The Diet Contest...shhhhhh!

The diet class taught me one thing. Ok, it taught me many things...but one thing stands out. Men and women are very different. I'm practically a genius, I know. I don't know why that guy wrote the hideous book, 'Men are from Mars, Women are...blah, blah, blah.' He could have saved a lot of time by attending a diet class.

Men are, by nature, competitive animals. We compete at everything. We compete at stupid things. You name it, we will make a contest for it. Any and all sports, a contest. How fast you can get somewhere driving, a contest. Drinking games? Seriously, do you think that was created by a woman? Who can barbecue the best? Spit the furthest? Burp the loudest? Real men care about these things.

Women are social animals. It started with tea parties...and just went downhill from there. Dress pretty, play nice, sugar and spice and all that crap. Oh, in the last ten to fifteen years the landscape has changed a little. But let's face it, if you are a woman, competing like a guy, 98 times out of 100, you will be treated like a guy. That may get you props...but it won't get you many dates. So the die has been cast.

I will say this, women who like to compete with men are not in the Diet Class. They don't drown their sorrows with Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia...they go kill some guy friend in racquetball and burn about 1200 calories doing it. They don't end up fat and they don't ever feel like victims of a 'weight-issue.' The women in the diet class were all nice women. I will say honestly though that most of them did not seem as committed to the diet as the men were. The men in diet class still had that guy-ish competitive fire. It was there. Buried and smoldering...but you had to be a guy to recognize it. And so it came to be, that that was how I would figure out the golden rule in diet class. A rule that had been profferred by the majority of that class, the women. DON'T EVER, EVER, EVEN UNDER DURESS, MENTION THE AMOUNT YOU LOST. What a weird rule! It wasn't stated...but it existed as sure as the oxygen in that room. You couldn't see it...but you knew it was there.

The class started with the Behavior Specialist (let's call her...Sharon) telling everyone that we start the class with a weekly "check in." The "check in" was the time when you introduce yourself and tell everyone how your week went. I am a data guy. I work with data and facts and revenue and expenses all day long. I have to describe business happenings in a complete, accurate, concise, EFFICIENT manner. That said, I just say it like it is. So I listened to the first woman.

"Hi, my name is Joan. I had...I guess...a so so week. I did all right. I didn't do as well as I wanted but I did lose some. So long as you lose something, you are going in the right direction, right?"

How much did you lose??? (I think in italics.)

"Hi, I'm Janie and I didn't do well at all this week. I will try harder next week."

How much did you lose??? or gain???

"Hi, I'm Mary and I went on a work thing last week and came back and had to go to a wedding. I have vowed that this week I am going to recommit myself to the diet."

Recommit? RE-commit?? As in 'start over?' Do you mean to tell me that people are on this diet and cheating? It costs $800 plus the co-pays and food! This is nuts.

"Hi, I'm Ray (my buddy). I did real well this week, I am happy and I reached a personal milestone."

"What was it?", I asked.

"I just did real well.", he said, anxious for the discussion to move on.

"How much did you lose?", I whispered.

"We don't talk about that.", he said tensely. His tight smile was betrayed by his eyes, nervously darting around the room.

Most of the room gave him those knowing nods. You know, the ones they use at private clubs when you self-police. The last time I saw something like this was in East Germany before the Berlin Wall was torn down. The oppressed folk in that lovely town had the same look on their faces. I sat there thinking, "I will tell you this, I am going to say how great I am doing." When I go on a diet, and I had been on a few, I don't mess around. I commit, I focus, I deliver. I can't KEEP the weight off, but dammit, I can hit my goal. And when I am in that mode...EVERYONE knows what I am doing. I tell everyone...because I expect...FULLY...to succeed. So if they thought I was going to adhere to the social dictum of the class, they had another thing coming. They were in my schoolyard now...they would have to learn to deal with me.

"Hi, my name is Dick and this is my first week. I haven't lost one pound yet but I just got my shakes and can't wait to get this thing started. My goal is 85 lbs and I fully expect to hit it in a very short time. I have been waiting 6 weeks to get into this program and I am ready to rock it."

