My Revelation: Dieting Is Of The Devil

touchy subjects to some in America. Not me. I do not fear anything about a diet, dieting or diets. To me, these things are just social (and medical) inventions to add years to our lives. Some diets are easy. Some are pure, brutal torture. Who really likes to live on bread and water for weeks? A non-thinking person, that's who. And as for the other "sensational" weight-loss revelations, I can tell you here and now that most diets and dieting guru's are of the devil himself.

How do I know this? Have you ever heard or read of God intentionally torturing His children? Now, he corrects us like any loving father, but He has never said to me, "Ken, to bed with you and no supper, breakfast or lunch for six months!" If He were to say something like this, wouldn't that make God a sadist? An entity who loves to bring pain to his living creatures? Sure it would. But take God's arch-enemy, the devil, this jerk loves to bring pain and suffering to mankind. Just ask Job of the Bible. Job was seen first as happy, healthy, wealthy and served God daily. Enter the devil who even tells God that "I cannot touch him as long as you have your hedge around him," so God, with full-confidence in Job, says, "have you considered my servant, Job?" And a deal is struck. The devil is allowed by God, to bring all kinds of pain and suffering on Job but he cannot touch his soul. Now who loves to make us suffer.

Prior to my very-first diet in 1981, I was called everything from "Big 'un," to "Hoss." And loved it. I thought that people liked me because of my extra-poundage. They might have liked me. But I think that I was the "butt" of man fun-makers who thrived on laughing at boys who were big like me. Thing is. I was the only boy in grades fourth through sixth who was "extra-large," and no, I was never a subscriber to "awww, there's just more of me to love," and all that garbage. I was happy. Big. And that was that. I woke up each day excited to be alive. Went to bed that night glad that I had a full day.

Then as high school faded, and I went into another cruel area, real life, I found out quick that weight matters. A whole lot. In 1975 I found out that most employers will not hire an overweight man or woman. I heard from an insider who heard one of these "righteous" business owners that, "big people just look, you know, ewwwwww, big," so that did it for me. I sought to lose weight and lose it fast. I had no choice. I had a new wife and a low-paying job. Where else was I to go but to a better-paying job?

I bought a package of Extra-Strength Dexatrim, the black capsules. They worked. Man, how they worked. I took one at 10 a.m. each day with a full glass of water and only ate a light supper. In no time at all, I had lost 81 pounds. I looked and felt like a corpse. My face had fell in. My ribs were on display. To my own thinking, I had achieved success. But the after-affects of this diet capsule are horrendous. My nerves were shot. I was on-edge. Nervous most of the time and had developed an internal fear of food. That's right. Food. I hated to eat. And not that far back, I loved to chow-down on any food that couldn't run away from me. How things change.

So with a nibble here and a sneaked bite of cake there, I began to gain a few pounds again. I felt halfway good. No diet pills for me ever again. I swear that during all this time of the diet capsules, the devil was standing in the shadows laughing his sorry head off at me.

Some people that I was working with in 1983 made an innocent remark one night as we were getting our newspaper ready for press, "Ken, you've gained some weight - -but you sure look good!" That was it. My red flag went up. An alarm in my stomach screamed, "Dieting time again!" And the alarm was right. Time to lose those extra pounds. Now.

Enter the Beverly Hills Diet. This is where gullible suckers like me not only spent the $19.95 on the book, "The Beverly Hills Diet Plan", but I also had to buy all of the necessary fruits that I was to use with my newly-found diet plan.

It was fun for the first seven to ten days. A slice of watermelon for breakfast along with a slice of orange. A slice of pineapple for lunch and more watermelon and peaches for dinner. NO breads, sweets, of any kind. Just fruits. I could, as a treat, eat a salad once a week but no tasty dressing. Just no-calorie, bland water mixed with white vinegar. I lost a grand total of four pounds in three weeks. This failed attempt of weight-loss drained what patience and faith I had in diets whose names began with the name of a city.

As the years went by, my weight went up and down more than a team of Portuguese brothers who were trapeze artists on a trampoline. A good friend told me that fluctuating weight is as bad as being too bit or too small. What? So where was the happy medium? I was confused. Shaken mentally. And my stomach was still spilling over my belt buckle.

Then my salvation came in the form of the "All Meat Diet," that I had watched on CBS' news magazine, 60 Minutes. A firefighter from Cleveland, Ohio, who had once topped-out at 300 pounds, but still looked good because he was a tall man, decided enough was enough, so he started eating meat at every meal. Just meat. No bread. No sweets. No salads. No sodas. No beer or alcoholic drinks. And over a six-month span, he lost down to 189 sweet pounds. I remember him saying to Morley Saffer, "I loved it, this 'All Meat Diet.' If I get hungry between meals, I go to the refrigerator and snag myself a hotdog. And I am fine." I tried this "All Meat Diet." It worked great. I lost enough weight to easily fit into the tux I wore to walk my daughter down the aisle in her wedding. I was a lean, mean, non-sweet-eating, dieting machine.

But you know something? When you are sold out to one type of food, the devil makes those "dangerous" foods look good. Like Snickers, Milky Way, and Butterfinger candy bars. I would wake up night in a cold sweat. Withdrawals from not having my favorite candy bars to lean on when I was hungry. I felt like a heroine addict in recovery. It was rough, I tell you. Rough. The hardest part was after Sunday worship when my family and my wife's family always had to go eat lunch somewhere. I convinced them to eat at this place where I live called The Chinese Garden. I was told that I could eat all I wanted of the Chinese food, but no sweet rolls. Great. Bring it. That lasted for about two Sundays.

Years later I finally just gave up and gave in to not dieting at all. Call me stupid. I don't care. Believe me, over the course of my life, I have done many things more stupid than giving up diets. And things more dangerous too. Dieting changes me, close friends have told me. From a happy-go-lucky person to a cynical, paranoid man who no one can stand to be around. And at my age, I do not need that kind of label.

Now days I only eat one bagel in the morning with my morning medications I take for my fibromyalgia and neurothopy. I do not eat lunch. And eat a light supper with my wife. I am not obese. But then again, I am not a male model for GQ.

If anything, I'm happy. And what's wrong with that?