And again I leap up waving my fists in the air and cry “I HAVE IT !”
Totally different topic from that in which I uttered a similar cry some posts back: this time I’ve formed a theory about — ugh ! — weight loss.
For reasons I cannot recall, I found myself watching on the laptop a series of UK television programmes called “Supersize vs Superskinny”, fronted by a bloke of whose qualifications I am entirely ignorant but who obviously lifts weights in his spare moments. He also wears form-fitting rather loud shirts outside his trousers, and I shall utter not another syllable about that.
‘Dr Christian’ has a formulaic show that must work as it’s into its 6th or 7th (or maybe more ?) series; and we all know that no TV network screens that many episodes of a show unless it’s pulling in the figures. Unintended pun there ..
Its central idea is putting one of each kind into his ‘feeding house’ after establishing, via daily eating diaries of who knows how many weeks, what their entrenched diets are. Then at all three meals the serving each has produced (or has been produced for them, I can’t make that bit out) is swapped over to the other. This provides entertainment along the lines of watching a skeletonic woman looking down in despair at the third gigantic meal of the day sent across the table by her opposite, a huge woman in more despair than she is because of having two Mars bars on a plate in front of her.
But before that viewers are treated to looking over eight huge and eight skeletonic people standing around a weighing machine.
And it’s at this early point that I have been infuriated: not a single superisze woman has a shape like mine ! See that ? – she has ANKLES ! She could walk into a shoe shop and buy shoes – or into Kmart and buy socks ! I started out having inherited my mother’s somewhat shapeless ankles; but mine grew grossly disgusting as I grew fatter. Now I have to admit to not having worn a skirt for approximmately 45 years, just to keep mine from the public gaze.
That is a woman who, we are told, weighs something like 24 stone (152.5 kg) because this is a British programme – featuring lots of Poms, Welsh and Scots, but no Irish .. Rather odd, that ..
Anyway. We see what she eats. It’s appalling – almost incredible – and she’s by no means the worst ! And this really gets to me; because her daily intake would be around .. oh, three or four times the size of mine, at least. No shit ! Mind you, I don’t weigh 152.5 kg (103.1); but our body shapes are not all that different except for the ankles ..
For her, too much takeaway. (In fact I believe I can say that every supersize we see in all the programmes has the same problem, and revolting takeaway food — have you SMELLED a Subway shop lately ? — is proliferating.) For me, ‘portions’ that are far too big. Really good food, though almost vegetarian, that’s delicious. I eat too much of it. I also drink far too much milk coffee: shot pulled from my espresso machine and the mug filled with HOT HOT lactose-free milk.
The pair spends a couple of days in this double torture and then gets lectured and given a diet plan for the next two or three months. We next see their returns: the skinnies have managed to add a pound or two, but the fatties have gone down stones ! I am filled with jealous rage ..
So. My St Paul moment – time to reveal it.
Any fat person who is given a diet plan and who can look forward to reporting in on it on a regular basis will lose weight and continue to do so.
It’s fundamental. If I knew I had an authorititive supervisor who kept on seeing me at intervals, I would be motivated to perform. Indefinitely.
The problem is that when one has no-one to talk with about a regimen, let alone report in on it, it’s a waste of time even trying. I need someone up there (meaning up the hierarchical chain) to listen to me waffling on about my terror of being hungry. I did briefly try a psychologist a few years ago, but all he did was tell me how wonderful I am; and that is not only psychological porkies, but intolerable.
I shall get back onto my donkey and clip-clop away ..