Sharon just gave me an apologetic nod. "Well that's very...um...encouraging. Nice to have a new face in the group."

Nervous tension. Concerned glares. Biting lips. Pursed smiles. But wry looks from the guys. Knowing glances between the men. "He's here isn't he? It's him. He's the one."

I was there to free them from their emasculated forms. I was going to bring the heat to the kitchen. I was about to make this a miserable hell for the ones who had made the unspoken rules.

Welcome to the Diet Contest.

Next: The most selfishly unselfish thing you will ever do.

My First Weigh-In and Class

Finally, after all the weeks of waiting, all the evaluations, and all the parties I had with food because I knew the diet was coming, the day had arrived. I would weigh-in, buy my prepared food, and join my 'modified-fast' group. The group wasn't filled with people who were all starting tonight. It was a revolving group. It was an evolving group. A group of people, some of whom had been there for what seemed like an eternity, and those who had just blasted in and lost the weight and were ready to leave. So I was joining a program...already in progress.

I had been the new kid all my life. This would be no different. My first experience being the new kid was in 6th grade. My catholic school of 5 years had to close and it was merged with a catholic school across town. They took our entire school and stuffed us together with a brand new set of kids. For good measure, they threw all of us in a hat and shook out the names (you would have thought this actually happened) and dropped us in one of two classes. So some of your old friends were with you, some were not. They put me in a seat right behind the girl who is today my wife. The finger of fate had pointed me out and stuck us together. For me, 6th grade would be the first in a long line of changes that would forever have me branded "the new kid."

"Ok class, we are all going to introduce ourselves and I want everyone to tell the class something about yourself." Let's start here. "Hi, I'm Tommy...blah, blah, blah" "Hi, I'm Liz..." "Hi, I'm Dick" Laughter. "What?", the teacher said. I was waiting for this, it always happened. "Dick...that's right, Dick...oldest son of two socially insensitive parents." Yeah baby, it was 1973 and the name Dick was just starting its entree into the English language with a brand new meaning. The dawn of a new era for me, like the age of Aquarius. The last year or two hadn't been easy. 6th grade is when you start to get wise to the social stuff. I had wished at times I could change the stupid name (and later I actually would for 4 years). I was named after my father, who was named after HIS father, who was named after HIS father. I was 4th in a long line of Dicks. The only one who really benefited from this was my younger brother, John, 11 months my junior. Let's face it, brothers don't really get along that well growing up and are always looking for an edge on each other. And if you are a younger brother in 1973 and your older brother is named Dick...well, face it, you just won the brass ring in the carousel of life. So with the blessing of a name like that, you learn how to be the new kid. If you can't laugh at yourself...well, you will be the only one not laughing, so you better just join in.

Before I could join the class, I had to weigh in and get my blood pressure taken. This was a big deal that day. This was the baseline against which all future progress would be measured. This was the data I was here to actually change. I weighed in at 286lbs and my blood pressure was 135 over...something. I never remember the bottom number, even though someone told me once it was the more important of the two. After you weigh in, you stand in line to get your food. They have one desk in one room and a palate of pre-mixed Optifast Shakes in cases. They also have the powdered mix, meal bars and soup (more on these two later). For privacy reasons (??) they make you stand behind a line outside the door and down the hallway a bit. This is to give the weight patients privacy as they buy their items. They then give you your shakes (and we all get the same amount of them because the diet is measured) and they give them to you in big transparent plastic bags. And then you leave and you walk BY the people in the corridor...who silently pretend NOT to see that you have exactly what THEY are about to purchase in your bag. The secrecy was hysterical. Like some perverted "don't ask, don't tell" policy. It would have been awesome if someone would have walked out with their see-through bag and half a bird from KFC with a canister of those big fluffy potatoes on the side (smothered in gravy, of course!).

So now, I finally got the chance to go to my class! I carried in my top secret see-through bag and pretended not to notice the OTHER see-through bags. Hey this was great! There was Ray, my buddy from work who lost all the weight! "How you doin' Ray?", I said excitedly.

"Great, lost about 70 lbs, tonight is my last night!"

