DIET | DETECTIVE^®

As a child at summer camp, I would be forced to take a swimming test in the lake to assess my abilities. Lifeguards would determine how far out we were permitted to swim and then brand us with a beaded bracelet, color coded, just to be safe. The swim test was the sort of thing for which I would take 2 full milligrams of Klonopin today. The beach was expansive, and a far walk from where we were to leave our things and assemble for our tests. Woody Allen would probably liken this to something reminiscent of a holocaust procession to the showers. Fat, shirtless, exposed for a walk to my death. I was to tread water for ten minutes, and swim twenty laps. The ten minutes felt like an eternity. The laps were unthinkable. The water was cold and I could barely breathe. If you fell short of these goals, you would get only limited access to the water, and could not go kayaking. I loved kayaking, but I would always strive for a goal just shy, and make do with a canoe.

When I reflect upon this, as an adult, it occurs to me that what I feared at the time was not at all about falling short of goals. As an overweight child, I was the subject of insults and mockery. Shirtless meant exposure. I wanted out of the water, and out of my fat suit, but it would take some time. Obesity is not easily hidden.

In school, I would strive for only 80%. The full 100% would set a benchmark that I did not want to consistently exert the effort to achieve. The ability to realize my full potential was much easier to conceal from the world.

I always held the potential for success, much as I feared it. Success meant the possibility for failure, and fear holds us back. I doubt that I would be completing my PhD, had I not first succeeded in my effort at weight loss. A canoe weighs much more than a kayak.

Joni Mitchell’s Both Sides Now haunts me still: “so many things I would have done, but clouds got in my way.”

Punishments and rewards are very much a part of what drives motivation. I have said it before - the person who overeats has developed a history of behavior that perpetuates diet failure. This is not an accident; this is a pattern. 

Why don’t diets work? Well, they do. That’s part of the reason why they fail.

As soon as they start working, so does that inner voice, working on us to perpetuate diet failure. We are so afraid of what might be uncovered, that we punish ourselves by rewarding ourselves. “Just a slice of cake, I’ve been so good.” The rest is history; it ain't no mystery!

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