People with gastroparesis either lose so much weight that they wind up on feeding tubes, or they gain it because their bodies go in to starvation mode. Guess whose body goes in to starvation mode? (pointing at myself)
I have had countless days/weeks/months/years of sickness, liquid diets and meals skipped by the bucket load. Yet the pounds creep up, turning a terrible illness into an experience of absolute futility.
Curves helped me to lose some weight, but then I hit a plateau I simply could not get off of. That is, until the Evil Jillian Michaels Incarnate became my personal trainer. One would never guess that this sweet, innocent nine year old could implement the same sadistic training methods you see on The Biggest Loser. But yet she does. Oh yes my friends, she does.
Several weeks ago I decided I would start walking after work. My daughter offered to ride her scooter next to me, which sounded fun. And then came my bright idea. “I know honey! Why don’t you act like my trainer and make me keep a quick and steady pace!” That was all this child needed.
She takes her job very seriously. And I have to hand it to her – I have lost more than 15 pounds in the last month or so. People at work are starting to comment on my baggy pants, which makes the following clip of my evil daughter Oh So Worth It:
Yes, Evil Jillian Michaels – as I call my daughter to her face – races in front of me screaming, “Move it move it move it! Come ON! You don’t want to be on the Biggest Loser, DO YOU!?” I can’t run due to heel spurs, but this girl gets me pretty darn close as I pant and whine behind her.
Now take a moment to actually picture this. You are a neighbor innocently weeding your garden. You start to hear the rumble of scooter wheels. You perceive something that sounds like yelling. Curious, you lift your head and lean forward – squinting to make out what is coming. The sound gets louder as you see a red headed girl with vengeance in her eyes plowing by you on a bright pink scooter. She is screaming, “IS THAT ALL YOU GOT!” as she flies by. And behind her? Sad, sad me, huffing and puffing, swinging my arms as I wildly attempt to touch her extended hand – a hand that gets further away more often than it gets closer.
You got the picture.
And to add insult to injury? Two days ago my teenage boys agreed to go with us so they could get in a jog. They hadn’t seen my daughter and I perform, for lack of a better term. They started their run ahead of us while I began to swing my arms, settling in to a speedy rhythm.
It was then that I looked up. Both boys were gazing back at me laughing – swinging their arms, walking fast and bowlegged as they wove back and forth in a serpentine manner. One swerved to a neighbor’s yard and crash landed, lying on his back while flailing his arms and legs as if he was a cockroach recently sprayed with Raid. The other slowed to a crawl, finally face planting in to a sea of green grass where he lay comatose with an occasional spasmodic twitch.
Wasn’t it David Letterman who said, “I do and I do and I do for you kids and this is the thanks I get?”