The only guy that I knew in the class and he was ready to leave. He was going to the 'maintenance program" where you go when the diet goal is reached. They focus more on learning how to eat and keeping the weight off.

The meeting was run by a behavioral specialist and she had us all introduce ourselves. I have seen this movie before. "Hi, I'm Dick..." Silence. Wow. I guess people actually grow up and out of the whole "his name is Dick, ha ha" thing. It felt like Weight Watchers a little bit without the food talk all the time and, of course, no one ran out the door screaming. It also was roughly the same ratio of men to women as Weight Watchers...about 3 men to about 17 women. I didn't get it. Men don't care if they are fat or not? Women feel forced to bend to the societal underpinnings of needing to be thin to be beautiful? Whatever it was, none of these people seemed engaged. It's like they were dragged here. It bothered me. Because I was totally psych'ed up to be there. Why were they so quiet and down? Maybe because you have to pay a lot to be here and it has depressed them. Maybe they were starving...those little shakes were killng them. Maybe though, it's because they were somewhat unexcitable and boring? Perhaps...you be the judge. I just tell the stories.

Next: Is this a diet contest??

The Doctor's Visit - The Final Hurdle

Ok, maybe I just expect too much. I went to the psych evaluation and thought that the person evaluating me should be the kind of person who has empathy for fat people, as in, the person should have been fat. She wasn't and obviously had never been. That should really have been the tipoff that I was in Seinfeld's 'Bizarro World.' Am I wrong here? Is it too much to expect that the people who profess expertise in something be the picture of what they profess? Where would Sylvia Browne be with all her psychic books if she wasn't even marginally psychic? Don't you expect that when you go to a mechanic, his car shouldn't be broken down in his driveway? When you go see Dr. Phil, do you expect that he is going to be a divorced psycho mess? So I go see the Doctor who RUNS the Weight Management Program and I expect him to be? Help me here. That's right. THIN! But instead, in walks the kind of jolly guy that I expected to see in the psych eval. Yessiree Bob, this paunchy little fellow runs the whole program. I am looking around for all those little shakes they showed us in orientation...maybe he is currently ON the diet. Maybe he is drinking those babies down four or five at a pop like Yoo Hoo and he ran out. Maybe he gets thin, then fat and then gets thin again, just to show the patients how well it works. I really have no idea. So I can't wait to hear what he has to say.

First, I have to tell you, I didn't really want to be there. When you are over 40 you do NOT want to go for anything called a "physical." I could take the EKG heart test with the super-glue stickers they use to remove the hair from your chest. I could take the tube they stuck down my throat when they did an endoscopy like Indiana Jones looking for an ulcer. I didn't even mind all that much when the Ear, Nose and Throat doctor stuck the tube in my nose and down the back of my throat...and I still have no clue how she was supposed to find the source of my allergies that way...but I didn't mind that much. So there I sat with my eyes just scanning the entire room feverishly for that little box that looked like tissues, but had those clear rubber gloves in it. I was here for the diet, not to make intimate friends.

The other thing is, no doctor has ever performed a physical on me where I thought they had the potential to discover anything that I couldn't already have imagined I had or had self-diagnosed on the internet. I always get the same questions during the appointment. Real penetrating questions. Family medical history (I wish they would type it into a permanent record...I didn't make it up last time and I don't expect it to change...much), job history (stressful?...and they are always surprised when you say 'yes') and recent emotional history (they want to make sure they can get out of that little room alive). Blood pressure. Listen to the heart ("take a deep breath...now don't breath normally"). Take the temperature. Someone, at some time, should explain to me how accurate those new thermometers are when they get dragged under your throat and across your forehead for 1.5 seconds. How the hell is it that you have to shake down the thermometer in your house for 5 minutes and suck on it for 3 minutes yet this thing can register your body temperature in 1.5 seconds? One time, seriously, the nurse said "96 degrees". I said, "shouldn't I be 98.6?" She said, "close enough." Medical science. As we reach the finale we always have the rubber glove handshaking...his glove, my shaking. Then there is the usual final diagnosis..."you need to lose some weight." Seriously, somewhere in Granada there is a third world medical school that is just pumping out the graduates.

