PHAD DIET Four Week Update

                      Cork's PHAD Diet Weight Loss Attempt 

(May 15-July 26, 2017)

Diet Start Weight: 240 lbs.

Goal weight:        220

Week Three Weight : 227

Current Weight:        225.5

Week Four Loss/Gain:  -1.5 

Total loss to date:      14.5  

To go:                            5.5 lbs

The Amphetamine and Golf Diet

(AKA The Greatest Diet Ever)

             This revelation dates me well back into the last Century, but I remember when "Speed" was legal. For one brief, delirious summer, it was the heart and soul of the most successful diet I’ve ever tried. My own Father hooked me up.           

Handsome and slender in his younger days, Dad fought in World War II.  He bombed Germany but did not fight The Battle of the Bulge until after the conflict ended.

            By 1963, Dad was losing that battle. Not for lack of trying. He tried every diet in the books. My Mom and I hated when one began. He resembled a bear that’d just lost a squabble with a porcupine.  Actually, Ursus Hornbills with a snout full of quills was better company.

Spring of ’63, an Air Force flight surgeon put my father on a new diet. I was home from college and Mom

and I prepared ourselves for the nightmare to come. But this time something was definitely different. In one week, Dad lost about 15 pounds and changed personalities—for the good. No grumping, no grouching, no snapping—he could not have been more pleasant. One morning over his tiny breakfast he declared his love for his new diet.

 “This is the greatest diet ever. Not only am I losing weight, not only am I not hungry ever, but I’ve never been in a better mood in my life. I talk with anyone about anything anytime. I never did that even when I wasn’t dieting.”

Mom and I waited for the punch line. But Dad laughed and continued.

 “Seriously, I walk up to complete strangers and start up conversations with them about what a lovely a day it is, and how pretty the sound of birds singing is to my ears. I get the strangest looks in return. But I don’t care. No one can hurt my feelings. I’ve never been more positive about life. I’ve said more words in the last few days than all of last year. I love life and life loves me.”

To demonstrate his happiness, he swept Mom into his arms and waltzed her around the kitchen. Mom didn’t even mind that her Maypo got cold.

Okay, I made that last part up, but Mom and I realized, this isn’t a diet—

it’s a miracle.

I wanted in on the action. I was tickling the Toledo’s at a good 225 myself those days, so I asked Dad if he could help me. I was still a military dependent and I soon visited the same flight surgeon.

“Take one pill each morning,” he said, handing me a prescription to this new Diet Pill. 

No job that summer, so I could play golf every day. A typical morning would start with a small bowl of cereal and milk. Then 18 holes—or more. Like Dad, I quickly found myself filled with energy and cheerier than I’d ever been.  I walked the golf course, schlepping my own bag. My skill level assured there would be much traipsing through the forest primeval, exploring hidden moonscapes, sand traps, and Titleist-eating rodents of unusual size.

From WWII Warrior to Cheerful Bunny Rabbit

Still, I became as cheerful as a bunny rabbit. Shots that once led me to erupt into fits of rage now caused me to erupt into ironic asides.

“Oh my, that is deep into the pines,” I’d say, admiring my banana slice like a cleanup hitter who’d jacked one into the cheap seats. “Quell droll. I can’t wait to tell Mater and Pater.”

 Meanwhile, the shards of glass that usually inhabited my stomach during diets were gone, replaced by a pleasant, slightly full feeling, which gained momentum as the day went on. By evening, I felt stuffed. Dad got home and we caught up on our respective days; each of us chattering like Macaws, my svelte and usually verbose Mom all but hushed up for the evening. Many nights she headed to bed early, exhausted from getingt a word in edgewise.

Force Feeding the Dieters

Eating dinner was a chore for Dad and I. I had to force myself to eat, lucky if I could get down a small portion of meat and half a potato. Because we both took our pills in the morning they wore off shortly after dinner, replaced not with hunger but fatigue. Neither of us had any trouble getting to, or staying asleep. 

As summer went by, Dad and I both noticed chinks in the diet’s armor. It lacked staying power. After a while, the “Upper” effect lowered, our appetites returned, we were less cheerful, and saw a diminution of energy and lessening of the urge to babble. One night, after carrying the dinner table conversation, my Mom urged us both to check back with the doctor for advice.

