Atkins Articles in the Tacoma News Tribune March to August 2004

Ready, Set...

I think of My Weight as a possession—something external I reluctantly carry everywhere like a shabby, but monogrammed attaché. Do you think that’s a bad sign? In my mind, there is the real me, and then there is that damn fat following me everywhere I go, ruining everything.

I’ve gone through a series of dieting attempts. Some more formalized than others. Last fall my sister lived with me for two months and together we ‘did’ Weight Watchers and I lost ten pounds. Mercifully, I have kept that off, but have been on a plateau ever since.

Here I am at age fifty-five, hoping, wishing I can get down to 168 pounds—a weight that drove me tearfully into Jenny Craig ten years ago—before an upcoming ski trip the first of next month (March). I need to lose five pounds to reach that interim goal.

I’ve talked to successful Atkins dieters and been flirting with the idea of trying the method. It sounds perfect for me. I’ve been gathering the Atkins information and trying to purge my refrigerator and pantry of ‘carbs.’ Actually, I’ve had a few false starts and the best I can say is that I haven’t gained. Apparently one has to go whole hog—cut out the Coffeemate and wine, drink lots of water and exercise too.

I’ve been preparing myself to exercise, too. I have a kayak and a treadmill. Walking shoes, hiking boots, and skis. Audio books and an mp3 player. If good intentions and Alaska miles accumulated on a credit card burned calories, I’d already be at goal weight.

My longer term goal is 148—which was my post-pregnancy weight at age thirty. At that time my goal weight was 128. But, I think 148 is medically described as an appropriate weight for my height and current age. If obese is defined as 30 lbs over that, only five pounds currently separates me and obesity. On the other hand, only 25 pounds stands between me and the ideal.

I’m ready to begin an Atkins diet. Journaling the experience would be quite a motivator.

 End of Week Two

 On the Atkins web site I read testimonials of people who lost ten, fifteen, even twenty pounds in the first two weeks. That got me dreaming about buying new clothes—bikinis even, although swimsuit shopping is usually a waking nightmare. Sadly, the dream was premature. At the end of two weeks I’ve lost a mere three pounds. What, oh what, am I doing wrong?

When embarking on previous diets, I dispatched forbidden foods in the logical manner. I ate them. In this case I’m feeding them to Gary, my non-dieting husband. I’ve switched to decaf coffee with cream and Splenda, and always keep a bottle of chilled water handy. The refrigerator and pantry are now Atkins-compliant, but, it would be easy to exceed the 20 gram maximum, especially by accidentally consuming ‘sneaky carbs.’ Did you know that a breath mint and a clove of garlic contain one gram carbohydrate each?

Fat metabolism test strips verify “ketone detected.” I should be on a roll. At eighteen pounds above my goal I’ve decided to stay on the Induction Plan for another week instead of moving on to the next level, Ongoing Weight Loss.

Meanwhile, I’m amassing research material for a book, 101 Uses for Empty Egg Cartons.

End of Week Four 

I’ve lost four and a half pounds in four weeks. My clothes are looser and my friends claim they see a difference. The pounds in Atkins are supposed to “melt off” but this seems more like carving a marble statue using only an Emory board .

 Although I have not achieved the intial weight loss I had hoped for, it’s time for the next level. During the Ongoing Weight Loss (OWL) Dr. Atkins recommends adding 5 grams carbohydrates to the daily diet. This is a twenty-five percent increase but, somehow, I suspect that additional three-quarter cup of broccoli will be barely noticeable.

Friends have expressed concern about the high protein nature of the Atkins diet. Evidently it is the kidney’s job to filter protein-calcium particles from the blood. So, my kidneys may be getting more of a work out than I am.

Therein may lay the problem. Running errands and housework may be tiring but they aren’t aerobic. It is clearly time to lose fat the old-fashion way. Burn it.

Meanwhile, my husband heard me grousing about my miserable progress. He said, “A pound a week? That’s fifty-two pounds a year!”

Now that’s support. Thanks honey!

End of Week 6

I tend to focus on what I didn’t eat. For example, yesterday morning I didn’t have hash browns, toast, or a cinnamon roll. At lunch I avoided bread. I ignored the Cheetos’ mid-afternoon siren song, and at dinner I turned down rice. To top it off, I didn’t have dessert. No ice cream, no pie, no cake, no candy. For all the will power demonstrated, don’t I deserve to lose an extra pound?

It’s tempting to rant and rave at Dr. Atkins for fraud and deception. I’ve done my best to follow his instructions. But it isn’t his fault. My body will do what my body will do. No more. No less. I’ve lost two more pounds, allegedly a safe and sane rate of loss. Bah! Results wise, I want the illegal fireworks.