Compared to my usual visit, this one was quicker and more efficient. My jolly doc just went through the standard questions, reviewed the blood test I had taken at their request, told me how the diet would work, and asked me if I had any questions. I had read a lot about the diet, no questions really. He said my weight and BMI (body mass index) had me right on the border-line between overweight and obese. Obese...gotta love that term...or better yet 'morbidly' obese. Nice to know they have a term for those times when obese just doesn't quite decribe you. Because I was border-line I got to choose between two programs, Full-Fast or Modified-Fast. The difference you ask? Modified-Fast is three 160 calorie shakes per day and one carefully measured meal. Full-Fast is 5 of those same shakes per day, all liquid. I chose Modified-Fast, no need to be extreme here right? I was quite happy. We did all this with my clothes on.

He told me I would have to get an exercise evaluation but that I could start the program without that...I could get that later. I chose a Thursday night program that I would have to attend once per week (more on that later). And so there I was, ready to start the program. Finally, after all the waiting and evaluations, I would start the program. I was actually excited.

DickThinks
As an aside from my diet, I should apologize because I missed blogging last night. You most likely don't care. I did, however, make a promise to myself to try to have an entry every weekday. Last night didn't work out. My very generous son gave me his cold...something I actually haven't had since before I began my diet last July. The sore throat was starting and I went into the cupboard in search of my old friend. There it was all the way in the back, hidden from months of non-use. That tall fat bottle with the clear plastic cup perched upside down on top of it. Yep, 40% alcohol and 60% heavy duty medicine. You know you are using stuff created by a pro when it comes with its own plastic shot-glass. You got it...Nyquil. The Nightime, Sniffling, Sneezing, Coughing, Aching, Stuffyhead, Fever, So You Can Forget Tomorrow Medicine. It's the only medicine I've ever taken where I can wake up 10 hours later and feel like I am wrapped in cellophane. It says on the side of the bottle that you should take it in bed. That's because if you don't you might pass out between the bathroom and your bedroom and hit your head on a coffee table or something. Nothing like medical lawsuits. So needless to say, I did a shot of that and was out like a light. Sometime this morning in the middle of a 10AM staff meeting I woke up and wondered what I had eaten for breakfast. But at no time did I remember blogging. So tonight, I blogged first. Now, off to my Nyquil. I am going to try to dream that the Conflicker virus does not infect anyone and that April Fool's day is uneventful! Until tomorrow...

Next: My First Weigh-In

Inside the Dim Recesses of my Mind

When I think about probing around the inside of people's minds, it makes me nervous. Not probing around in my mind, probing around in other people's minds. You never quite know what makes someone else tick. You can guess. You can think you know. But let's face it, the nervous part here is that you never really know what is going on in someone else's head. So I always wonder, what makes a psychologist (or counselor etc.) ever feel like they have really figured out a person's problem and then lets them know that they have solved it. My conclusion...they don't. There are people out there who are just way too skilled in the fine art of deceit. The shrinks have a few more tools to help them get the insight. But if you have ever failed miserably at home repair you know one thing, a tool is only as good as the person using it. They have some exercises they can have you do to get some bad behaviors out of your system. And don't we all just love performing private exercises? At the end of the day, therapy/counseling always feels like a dance...with someone else leading. Sometimes it can be fun, but sometimes you step all over the other person's feet.

So to get into this Weight Management Program, I needed to talk to a counselor. About what, I had no clue. This was a diet right? A diet? And I needed to talk to a counselor. The government let me join the Army and I didn't have to talk to a counselor. They even let me play with guns...and hand grenades...and taught me how to use them. So for this diet, I needed a mental check up. This was going to be interesting.

Just so we are on the same page here, I am a fairly self-aware and open person. If you ask me a direct question, you are getting a direct answer. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Go straight to the answer. So as I approached this counseling session, that was my mindset going in. Some people are not comfortable with this level of candor. Most counselors treat the world as if it had something to hide. THIS dance was going to be interesting.

I went back to the same building that I had gone to for the orientation. Everything that had to do with the Weight Management Program was in this building on the same floor. One whole floor dedicated to the science of turning the masses into smaller masses. One body at a time.

