Not Looking Good

Weight loss is like a good adventure story. There’s a hero (you) and there are villains (tubs of buttered movie popcorn). There’s a mentor (Richard Simmons) and a love interest (tubs of buttered movie popcorn). There are sweeping highs and dismal lows and in the end you hope everyone lives happily ever after.

I’m sure when you first met Tubs of Buttered Movie Popcorn, you immediately knew that it was true love. It became obvious when every time Tubs asked you to do something (let’s say, fetch a pitcher) you would always reply, “As you wish.”

But you’d been burned before in previous relationships. You didn’t want to repeat past mistakes. So you learned about “moderation” and eventually the weight started to come off. Life was good. But, alas! eventually all good things come to an end. You hit a plateau. No matter what you tried (same plan, different plan, mixing it up, …) you got stuck. “Inconceivable!”

“You keep using that word. I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

I sensed this coming last week and this week’s weigh-ins confirmed it. Here’s a string of days for you: 206.5, 206.5, 206.5, 206.5, 206.5 (yes, five days in a row: a new record), 207.5, 206.5, 207, 207.5, 207. Hrmph! Some of those days I ate 1500 calories. Some days 2500. Some were good days. Some days contained candy.

But what’s really going on is my body knows The Holidays have started. Like a bear heading into hibernation, everything changes. So I’m switching to a new plan. Instead of “weight loss” I’m going to go with “not gain.” It’s time to dig in my heels, watch myself, and if I show up here on January 5, 2009 and I’m still 207, it’ll be a Christmas Miracle.

I know this sounds like “giving up” to most of you. But you don’t know me the way I know me and believe you me: not gaining during this time of year is infinitely more difficult than losing the rest of the year.

But I’m up for the challenge. I’ve been pursuing this six-fingered goal since I was a boy. And for the first time ever, I think I just might do it. Come January, I will look my fat straight in the eye and say, “Hello. My name is Charlie Hills. You killed my tennis career. Prepare to die.”

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