Fat Chance by Julie Haddon Page B

nuances of diet and exercise that I never knew existed—how to balance carb intake, how to structure a workout regimen so that you remain injury-free, how to overcome negative self-talk when you think you just can’t go on—but when it was all said and done, my big takeaway was this: The only way to lose weight is to burn more calories than you consume. You have to move more, and you have to eat less. Period.
    When I was overweight, I would circle the mall parking lot for forty-five minutes straight, looking for a parking spot that was inches from the door. I could have entered the mall, done all of my shopping, and returned to my car five times in the time it took me to hunt down a fat-person’s spot. These days I pull in, I park and I walk.
    I move. I move more.
    Likewise, prior to losing weight, a typical weeknight dinner involved swinging through the drive-thru at McDonald’s after Noah’s soccer games and ordering a double cheeseburger, a large order of fries and a large Coke. I’d put down a full day’s calories in one meal flat, and often follow that up later with a fresh batch of cookies at home. Lord, have mercy.
    I’m not a purist when it comes to fast food now, but I’ve definitely reined in my routine. I eat, but I eat less. And I eat far less fast food.
    Those same people who ask how I lost weight probably go home, look in the mirror, find a terribly obese person standing there and feel utterly overwhelmed.I mean, where do you start when you need to lose one hundred pounds? With my advice fresh on their minds, all they can think about is that it’s hard to “move more” when you can barely move, and it’s hard to “eat less” when food seems to be your only friend.
    That’s certainly how I used to feel.
    But here’s what I’d tell them if I had the chance: “Your excess weight didn’t appear in one day, and it won’t go away that fast either. I don’t care where you start, but start somewhere. Move a little bit more, or eat a little bit less, but do one of those two things right now.”
    Walk to the mailbox. Walk to the grocery store if it’s around the corner. Heck, walk even if it’s a mile away. Ditch your fast-food habit, if only for one day. (If you’re in the drive-thru lane while you’re reading this book, put the book down, throw your car in reverse and go home! You’ll thank me in the morning.) Replace soda with water for even a week, and see what kind of benefits you feel. Do five laps around your living room during commercial breaks, I don’t care. Just move! Move more. And eat—you guessed it—less.

Part Two
Jell-O Bones and a Bucket of Tears:
My Surreal Existence on Reality TV

CHAPTER 4
The Terrifying, Tumultuous Trip toward Thin
    I N THE 1991 movie
What About Bob?
Bill Murray plays the hilarious character Bob Wiley, an insecure, neurotic and quirky recluse who self-admittedly has a few “problems.” One day he is referred to a psychiatrist, played by Richard Dreyfuss, and in an early scene sheds light on the exact nature of his dilemma.
    “Here’s the simplest way to put it,” Bob says. “I worry about diseases, so I have trouble touching things. In public places it’s almost impossible. I have a real big problem moving.”
    “Talk about …
moving
,” says Dreyfuss’ character, Dr. Leo Marvin.
    “As long as I’m in my apartment, I’m okay,” Bob explains, “but when I want to go out, I get … weird.”
    “Talk about
weird
,” comes the advice.
    “Talk about weird. Well, I get dizzy spells,” Bob says. “Nausea. Cold sweats. Hot sweats. Fever blisters. Difficulty breathing. Difficulty swallowing. Blurred vision. Involuntary trembling. Dead hands. Numb lips. Fingernail sensitivity. Pelvic discomfort …”
    If you never saw
What About Bob?
and your life seems strangely incomplete, now you know why. Put it in your Netflix queue today. Few movies are funnier than this one.
    You get the feeling Bob could go on this way for hours, delineating the