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Santa Maria Sun / Humor

The following article was posted on May 22nd, 2013, in the Santa Maria Sun - Volume 14, Issue 11 [ Submit a Story ]
The following articles were printed from Santa Maria Sun [santamariasun.com] - Volume 14, Issue 11

The ups and downs of dieting

Get the skinny on Rob's weighty issue

BY ROB KRIDER

Allow me to explain a particular moment I consider to be the greatest time in my life. I am talking about the moment when I have successfully dieted, exercised, and lost enough weight to fit into my favorite old board shorts. It is at that exact moment that life is great. It isn’t great because all of my hard work paid off and I am happy with my body. It’s great because I can celebrate for five months straight by eating whatever I want, not exercising at all, and working feverishly to destroy the body I worked so hard to mold. The idea is to get skinny so I can instantly get fat again. It is a cyclical process with miles of jogging in contrast to massive cheese intake. Losing weight sucks, but gaining it tastes so damn good. Doctors call this up and down behavior yo-yo dieting. I didn’t go to medical school, so I just call it sitting on the couch eating bacon and feeling awesome about it.

When I’m dieting I feel guilty about everything I eat, count calories, and continually shame myself for not going to the gym. When I’m not dieting, I just feel great after eating half of an extra-large pizza with extra cheese all by myself. Especially if I have just finished dieting, and my body still looks good (for now). I’ll enjoy three more slices of pizza; I deserve it. To show my peace with the food gods, I lick my fingers and belch. I love gaining weight; it’s the best part of dieting.

Eventually, all of that eating does catch up with me. Sooner or later I sit down and realize that my arms are resting on a soft cushion that happens to be my belly. As convenient as it is to always have a comfortable place to set my arms down, my poor heart is buried under all of that fat trying desperately to keep beating to keep me alive. Eventually, after needing to go back to the garage to find the garbage bag with my fat clothes, I realize it is time to give up the good stuff and start dieting again. Good thing I never take my fat clothes to Goodwill; ultimately I wear them again. Dieting is the part I hate, but there is light at the end of the tunnel. When I get my weight back down to my goal, then it is taco time. Like 24 tacos kind of time.

People who watch my body change three times a year ask me, “Haven’t you ever heard of moderation, or maintaining your weight?” The answer is, “No, I’ve never heard of that.” Moderation means no 24 tacos, no whole pizzas, no real-sugar-filled soft drinks that I consider the nectar of the gods.

The first thing I have to ditch when I am dieting is my favorite drink: Pepsi—the real stuff, not that chemical-tasting Diet Pepsi. Diet drinks are for super models. I am a man; I drink real sugary soft drinks like any normal American 12-year-old kid.

The truth is, I suck down about eight Pepsis a day. For you human calorie counters out there, yes, your math is correct: That is 1,400 calories a day in Pepsi alone (150 calories per 12-ounce can times 8 equals 1,400). Some people say that 1,400 calories a day is all a person should consume. However, if all I ate during the day was the eight Pepsis, I would still be totally hungry. Therefore I must mix my 1,400 calories’ worth of Pepsi with about 2,000 more calories of waffles, cheeseburgers, and pizza. That totals about 3,400 calories and no exercise at all. Unless you count the exercise of me leaning out of my car window to tell the girls at Foster’s Freeze: “I’ll take your Big Boss Combo with a Pepsi and extra large on everything. Yes, I want bacon.”

I will admit that I do overeat. I attribute this to something I like to call esophagus delay. Here is what happens. My stomach (filled with more than a thousand calories’ worth of liquid Pepsi) thinks it is empty. So my stomach sends an angry text message to my brain: “I’m hungry, dammit!” My brain tells my body, “Send pain signals until he puts something in his mouth that expands in a sea of Pepsi.” My body reacts to this text message conversation by standing in front of the refrigerator with the door open. I spend some time staring deeply into the abyss that is stuff I never eat but for some reason our fridge is always filled with (box of baking soda, bottle of vinegar, can of Diet Coke). After staring into the fridge long enough to get yelled at by my wife, whom I love, I always go to my fallback: cheese and crackers.

Drug addicts talk about the incredible craving and need for a fix of cocaine or methamphetamine. I get the same overwhelming feeling when it comes to a piece of sharp cheddar cheese on a Ritz cracker. I need my cheese and crackers! If it came down to it, I would buy a gun and hold up a convenience store in order to quench my addiction. The good news, and the reason I don’t have a criminal record from knocking over convenience stores to get cheese and crackers, is I can simply buy cheese and crackers at that store. Maybe if we sold heroin at these stores, they wouldn’t get robbed so often.

Back to my stomach text messaging my brain to immediately fill myself with food! I eat a cubic foot worth of cheese and crackers, and these nutrients have entered my body. I probably only needed about three crackers and three beautiful yellowish-orange chunks of sharp cheddar to fill up my belly. But because of the esophagus delay, my stomach is still texting my brain, over and over again: “Feed me, feed me!” The stomach texts faster than a 13-year-old girl at a Justin Bieber concert. So I keep eating. Eventually my stomach gets full and sends one last text message: “I’m good.” But because of the esophagus delay, food is still en route to my belly. After a few minutes, my belly looks like I’m in my third trimester and the next text message to the brain is, “I’m going to be sick.” Time to diet … again.

Rob is fat. No he’s skinny. Oh, he got fat again.