Werewolf Weight Loss
In many werewolf movies there’s a scene in which the characters who know they are werewolves, during a moment of clarity, will voluntarily lock themselves up, and tell their friends something like, “Please keep me locked in this cage until dawn. No matter what I do, or say, or how I protest, don’t unlock this cage!” They do this because they know that once the moon rises, they will lose all self-control, turn into a werewolf, and terrorize everybody.
Lately, this has been happening to me. Every evening after dinner (and sometimes even after lunch!) I feel a peculiar feeling, and lose control of myself. I don’t turn into a werewolf. Rather, I turn my attention to the kitchen cupboards in search of chocolates, peanut butter, cookies, brownies, or whatever sweets or crunchies I can find. I eat my fill until all hopes of having had a sensible eating day are lost.
Once recovered from my stupor, I realize that the low-grade pleasure I received from the sugar and calories wasn’t worth the havoc on my waistline and blood sugar levels. But the damage is done and I have to start over the next day.
Before I moved to Chesterfield, Virginia last year from Las Vegas, Nevada, my diet was totally dialed-in. Even as I was getting smashed at jiu-jitsu most days, I looked good doing it.
I guess the move, the subsequent holidays, and then the coronavirus lockdown weakened my resolve. Suddenly my family was baking and I was eating. I was even buying chocolate bars from the grocery store and pretending they fell into the peanut butter jar by accident.
After several failed attempts at curbing my habits, I decided to take more extreme measures and enlist my kids as “accountability partners”. They are exquisitely sensitive to who gets to consume sweets from a “social equity” perspective. They resent any special parental privileges and relish the opportunity to speak truth to power and turn the screws on Dad.
So, I sat them down one morning and asked them to monitor my sweets consumption. I’m now restricted to sweets only on special occasions, the next one being the fourth of July three months from now. I’m also disallowed from eating seconds at dinnertime, or having more than one piece of toast for breakfast, or more than one rice cake per day.
If I were to break this pact, it would ruin my credibility, display an unseemly lack of self-control, and lower my family’s image of me. I never intended for it to reach this desperate point, but my prior efforts were failing and I was spiraling out of control. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I must resist the siren call of the flab.
Please like and comment on this post if you’d like an update in a few weeks.
