners, they both start with S. Splenda wins. Crisis averted.

But not so fast. Next rule: No caffeine. What? Where’s a person supposed to find the energy for dieting without coffee? There’s no way I’m coping with sugar and caffeine withdrawal. Besides, hasn’t guru lady been reading Facebook? Every other day there’s an article touting the many life-lengthening benefits of coffee. And I just reloaded my Starbucks card. Executive decision number two: Coffee stays. Which of course requires executive decision number three: Ignore the “do” rule that says we must follow the plan exactly. By “exactly” I now mean “generally.” Tell the truth, does anyone follow a diet exactly? Really?

Then I spot the next two rules. Wait, what’s this? No wheat? No corn? What about her big claim that her diet allows grains? I definitely skimmed that section too quickly. Here I was all excited that I could still have bagels for breakfast and sandwiches for lunch and tortillas for dinner and popcorn for evening snacks. If she cuts out corn and wheat, what kind of grain is she talking about, anyway? I find the list. I recognize some items, such as quinoa (only edible if you can’t taste it). Then I see these mystery grains . . . amaranth, arrowroot, spelt, teff, triticale. First, what on earth is amaranth, and second, how am I supposed to sop up my fried egg with it? Well, a closer look at her weekly food plan answers part of that question. Four days out of the week are low-fat, so she expects us to eat egg whites only—no yolks, which are the only reason a normal person eats eggs. What kind of masochist chokes down an egg-white omelet? On unbuttered amaranth, no less!  

I skim her reasons for banning wheat and corn. Seems our guru’s main beef with them is that they’re hard to digest. Well, I’m just going to tell my body to digest them, so there!

At this point, I realize the “don’ts” list is taking quite a hit. Before I’ve even downed my first forbidden cup of coffee with my obligatory breakfast on day one, I’ve already decided to ditch at least five out of twenty of her holy commandments of magical weight loss. So I’m down to 75% compliance. Well, that’s a passing grade in most classes. I decide not to worry about it and proceed to the next rule.

Which slams me up against another wall: No dairy. Seriously? I’m not even allowed to butter my forbidden popcorn or smother my amaranth in melted cheese? I can’t add cream to my forbidden coffee? I’m supposed to deprive my post-menopausal bones of calcium for how long? Forget it. I’m doing dairy. I’m now down to fourteen acceptable rules, but fourteen rounds up to fifteen, so I’m still good.

Whew! That was close. For a moment there, I worried I might have to quit before I started.

The diet is on.  

I wake up on day one, determined to make this work. The first and second day of the diet call for protein, fruit, and grains, but no fat. Oats are one of the few grains I recognize one her list, so my first forced breakfast consists of oatmeal and berries and turkey bacon, the only kind of bacon Ms. Guru allows. I think the packaging might have been tastier, definitely thicker. The fake bacon makes me extra thankful for my executive allowances of coffee, cream, and Splenda.

As the day wears on, the no-fat rule becomes more of a challenge. I can have a meat sandwich, thanks to my decision to keep wheat. But no mayo. I try adding just a tomato and lettuce, and all I get is soggy bread. As happens on every diet, dinner time causes me the most consternation. Vegetables are required. Salad is the only palatable way to eat vegetables. But who can eat salad without dressing? And what decent dressing does not contain fat and sugar? Diet dressings taste worse than bare vegetables, so I dress the salad and tell myself at least we’re eating vegetables.    

I survive the first two days. Then, day three hits. Our guru mandates that day three and four are limited to protein and vegetables. And she trims the veggie list down to the most unappetizing variety. No grains, no fats, nothing that tastes good. It’s like Atkins without the pork rinds! We’re even supposed to eat veggies for breakfast! Though I’m sure our guru would find some reason to disapprove (she is a dietician after all), I decide a glass of Spicy V-8 will suffice.

I cheat my way through the day. A little ranch dip here, a rice cracker there, a whole egg on my forbidden toast, buttered with forbidden dairy, washed down with forbidden creamy coffee.

On day four my first thought when awaking is, “Oh ugh, the diet.” Why had I thought I could make myself do anything for 28 days? I’m already desperate for day five, when I’m allowed to eat a nut! To avoid giving up, I decide to skip my second Atkins-on-steroids day and go right to day five. Surely my body will reward me for my one whole day of extreme deprivation. I suspect I have lost a pound—maybe. Let the magic shrinking continue!

On my official day five, I start the day with breakfast—at a restaurant, with a friend. Buckwheat is on a permitted grain, so I order buckwheat pancakes. They turn out to be pretty dry, requiring me to add extra butter and syrup. I also order eggs and bacon—gotta have that protein in the morning. And the wonderful server keeps us supplied with strong coffee, which necessitates generous additions of cream. And Splenda.

By day seven, I’m pretty weary of choking down unaccompanied chunks of meat, gnawing on veggies for snacks, and futilely searching the fridge for legal treats. Then, right after my forced breakfast, my phone gets smashed in the workings of my recliner. So I need Jelly Belly therapy. And a latte. And more clothes—in size voluptuous.