I remember my mother trying a weight-loss technique which involved running a rolling pin over her body to get exercise and ‘roll’ the fat off. It didn’t do any good, but it sure put the family off of pastry for awhile.

I visited a Trim and Tone fitness class, where I worked out spinning a stationary bike and tossing a four pound ball. I have an appointment with a Personal Trainer this afternoon when I’ll learn to use some of that fancy, high-tech equipment—a couple of which resemble kitchen utensils.

End of Week Eight

“Fire in the thigh!” “Fire in the thigh!”

My legs burned and I feared an explosion in my chest. During my third spinning class—a.k.a. Death by Stationary Bike—the instructor saw me turning purple trying to keep up with my younger, more conditioned classmates, and slapped a heart monitor on me. I, she and her insurance agent have breathed easier ever since.

I was trying too hard. Once I started working at 65-85% of my maximum heart rate—220 minus my age—the class became fun instead of an hour spent in Susan’s Chamber of Horrors. Although some people think exercise isn’t part of the Atkins diet; his book says exercise is critical.

The bad news is, I’ve dropped out of the fat-burning ketosis (or lipolysis)—if I was ever really in—and I blame the wine I allowed myself on the weekends. Apparently, there is no holiday on Atkins. Either you stick to it 100% or forget it. I’ve shown considerable will-power when it comes to food. Beverages are another matter.

Meanwhile, I’m hoping the dictum, muscle weighs more than fat, is fact and the cardio-workout and weight-lifting are shifting my cargo. My weight is 163, a pound lower than two weeks ago and seven overall.

End of Week 10

I cling to this diet with a tenacity that surprises even me. I’ve held the line in the face of sabotage, temptation and ridicule.

Sabotage? How many times does one need to say no to dessert? Once should be enough. Surely twice. But, no, otherwise sane well-wishers will fetch an extra slice of cake from the buffet and place it in front of me in case I change my mind.

Temptation? Only the well prepared dieter will survive a Mariner’s game. Surrounded by the aroma of garlic fries and polish sausage, I survived fifteen innings only because I smuggled in a carb-controlled raspberries ‘n crème and an Atkins Almond Brownie. (I think the bag-checker was so distracted by my tears over the confiscated Diet Coke, that he overlooked the other booty.)

Ridicule? Why do people have to sneer when they say they could not do Atkins? Have vegetarians convinced us they occupy the higher moral ground? You’d think I was eating babies for breakfast. Argh!

 Thanks to a renewed resolve to weigh, measure and write down what I eat, and the exercise class, I’m down an additional two pounds for a total of nine.

End of Week 12--Atkins goes to Japan

 Japan was a dieting challenge.  We spent twelve days attending the Rotary International Convention in Osaka and touring shrines, castles and gardens. While an obsession with obesity has dominated the US media lately, it is unusual to find an overweight person on the streets of Japan. Atkins? What’s that?

In Japan there are three food groups; grains, fish and unidentified. This is not a slight on the Japanese cuisine, but a reflection of my ignorance and biases. While growing up, I believed only Catholics ate fish, reluctantly, on Fridays. Being from Omaha we ate beef, except on Sunday which was reserved for fried chicken. I first tasted seafood when I was twenty. Since then I’ve expanded my gastronomic repertoire, but not nearly enough to encompass fish roe or eel for breakfast.

On our trip I ate small quantities and skipped meals. I packed Splenda for my coffee, and carried several Atkins bars. This isn’t to say I didn’t eat the local food. I had globe fish, tofu, cucumbers, shrimp tempura, fried ferns, miso, sukiyaki, and even a small octopus—yeah, I ate the ‘whole enchilada,’ so to speak—what I wouldn’t have given for a real enchilada! We indulged in dessert one night: green tea flavored ice cream with black beans. No, I’m not kidding.

Did I gain weight? No, in fact, I lost an additional pound.

End of Week 14—Half-way there!

“Don’t ask how many carbohydrates. Don’t ask how many calories. Just eat it.”

I looked in disbelief as my whispering husband pointed to a confection on the buffet table. This, from the man who admonished me for nibbling a dinner roll two weeks ago?

I took a small slice. The meringue, whipped cream and fruit dessert melted on my tongue. When I heard the name of this New Zealand delight, Pavlova, I assumed it was a take off on Pavlov, because it certainly would make a person salivate at the mere mention. But, instead, it is named after the delicate, swan-like Russian ballerina, Anna Pavlova.

Life, it seems, is one long party. And why shouldn’t it be? We should celebrate every day with gusto. We ate the Pavlova to salute another Anna upon her graduation from UW-Tacoma. I don’t regret a single bite.

Festivities are typically accompanied by scrumptious sweets and fine spirits—toxic to any and every diet. These will be my lifelong bane, because desserts are far more difficult to give up than potatoes.

