Previously: How the “O” word shocked me into dieting
The weight was coming off.
Slowwwwwwly.
I had kicked off my diet on Inauguration Day and, armed with my magic pickles and paid in sugar for my honeydews, I had gotten into the groove of dieting as the months rolled by.
Dieting means changing your lifestyle, everyone says. It’s a matter of forming lasting new habits. Healthier attitudes toward food. Blah blah blah.
Ugh. No thank you. All of that stuff’s true, but I personally couldn’t think that way and get this done. I couldn’t just say to myself, “I’ve thrown the switch: now I’m Mr. Diet Guy, and this is my new reality, forever.”
When I’m at work, I’m assigned to projects that last just a few months. All of my efforts are aimed at a go-live date, and I don’t think much beyond that. When I’m writing a novel, my efforts are aimed at reaching two words: “The End.” What happens to my characters after that? Not my problem.
In other words, I’m extremely goal oriented. For this diet to work, I had to keep my eyes firmly on my goals. I had started at 250 lbs and was on track to lose a pound a week for 75 weeks.
But when you’re munching on dill pickles instead of Clark bars, a year and a half is a helluva long time.
My work projects are divided into two-week sections called “sprints.” My novels are divided into chapters. Finishing each of these gives me a sense of concrete progress toward my goal. Each one is a separate victory to be celebrated.
To keep myself motivated, I needed break this diet into some kind of rewarding “mile markers.” Achievable and FUN short-term goals.
Google to the rescue!
When I lost my first 10 lbs, I searched for common objects that weighed exactly that much. Then I posted in my family’s chat channel a photo of a paint can:
“I’ve lost a gallon of paint!! 🎉👍” They LOL’d.
In my web search, I’d also found a photo of a small boy struggling to carry a 20 lb watermelon. Posting that photo to my family chat became my next short-term weight loss goal.
And so it went.
At 30 lbs, I’d lost a microwave oven. At 40, a bag of cat litter. At 50, a kettlebell (whatever that was). At 60 lbs., I’d lost…an elephant’s penis? Yeah, I was running into a problem.
At lower numbers, web searches returned long lists of common, everyday objects. Huge numbers of dieters were probably making similar searches. As my own numbers left typical diets behind, though, such lists were harder to find. And the equivalent objects I found got weirder.
At 65 lbs., I’d lost an antique, cast iron sewing machine. At 70 lbs., a full suit of chainmail armor. As I closed in on my final weight loss goal of 75 pounds, web searches didn’t return any satisfying equivalents. A blacksmith’s anvil? Half a kangaroo?
When I complained to my wife, she said, “Hey, what about me?!” She’d been dieting, too, and was closing in on her own goal of 50 lbs. What if we combined our weight loss achievements and announced them to the family together?
We grabbed my laptop and quickly found an irresistible equivalent object. When we finally hit our combined dieting goal of losing 125 pounds, together we would have lost the adult weight of actor Daniel Radcliffe.
Yes, we would join an elite circle, currently occupied only by his ex-girlfriends: people who had lost Harry Potter.
Coming soon, the exciting conclusion: Part V – Superman’s beer belly