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Come to think about it, if you're like this: You refuse to eat anything but fat-filled foods, like meat loaf, and steaks. With potatoes smothered in thick gravy made from a recipe your fat friend down the street gave you. Or you wolf-down three eggs, six strips of bacon, or five sausage patties. With a side of potatoes cooked in bacon grease and toast dripping with butter.
If that's you, forget about weight-loss. Mine or any other approach to weight control won't be worth an ounce to you. No discipline-- no weight loss.
If you eat low fat stuff, you'll be full and won't want to take a bite out of the rug or attack the postman to satisfy your hunger. Any plan-- diet or otherwise-- that requires starvation or hunger is self-defeating.
You, me and everyone else-- except the superduper strong-willed-- is going to stuff ourselves with some fatty, sinfully delicious food now and then. What? We're expected to be perfect? Saints we ain't. I'm not, and you shouldn't be surprised if you're not. What the heck. Go ahead and indulge yourself sometimes. It wouldn't do any good for me or anyone else to tell you not to.
Especially, if you're dining out at an establishment that doesn't know the meaning of food moderation, is the hottest joint in town, where simply being seen is the ultimate status symbol, and it took you six months to get your spouse to treat you to dinner there.
If an opportunity like that comes up, grab it. I would! But if you quickly get back on the good eating plan, you'll shed the excess fat.
I used the fat formula and watched what I ate-- never went hungry-- to bring my weight from 250 down to 180, and keep it there. I had always been tall (6’2”) and skinny. But when I hit the big 50 I quickly grew out of every pair of pants I owned. My shirt puffed out with a big gut that looked like a blimp was growing there. For a while, I thought I might have a filler valve through which someone pumped helium into me while I was asleep.
I learned real quickly that I couldn't continue my past eating habits in the kitchen. I ate huge samples of every fat-filled item we cooked. Such a practice would keel me over with a heart attack and land me in intensive care on a life-support system. Or, even worse, I'd have a rich widow laughing all the way to the bank with my insurance policy proceeds’ check in one hand and a good-looking 25 year old Chippendale stud in the other. What a revolting development that would have been!!!
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