He confirmed the side effect. There were two ways to counter it—increase the dosage—too dangerous—or interrupt the diet now and then, hoping to keep the lost weight off until the pills had a kick again. I’d skip the pills on weekends—sometimes suffering minor diet setbacks, then by Monday I was ready to go again. But overall, the results of the Flight Surgeon’s Diet were inarguably positive.

Dad reached his goal and by the time I returned to college, I had plummeted from 225 to 170. I had to buy all new clothes and the greeting from college chums was a cheery, “Good to see you John. Are you dying?” 

The most amazing experience came at a cocktail party shortly after returning to campus. I ordered a Manhattan, the first alcohol I’d had since my diet began.  I had not eaten all day. I literally felt my first sip track down my esophagus and pour into my stomach, where I could feel the liquor absorb through the walls of my stomach and hit the blood stream. I was skunk-level drunk before I had a chance for a second sip.   

Ass Over Teakettle Centerfold

I played intramural flag football again that year, with one not-too-minor difference. On the first play of the first game, the opponent ran a sweep my way. I knew the drill. Stone the pulling guard and turn the play inside.  

I think the driver of the first truck that hit me giggled as he flicked my scrawny frame high into the clear blue sky. I don't want to say I traveled a great distance, but there was time for two drinks and a bag of Beernuts before landing. (I was later chosen October centerfold for Ass Over Teakettle Magazine.)

A ref leaned over to ask me what day it was. I said, “I’ll have the veal.” I was whisked to the Infirmary where they needed a specimen of my blood, my urine and my stool. I said, "Take my shorts." A drummer gave me a courtesy rim shot and Henny Youngman came by to take a bow. I then donned a "vent in the ass" hospital gown that wrapped around me twice, with enough material left over for two quilts and a party banner.  The doc told me I'd had a concussion. I demanded a second opinion. He said (all together now…): "You're ugly, too." The next morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. 

 Unfortunately, it was too good a diet to last. Some spoilsports started using amphetamines for cheap thrills and all-nighters. As far as I know the Air Force only issues them now to aircrews in combat and/or long missions.

   My crutch removed, and back in the grip of my college chef—a devout member of the Church of the Wholly Cholesterol—I gained the weight back within the next year. Dad took a little longer to regain the weight he lost.

The silver lining? I was starting again for my fraternity football team and that year we won the university title.

Throughout a lifetime of dieting I can say without doubt the Amphetamine Diet was by far the most enjoyable—while it lasted.

PHAD DIET: Three week Update

                      Cork's PHAD Diet Weight Loss Attempt 

(May 15-July 26, 2017)

Diet Start Weight: 240 lbs.

Goal weight: 220

Week Two Weight : 230.5

Current Weight:  227

Week Two Loss/Gain: 3.5 

Total loss to date:  13 lbs

To go:               7 lbs

UPDATE: I’m delighted with my start. I credit the committment to the PHAD principles and an unaccustomed outburst of self-discipline. Week three is a traditional diet-killer in my world, especially if little or no weight comes off.  But 3.5 pounds is great news. Now week four presents challenges.

A reader was kind enough to write and ask, “why would anyone care about” my diet experiences because, afterall, “…we’ve all been through it.”

Good point. There is no reason why many of you would know I worked most of my professional life as a writer. And as Billy Crystal noted in Throw Mama from the Train,  “A writer writes, always.” So that’s one reason why I’m writing about my diet.  Also, it’s the best way to keep me on this diet.

Dieters know there are hundreds of tricks out there to keep them on the straight and narrower waist.   But it’s easy to quit a diet—I’ve done it hundreds of times before. I hate dieting. I’m a lousy dieter. The trick, I think, is to find the one thing that can prevent  failure. And for some of us, myself included, that’s the fear of embarrassment.

I need to go public about it. I did, once before notably. The result of the diet was a 46 pound weight loss. I’d love to claim credit for the diet idea, but that belongs to Paul Dickson. Paul writes too. A lot. He is one of if not the most prolific authors in the country.  He has almost seventy non-fiction books to his credit already, including his current one “Durocher: Baseball’s Prodigal Son”, and just announced he’s already starting his next one.

