My food coach Manderlin of Manderline Enterprises came to my house today and did the prerequisite “purging,” which means he went through all the food in my kitchen and tossed all the “undesirables” in several garbage bags.
Manderlin wears the military garb of a mercenary, fatigues, army boots, a camouflage vest over a tight black T-shirt, a black beret. I want to laugh at him, but it’s clear he can kick my ass. Of course, he speaks in the voice of Foghorn Leghorn and has one of those jutting chins that defiantly tells the world he’s eager to fight anyone upon the slightest provocation. He boxed during his stint in the Marines.
He looks at the animal crackers from Trader Joes that are resting on the top of the refrigerator. “What the hell are those for? Are you a baby or something?” I don’t answer him and watch as the animal crackers are dumped into the trash bag. Then it’s pickles, high in sodium; vermicelli from Costco, because no one eats pasta in small portions; Whole Foods brand rocky road ice cream (“Are you kidding me?”), French-onion pita chips (because you’re dipping them in vats of hummus, you pig shit.”)
After the kitchen purge, he scours my food journal, which shows that I consistently eat 3,000 calories a day, give or take 100, and he laughs. “I’ll bet you’re underestimating by a good twenty percent. This journal’s bullshit anyway. The fact of the matter, my friend, this journal is your undoing because you’re jotting down calories after the fact. Plan your menu before and you won’t need a journal.”
“Okay, a menu. How many calories?”
“It won’t be three thousand, that’s for sure. Let’s start at twenty-four hundred and see what happens.”
“Twenty-four hundred doesn’t work for me. Believe me, I’ve tried it and I’m so hungry at night I can’t get to sleep. I need that extra six hundred.”
“Did you hire me to kiss your butt and give in to your baby bullshit or did you hire me for results? Are you content with looking like the Pillsbury Dough Boy for the rest of your life or do you want to get ripped? Now we can do things my way or I can leave.”
“But what about my appetite?”
“You’ll acclimate. Everyone does.” He laughed. I wasn’t so
sure, but I had gone this far. I couldn’t stop now.
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