They sent me to a side office. Lot's of pictures. Very personal and comfortable. I wondered, was this the way the shrink liked it or was it set up this way on purpose? Great way to start here, paranoia. So in comes my weight counselor. I expected a jolly kind of person who could empathize with the whole weight thing (like Rosie O'Donnell or something). Instead I get someone looking more like an exercise Hitler from Fit-TV (apologies to all you 'PC' nazis out there). She was about 5 foot 2 inches tall and very wiry. She wore one of those digital watches that the triathlon runners wear...for all I knew she had just finished a race ten minutes ago. She had these lean muscular exercise arms where the veins are popping out all over. She wouldn't know an ounce of cellulite if it hit her right in the face. Seriously, what could she possibly need to know to evaluate me for this program? We were about as similar as a carrot stick and a side of beef.

She had a little questionnaire. I guess we were going to be working off of her sheet...the prescribed Shrink tool of the day. The questions started and I was as candid as always.

"How would you describe your eating habits?"

"My eating habits?", I asked. "Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks...same as most I guess."

"Do you binge eat?"

"Binge? You mean like in spurts? No. I eat pretty consistently."

"Do you eat food at times when others aren't around?"

"Sure. And also when they are around. I like food...I don't really care who is around."

For the most part, the questions seemed pretty normal. And then...

"Do you hide food in your home so you can eat it when others aren't looking?"

"You mean, like, behind furniture or something? It wouldn't last long, I have a dog. Seriously, look at me...I weigh 285 lbs...do you think I would be fooling anybody? I can just hear it now, 'gee whiz, Dick never eats but he seems to be increasing in size geometrically.' I'm sorry, maybe I am missing something here."

"Do you purge yourself after eating?"

"Purge? As in, 'throw up?' If I did, wouldn't I be a lot thinner? Is this why you asked the question about hiding food? Do you have people in this program who eat, vomit, and then dive behind the couch to eat where they can't be seen? And, wouldn't they want to vomit again after eating the hidden food? Especially if the dog licked it?"

"Well, it IS a problem for some..."

"Well, look at me. It obviously isn't MY problem."

"This diet is relatively expensive, how do you feel about that?"

I was starting to detect a pattern in the questions. People who sabotage their own efforts. We were obviously looking for people who could rationalize their way out of murder.

"How do I feel? Look, let's get something straight. I want to go on this diet. I am fat. Call it what it is. It's not overweight...overweight is when your pants are a little too tight. Fat is when you need expandable waist lines and your waist size is two times your pants length. I don't play the victim card. FAT didn't just happen to me. I have mirrors in my house. I don't fit well in any of them. I know how I got this way. I am very well aware of the amount of food I have plowed into this body. I realize the diet is expensive. I didn't get this big on Lite beer...I like the Brown Ales and they aren't cheap. I have even brewed some very high calorie stuff myself! I eat in restaurants and, as you can see, have never carried out a doggie-bag. I didn't wake up one morning, open the closet, and have fat just leap out and attack me. I know how I got this way because I can remember every stinking buffalo chicken wing and french fry that I have shoved into this pie-hole. I am responsible for how I look and I will be responsible for fixing it. Understand?"

She looked a little surprised at my outburst. It seemed to let a little tension out of the room though. She said, "look, I get it. I have to ask these questions to fill out the form."

She looked at the form and smiled and then looked at me and said in a whisper, "have you ever thought of...killing anyone?"

What? I leaned close to her and, with a squint in my eyes, whispered back, "nooo."

She continued this weird pattern, "have you ever thought of...hurting someone?"

Again I whispered, "yessss...but I would hope that the moral fabric of society would keep me from actually doing it."

She laughed. Finally she said, "is there anything secret that you want to tell me? Something you really need to say?"

"Why? Because I have been so secretive with you up to this point?"

She laughed again.

I guess I passed because they let me in the program. I felt very safe. I never felt for one moment that anyone in my program class would hurt or kill me. Some of them, however, did strike me as 'food hiders.' Just kidding.

Next step, the physical. Nothing like a good physical for a man over forty. If you are in that category, you get the joke.

Next: Finally, A Doctor's Approval