Decades ago Paul, myself and a number of editors, writers and employees of The Washingtonian in Washington, DC, were at a Christmas party thrown by the magazine.  Along with guzzling fine liquor, downing superb food, several of us ended up bumping bellies and talking about how we should really lose some weight when the holidays were over.  Paul had a better idea.

He suggested we start immediately, and that four of us compete for three months on what he called “The Public Humiliation Approach to Dieting” (PHAD) weight loss competition. As writers we all were blessed with hefty egos and hated to be embarrassed.  His devilish plan including convincing The Washingtonian into sponsoring the competition with the “winner” of the diet writing the final piece and thinking up an apt humiliation for the losers.

The great editor of the publication then, Jack Limpert—himself skinny as a rail—loved the idea. He especially liked the suggestion that the diet would include dirty tricks (remember Washington gave us the dirty Tricks of Richard Nixon.)

I don’ t want to call myself a genius, but the shoe fits in that instance. I conjured up one of the best dirty tricks of all to get the diet off to a devious start. After that, it was a struggle to hold onto my early lead. Did I succeed? Check out in upcoming weeks. I have no sponsor, no competitiors for this latest PHAD attempt, just the threat of embarrassing myself.

PHAD DIET TWO WEEK UPDATE

READ THIS FIRST: ...and pay attention you litigious bastards. I am not a doctor nor diet expert, just an old fat guy who wants to lose weight. This is not meant as advice for anyone. If you need to lose weight, Tubby, see your doctor and diet on your own, understand? Don't follow the delusional suggestions of some dufus with a blog, okay? If you drop dead dieting, I don't want to hear from you...or your lawyer. This is for entertainment and amusement, only. Okay? You got it now? And yes thank you for asking, I am grumpy and hungry as Hell.  Now, you may proceed.

Cork's PHAD Diet Weight Loss Attempt 
(May 15-July 26, 2017)

Diet Start Weight: 240 lbs.

Goal weight: 220

Week One Weight : 233.5

Current Weight:  230.5

Week Two Loss/Gain: 3.0 

Total loss to date:  9.5 

To go: 10.5 lbs

About the PHAD Diet

The original PHAD diet was created decades ago by Paul Dickson, author of nearly 70 books and one of the USA’s most respected baseball writers (Leo Durocher: Baseball's Prodigal Son) (Ironically, none of his books was about the PHAD diet.) His premise was that one of the greatest diet motivators ever is fear of public humiliation. And so “Public Humiliation Approach to Dieting” (PHAD) was born. Paul, myself, and two other fat writers competed, with the winner getting to publicly humiliate the losers. The contest was sponsored by the city magazine of Washington, DC, The Washingtonian, with the winner of the diet getting to write about it and shame the losers. Dirty tricks were encouraged. We weighed in together. Photographs--before and after--were taken. After about four months of dieting, it ended with the winner losing 46 pounds. Who was that? Answers in a future report--if I can find the damn article in my file.

My First Diet: The Metrecal Diet

Remember the original Metrecal Diet? If you do, you are old. I am and I do.

I was in high school when I attempted it.  The memory of my experience is seared into my mind like a 20 ounce Porterhouse on a hot grill.

Here’s how Metrecal was supposed to work. You could buy a package of the stuff and dump it into a glass of milk. Or, buy cans of pre-mixed Metrecal. I opted for pre-mix. 

Original Metrecal Ad 1960's

I don’t know where the name Metrecal came from--probably a combination of “cal” for “calories” and “Metre” for the delicious flavor of a meter of soil.

The Metrecal Diet said you could drink four cans of the stuff a day--and nothing else except water.  No snacks. No in-betweens. No sneaky goodies added to the mix. Sure, you could sub out some diet food instead of a can or two of the stuff, but being young, stupid and fat, I figured that was the coward's way out.

Four cans added up to a rip-roaring 900 calories intake per day.   

Metrecal's manufacturers claimed it tasted like a flavored milkshake. I'd say it was more like chalk in a can. As I recall, it came in three flavors: Vanilla-flavored chalk, Chocolate-flavored chalk, and strawberry-flavored chalk. Each can filled your stomach and suppressed your appetite with the effectiveness of a six-ounce tumbler of water. 

