“How I Lost 20 Pounds Without Really Trying”

I grew up yearning to be my Barbie doll. Had my wish been
granted, I’d measure 36-18-33. With a foot-long neck.

As a budding teen, the only curves I possessed were my eyeballs.
Few foods met my taste standards and my poor mother had a wicked
time feeding me.

Gradually, though, my menu expanded and my weight rose steadily.
Too steadily. It didn’t help that my Junior High friend made
Twiggy look fat. Sharon had a tall, willowy body that no amount
of fasting could imitate.

That didn’t stop me from trying though. I launched my first real
diet at 13 – old age compared to the newest wave of weight
watchers. Though I don’t recall the details of the “plan,” I
realize now that it marked the beginning of the end of my
metabolism.

After depriving myself for a day or two, I resumed eating only
to gain more weight than I lost. At that point, I panicked and
started another diet. Thus began a double life, which saw me
either starving or feasting with no happy medium.

As a young adult, I lived a Ho-Ho’s throw from a sprawling
supermarket. I was plump then and have a picture of my cherubic
self in the kitchen. The cupboards in the background sported
inspiring signs to prompt me to eat healthier.

Nevertheless, I strolled across the street one day and purchased
a can of frosting. Then I stole back home where I devoured every
trace of it. We’re talking a month’s worth of sugar in one
coma-inducing sitting. Filled with self-loathing afterward, I
tore my inspiring signs to shreds.

I suspected an eating disorder prior to that, but the Frosting
Fiesta certainly drove home the point. Sweets weren’t my sole
downfall, however. I also bought into the chip theory that “no
one can eat just one.” Only I meant “bag.”

Stepping into my bathtub caused a tsunami at times. And I’d
outweigh my upright if not for the fact that I alternated binges
with the current Diet of the Month. At those times, I counted
carbs, calories and the days till I could pig out again.

I tried everything over the years. Remember the F-Plan Diet of
the 80s? All that fiber helped me lose weight and feel good
except for a shameful side effect. Now I know what the “F” stood
for.

No matter which diet came down the pike, I was right there to
greet it, the tune from “Rocky” playing in my head. “Gonna Fly
Now” inspired Sly to shape up for three entire minutes and had
the same effect on me.

Perhaps inspiration would’ve lasted longer if I had found a diet
I could live with. Oh sure, some produced temporary success, but
soon I’d hunger for real food and all was lost. Or, more
accurately, gained.

Fast forward to middle age — 47 to be exact. I woke up one
morning, my waistline the size of a 50-gallon drum. Rolling out
of bed, I repaired to the kitchen, where I found evidence of a
late night feast.

No wonder I’m plump, I thought — I don’t even remember eating.
A day of reflection convinced me that alcohol has done me no
favors, and I vowed to give it up. For tips in that regard, read
the book from whence this excerpt came. (Download “The Dine All
Day Diet” from http://www.radarblipbooks.com.)

The two pounds that disappeared that week spurred me to
continue, and I threw myself into diet research. One discovery I
made was that most humanoids need 12 to 15 calories per pound to
maintain weight, depending on activity level.

Okay, I said to myself, I always wanted to weigh a hundred
pounds. Why not shoot for the moon, right? Since I walk a lot, I
multiplied that number by 15 for a daily total of 1500 calories.
Not what you’d call Starvation Mode.

I also learned that frequent dining speeds up the body’s
metabolism. The article with that idea recommended three small
meals and three snacks, but I figured the more, the merrier.

Letting hunger be my guide, I settled on 10 mini-meals per day.
Three breakfasts, three lunches, three dinners and hey, how
’bout a bedtime snack. Doing the math, this worked out to 150
calories each. I went to great lengths to determine accurate
numbers. One time I came “this far” from calling the Pope about
communion wafers.

Meals often took the form of half a sandwich or a cup of soup.
Gradually my list of choices grew as I altered recipes to
squeeze the most taste from the fewest number of calories.

A good rule of thumb is that we should limit ourselves to
fist-sized portions. Our eyes may covet more than that but our
digestive system does not. Eating too much distends our poor
tummy, which has to fight its way back to proper size.

This knowledge helped me measure servings by sight instead of
weighing everything. Besides, how accurate is a kitchen scale
that says, “Not legal for trade”?

Advance preparation was another key to success. To that end, I
carried portable snacks while out and about, like bananas and
crackers. Have Triscuits, will travel. On the home front, I kept
sandwich fillings ready in the fridge. And I popped fields of
corn and spiced it with taco seasoning.

Frequent eating posed no problem for me. As long as I finished
my work, my boss cared not how often I snacked. One day he spied
a number of empty wrappers in the waste basket. “I hope you
don’t think *I* ate all that,” I said, knowing full well I had.

Eventually my food list and recipes filled a journal, which
became a bible of sorts. If the house burned down, I’d grab that
book even before my padded bra.

The beauty of the plan is that I never starved. Once hunger
struck, I acted on it, secure in the knowledge that my
metabolism would thank me. Hunger pangs are our body’s way of
saying, “Eat now or you’ll be sorry.” So I heard and I obeyed.

I assumed it was a fluke the first time I slipped into a Size
Three. They must have mislabeled that sucker, I thought to
myself. But then another one fit. And now I have a whole closet
full of tiny clothes. Just like Barbie.

Of course, it took awhile. It wasn’t like — bang! — I woke up
one day twenty pounds lighter. Without a formal beheading.
Instead, I lost a steady two pounds a month while eating often
and increasingly healthier. It was all very gradual, which is
how weight loss SHOULD be. I wish I’d learned the secret in my
teens. Or maybe my twenties. Even my thirties would have been
nice — that pleasant era before the onset of wrinkles and
facial hair. But I’m grateful to know it now: Small portions
eaten ridiculously often = a slim, happy body.

This system will work for you, too. “The Dine All Day Diet”
outlines a personalized game plan anyone can follow. Besides
step-by-step guidance, it offers menu suggestions, fitness ideas
that fit YOU, and plenty of laughs. Dozens of easy recipes with
full-color photos bring up the rear. Literally. Download it now
at http://www.radarblipbooks. com.

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