47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project Part 3

47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project

Part : 3 Weeks One & Two

Changes in Attitudes, Changes in Fattitudes
Well, we are officially underway. The journey to drop forty-seven pounds (at age 47) began March 2nd. I weighed-in at 245 lbs. That’s right; I actually gained 2 pounds during my pre-diet binge. Thank you. Thank you. You’re too kind.

Now here’s a great Day One strategy – root canal. That filling I lost was worse than I hoped. So, I had my first root canal, which really can kick-start a diet, I’ll tell you what. Why someone hasn’t touted the “Oral Surgery Weight Loss Plan” before now, I have no idea. There is no better appetite suppressant than feeling the throb of your pulse in your face.

The other thing I did to kick-start the diet, the real thing, the lazy-ass thing, is…I ordered food. The Chef’s Diet (formerly “Zone Chefs”) is a delivery service in NYC and L.A. They deliver your food for the day, right to your door. I get 3 meals and 2 snacks all based on The Zone Diet. This is great. For the first month all I will eat is what they give me, nothing else. This gets me used to proper meal ideas, how much to eat and how often. It’s a tad pricey and I really can’t afford it, but as my dear friend Mark Miller would say, “Steve, you can’t afford not to.” (Only he’d be talking about getting my butt to some drunken “Pirate Festival” in St. Pete.)

I’m back to the gym. I’m doing 3 and a quarter miles on the treadmill…in a row. So, after one week (drum roll) I weighed in at…
237 lbs. (Down 8 lbs. 39 to go.)

I just heard a chorus of females shout, “Men suck! Weight just flies off men. And they leave the toilet seat up and start wars.” Sorry. It happened. First week – 8 lbs.

TheTryin’, the Switch and the Wardrobe
“Has the eating been hard? Late-night cravings? Are you starving?” A lot of people have been asking. The answer is – not at all – so far. To paraphrase Yogi Berra, “It’s one half physical and ninety percent mental.” It’s weird but something might be hard for you until one day you just flip a switch. My chain-smoking friend Jody couldn’t quit to save her life, but the moment she suspected she was pregnant, down went the cigarettes – not a puff (that is until Emily was born - then, right back). My switch is flipped. This is what I’m doing now.

The weed and booze haven’t been an issue, either. It’s a case of habit vs. addiction. When I quit smoking – HUGE cravings. That was over four years ago, and I STILL get them. Tobacco is addictive. Marijuana is not; it’s just fun. Here is the “Duh Factor”, though – the obvious thing that never occurred to me. When you smoke a bowl most evenings, when you have a few drinks most evenings – these are sleep aids. Hey Idiot, you removed your sleep aids. So, for the first week, my sleep was f**ked.

Week Two weigh-in (drum roll)…
233 lbs. (Down 12 lbs. 35 to go)

The key now is to not get pleased with myself and relent. The only real change so far is that I’ve gone from nothing fitting at all – to a few things fitting poorly.

Me, me, me-ness and Stevie P-ness
Lastly, I would like to say a word about blogging, because here I am doing it, now. Some people actually seemed to be invested, and are asking me to hurry with updates and installments. (Thank you and bless you all.) But I must confess – I have always had a tolerate/hate relationship with blogs. Why? Because 90% percent of them are crap-ass exercises in self-obsession. “Look at me! I’m writing about me. Read about me. Me, me me.” It’s usually someone’s poorly-written therapy – pointless drivel, with no real audience. Wait a minute, I can write that!

But then there is the 10% that are well-written, or funny, or insightful, or moving. Kellie’s beautiful blog about her struggle with stage fucking four Lymphoma, brought me to tears – had me barking out surprising laughs, and made me love and care for a woman I’ve never met who is hundreds of miles away. Check her out and send love.
(http://www.cancerbecomesme.blogspot.com/) The fact that she or any of you, for that matter, are tuned in to my trifle about pot brownies and pot bellies is, quite frankly, humbling.

So I’m asking you to keep me honest, gang. I don’t want this to devolve into an inventory of weigh-ins and menus. And if you see me driving down Narcissistic Blather Lane, GPS me back on course, will ya?