Here then, in its entirety, is the account of my first and only Metrecal Diet.

DAY ONE:

Breakfast: One can of Metrecal

Lunch: One can of Metrecal

Midday: One can of Metrecal

Dinner: One can of Metrecal

DAY TWO:

Breakfast: One can of Metrecal

Lunch: One can of Metrecal

Midday: One can of Metrecal

Dinner: Six fried egg sandwiches.

About the PHAD Diet

The original PHAD diet was created decades ago by Paul Dickson, author of nearly 70 books and one of the USA’s most respected baseball writers (Leo Durocher: Baseball's Prodigal Son) (Ironically, none of his books was about the PHAD diet.) His premise was that one of the greatest diet motivators ever is fear of public humiliation. And so “Public Humiliation Approach to Dieting” (PHAD) was born. Paul, myself, and two other fat writers competed, with the winner getting to publicly humiliate the losers. The contest was sponsored by the city magazine of Washington, DC, The Washingtonian, with the winner of the diet getting to write about it and shame the losers. Dirty tricks were encouraged. We weighed in together. Photographs--before and after--were taken. After about four months of dieting, it ended with the winner losing 46 pounds. Who was that? Answers in a future report--if I can find the damn article in my file.

May, 2017: The Return of the PHAD Diet

Cork’s Late in Life, God-I-Hate-Diets,

Foolproof, Last Chance,

Desperation, Lifesaving Diet—The Series

Part 1: May 19, 2017

I’m fat. Again.

I have two excuses for being fat (again).

Excuse Number One: I’m old and I have two bum wheels. To wit:

Bum wheel Number One: My right leg comes with a fused right ankle and a calf still recovering from its 2015 Deep Vein Thrombosis.

The author at 240

Bum Wheel Number Two: My left knee made of rusted lug nuts and Silly Putty.  It sounds like a baja marima band playing the drum solo from “In-a-Gadda-da-Vida.”

Add them up, and it means I can’t walk from here to the door without stopping for a Scotch. Dieting is tough enough without  exercise in the picture.

Excuse Number Two: I was born without Willpower—specifically when it comes to food. And by food, I mean bread. Never met a piece of bread I didn’t like. I dabble in other fattening foodstuffs, but the food I stuff my face with most is bread. Warm, delicious bread. Mmmmmmmm, bread.

So, thanks to this Dynamic Duo of Excuses, I’ve allowed myself to get fat (again).  As with many folks who let excuses be their enablers, (you know who you are), one day a triggering incident takes place that launches your next diet. For me this time it was a sweet little video my wife took of me reading to my two-year-old Granddaughter. I was slouched in a chair next to her and right next to Mt. Kilimanjaro.  Excuse me…That' not Mt. Kilimanjaro?  Whattaya mean that’s my stomach?

This raised the logical question: “Whatcha gonna do about it, Fatso?”

The easiest course for me, of course, is just stay the course: Just keep getting bigger britches until I keel over.  But I’ve pooh-poohed that plan because my life ain’t half bad these days, and fat or dead is no way to spend it.

So I’ve dipped into my past dieting experiences looking for a solution. So many many diets to consider that I've tried.  And by golly,  I remembered the perfect—perhaps the only—diet I know will work for me these days.  

So, why am I telling you about it? Because I have to. It's part of the diet..

I didn’t invent this diet. There’s no book that describes it that I'm aware of, even though it was created by one of the country’s most prolific authors. To my knowledge the first and only only reference to this diet was in a magazine article in The Washingtonian magazine some 40 or so years ago. I ought to know. I wrote the article.

The diet was successful. Successful? I lost 46 pounds in four months. What I didn't succeed at was keeping the weight off.

So now, once again, unto the breach, and smaller britches I stride. 

Join me each week for updates of  “The PHAD Diet.”

NEXT WEEK, PART TWO: Leo Durocher, Paul Dickson and how the PHAD Diet works. (Plus second weight update)

STARTING WEIGHT: 240 GOAL WEIGHT : 220.