Two more weeks passed, and with them three pounds. I’m down to 157. I have twelve weeks in which to lose eight pounds to meet my goal. No more Pavlova.

End of Week 16

 As I pulled the waistband over my knees, the ancient elastic crackled like crushed eggshells. Excavating my closet resembled a small-scale archeological dig.

 “How far have you turned back the clock?” Gary asked. I pondered his question. My younger son turned twenty-three last month. In the past eleven months I’ve lost over twenty-five pounds, but I’ve yet to shed the pregnancy fat.

 I found a pair of size thirteen pants that go back at least a decade, but I can’t button them. Sadly, my former fat-pants are now my thin-pants. I also discover a sexy black dress that must go back two decades. In fact, I think that was about nine months before…well, enough reminiscing. There wasn’t anything stylish to be found in those buried treasures. I evidently saved them for sentimental, not realistic, motives. It’s time to go shopping.

 I expected Gary to balk when I brought up the s-word, but he simply observed there are worse problems. That sounded like a green-light to me. Still, I hesitated. With seven pounds to go to reach my goal—yep, I’ve lost another pound—I’m holding out for a few more. No point buying something new yet. It may end up in the bottom of a drawer.

 End of Week 18

Haulin’ ass might be too crude a term for a family newspaper, but it graphically describes my hiking trips in recent years. This year, I’m proud to say I’m transporting considerably less ‘live weight’ up the mountain trails.

 I love the mountains. The highlight of summer is cruising through shady, resin-fragrant stands of fir then bursting into a bright alpine meadow studded with lupine, paintbrush, and asters. Last year, the combined effect of altitude, poor aerobic conditioning and my khaki-covered caboose reined in my eagerness to tackle the more remote destinations. Moderate elevation gain became the criterion by which all trips were evaluated.

 Imagine my delight last week when my friend, Kathy, and I ascended 2500 feet in four and a half miles on one of Mt. Rainier’s trails, and I was ready for more. Comparing this year to last, it’s as if I’d left my fully equipped day-pack in the car. (Putting that into perspective, I pack like I eat. As if a famine and a blizzard might strike unexpectedly and simultaneously.)

 Of course, I attacked my lunch like a mountain lion would an elk butt, but I had packed a binge-proof lunch. Enough to satisfy and get me home without the customary Baskin-Robbins detour.

 I’m down to 154 pounds—five above my goal.

 End of Week 20

The media seems determined to vilify the Atkins diet. The expensive groceries cost more than gastric bypass surgery. The low-fiber diet causes constipation. You risk developing gout, diarrhea, cardiac problems and diabetes.

You’ll develop a hunch-back due to osteoporosis. Leg cramps may cause you to knock your partner out of bed. (Or, so you can pretend.) You’ll feel weak or fatigued. (Sorry honey, I have an Atkins migraine.) Should you avoid those pitfalls, your breath may smell like a fourth-grader’s lunch box.

I’ve experienced few, if any, of these complications. Meanwhile, may I mention some subtle advantages?

My dental hygienist says that lower-carb often means less plaque. Who knew? Finally, I didn’t have to lengthen the airline seatbelt. I’m sleeping through the night more often. I haven’t been ill in five months. But, best of all is walking into the room and having people say, “You look fabulous.”

Okay, I don’t really look ‘fabulous,’ I simply look better. But, there is nothing like positive feedback to reinforce my resolve. Something I need because I didn’t lose any additional weight.

 I still have five pounds to lose to reach my goal of 149.

End of Week 22--Training for the Real Thing

The Atkins diet has four phases, Induction, On-Going Weight Loss, Pre-Maintenance and Maintenance. To clarify this, I’ll re-label in terms indicative of what you will be eating: Beef, Broccoli, Beets, and Binge.

Atkins acolytes may begin Pre-Maintenance when they are within ten pounds of goal weight. This is highly recommended. If you skip it, you’re likely to fall off the wagon.

I found this a bit troubling; as it is the first I’ve heard that Maintenance might not be a piece of cake.  It was further disturbing to read that weight-loss during this phase might seem “imperceptible.”

As you advance through the phases, you gradually add grams of carbohydrates until you stop losing. Pre-Maintenance is described as “training wheels” for Lifelong Maintenance, or Binge Control.

When I reached 152.5 lbs., I reacted like a kid on his first visit to a Go-kart track. I ordered nachos. When my husband raised an eyebrow, I told him I wasn’t “cheating,” I was “practicing.” (He better never try that argument with me, however.)

I went for a ride alright, but it didn’t feel like I had any wheels on the track. My next weigh-in was 156. I’ve recovered and weigh 153. Only four pounds to go!