START DATE: MAY 15 END DATE:  July 21^th  (10 weeks)

Week One Weigh-in: (May 19 short week)  WEIGHT 233.5  Gain/Loss 6.5

Fat Old Guy Halfway Home in Shocking Assault on Beer Gut

Part One of my two-part Fat Old Guy Diet, nicknamed the “Not Gonna Be the Fattest Guy at my Son’s Wedding Diet” has ended in success. (Pt. II, the "Not Gonna Be the Fattest Guy at my Birthday Party Diet" has begun)

The diet was launched two plus months before the wedding, after I caught a glimpse of my profile in the mirror and hit the scales to assess the damage.

 

I weighed 245. I pledged to lose 25 pounds by wedding day, come Hell or high cholesterol. Two months later, I reached my goal weight by my goal date. So I canceled my forklift stretch-limo. I stopped worrying about my overstressed pants popping a fly-button and eviscerating a wedding guest.

Tummy deflated, Ego inflated.  Happy camper time.  What could go wrong? I soon found out.

When I went to be fitted for my Tux, things went south with with one, cruel, word. 

Here’s a letter of complaint I sent to the CEO of the tux company.

Dear Mr. (name redacted)

I have a bone to pick.

Not about the tuxedo I rented from you. As rental tuxes go it was just peachy. No soup stains, no unseemly seam rips, cigarette burns or malevolent odors. It held its press. Zipper zipped. No lint in the pockets, no hint of frayed lapel or shiny bottom. 

I would wear it as Father of the Groom, so I really wanted to look good.

A couple of months ago, I noticed I was fat. Not superfat fat, but large enough to risk being the fattest guy at the wedding. I had the fat old guy’s deadly combo of skinny legs, no ass, and a beer gut. I looked like a pair of toothpicks smuggling a bathtub. 

So I began a crash diet. I am not inexperienced at such an event.

A week before the wedding I hit my goal. I’d lost 25 pounds, from 245 to 220. At 6’0”, that’s not a bad weight for a man of my age and willpower.

I went into one of your stores for my tux fitting.  Tailor was competent, all business, and kept his hands off my business. I thought I looked pretty good in the tux.  I almost looked svelte. Okay, semi-svelte.

Then I was handed my receipt/claim check. Name, claim number, sizes--all listed correctly.  But there were six additional letters that knocked the wind from my sails, stripped the gild from my lily and sucked the gas from my bag.

My cheeks flushed as I read the insult. The pangs of earlier weight related affronts returned, my self-worth plummeted, my confidence caught the last train for the coast.

I was not a valued customer nor cherished client to you guys. Nope.

I was a “46 Portly.”

Portly? Portly!!! Port-freakin’-ly??? Who the heck calls somebody portly these days?

In an instant, I was no longer a proud father who had busted his rear end to look his best on a most important family occasion. I was just another fat guy. 

Why would anyone with a lick of sense, humanity or desire for repeat business do that?  Unless…. Perhaps the word “Portly” had mutated meaning—like the word “Bad,” which can now mean  “Good.”

Yeah, that’s the ticket.  The receipt was actually sending me off with a jaunty “Devilishly Handsome” designation. At that point I’d have settled for “Stylishly Stout” or “Not as fat as you’d think.”

So I looked it up. Sadly, “portly” still means “rather heavy or fat,” or “corpulent” according to my Funk & Wagnall’s

I waited until I returned the item to point out the insult to a manager .  Did he apologize? No, he said,  “It should have read Executive,” adding, “It didn’t refer to you as Portly, it referred to the suit as portly.”

How about that, I was not only Portly but too stupid to interpret a receipt.

I thought you really ought to know about this. And I do hope this letter wends it way up the chain to your desk, and doesn’t result in some customer service rep sending me “Idiot Letter # 5” and a $5.00 coupon for my next purchase of Argyle socks.

Sincerely,

John Corcoran

He Who Looks Lithe, Laughs Last

This ain't me--I should be so young

Nutritionists, some family, a few friends, strangers, and all the ships at sea LAUGHED when I bragged I would succeed in losing 24.4 pounds within two months using my own, exclusive FOG Diet, AKA The  "Not Gonna Be the Fattest Guy at My Son's Wedding" Diet.

Now who’s laughing up his or her shorts at me?

Starting WEIGHT:  244.4

Current WEIGHT    220.0.

Okay, okay, so I'm not exactly lithe, but I'm laughing at doubters. I reached my goal at today’s weigh in--Tuesday before the weekend wedding of Handsome Andrew and the Beautiful Jesse.

After a few days off, the diet resumes and Part II begins. Goal: 20 more pounds by my birthday, July 27^th.

The FOG Diet works for me.

I invented it and you’ll be seeing more details about my methodology in upcoming weeks.

So if you’re a Fat Old Guy or Fat Old Girl…hurry back, y’hear?

And once again always check with your Sawbones before starting any diet....

If you don't and drop dead on a diet, ANY diet, don't come running to me with your complaints.

DIET REPORT: Weeks Three through Five, Mar 22- APR 11

OVERALL STARTING WEIGHT                       244.4

WEIGHT AT START OF WEEK THREE:           230. 4

WEIGHT AT END OF WEEK THREE                228.8  

 WEEK FOUR         `        226.4

 WEEK FIVE                    225.0

Loss (gain) this Period                                     5.4 POUNDS  

Loss (gain) since diet start                             19.4 POUNDS  

These were relatively slow weeks—a dieting doldrums.  

Before I analyze and give advice let me restate as clearly as I can, that I am NOT a doctor, health specialist, or someone who is qualified to recommend that you do as I do, unless your doctor agrees—in which case you are following HIS or HER advice.

I am telling people about this diet because it works for me, and because reporting its success or failure motivates me. The act of allowing readers to observe my behavior has a scientific foundation, believe it or not.

It falls under the umbnrella of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle.  Don’t be impressed that I know about that, I had tolook it up and I originally thought Heisenberg was a shortstop with the Cubs.  It means the fact that something is being observed affects the object being observed. For dieters, it means don’t diet in secret. It is  much harder to slip back into old habits if you make your actions accountable to someone who cares

Don’t Curse Your Willpower, Feed Your Weakness

Limited will power is not a Deal Killer. You counter that by rewarding yourself.

I have to have something to look forwad to every day. The trick here is to limit the amount of the treat, pick the treat with the fewest calories that get the job done, and be sure to include it with the rest of your caloric intake.

Some examples:

*Italian Ice. Delicious, reminds me of those halcyon days playing stickball on a hot July day in the streets of Brooklyn, despite the fact I never played stickball on a hot July day in the streets of Brooklyn. It’s 100 calories.

*Piece of toast, muffin or other dry treat. I cannot live without bread. I recognize that and plan for it when I diet. I’ve forced myself to like healthy bread, my regular choice’s is Milton’s multigrain from Trader Joe’s. I butter it with olive oil enhanced low calory butter—half the damage of regular butter.

*Daily latte. I’ve cut down from large to small, use low fat milk, and make it at home. Savings in calories and cost.

*Nuts. They are good for you in small numbers. I eat small amounts of roasted, no salt Almond slivers.

*Cheese on crackers. Cracker packages list their calorie count. Spend some time in the cracker department. Get the thinnest lowest calorie crackers you can, that still satisfy your dry food Jones. Don't buy chunk of cheese, buy individual small packages. Laughing cow has several varieties.  Trader Joe’s has a collection of small pieces of Brie in individual containers. Some days the Brie (150 cal.) and crackers (about the same) constitute lunch, perhaps with a piece of fruit.

What is your weakness? Indulge it in small amounts. It is your reward for being good the rest of the day.

To me the FOG diet is like a successful NBA franchise. In hoop, teams invest a big hunk of their cap room in genuine superstars. The Miami Heat did so and back to back championships resulted with Wade, James and Bosh. With the superstars on board, other free agents will take less money in hopes of a ring. 

In the FOG Diet that means I invest a larger hunk of my calories on treats and enjoyable food than any diet I’ve herd of. But it works for me. I supplement with a large array of daily vitamins and eat healthy with my remaining calories. Drinking a lot of water helps fill the cavity in my stomach.

I am weak-willed when it comes to food, always have been. My prior successful diets have been crutch-dependent. One used (legal) amphetamines, another used public exposure and competition (The Washingtonian Magazine-sponsored Public Humiliation Approach to Dieting). I also lost 60 pounds in the first FOG diet, allowing it to creep back on over the years because new physical impediments to exercise made me give up.  

So remember, don’t surrender to your weaknesses, just negotiate a truce you both can live with.