I got Fat running a Diet Clinic!

 But despite all my successes, there was one problem. A huge (and bulging, and
jiggly) problem.  It was the eighty extra pounds of fat I gained while running these
clinics.  Yes, you read it right: eight-zero.  As everyone was losing weight, it seemed I
was putting on what they lost.  Perhaps more amazing was that no one seemed to mind
– unlike at a fitness center, where people expect trainers to be the epitome of rippling
muscles, strength, and cardiovascular fitness.  It’s a funny thing.  As long as I produced
desired results, people would travel thousands of miles for my help, and seemed not to
notice if I weighed the same as a small elephant.
While people droned on and on about how wonderfully they were able to resist
certain foods, I found myself visualizing everything they didn’t eat, and would promptly
leave the office intent upon finding it.  Perhaps the most disturbing client encounter was
when a lady asked me what she should do about a particular problem.  She would wake
up in the middle of the night, and while still partially asleep, would venture into the
kitchen and eat sugared cereal. She would awaken the next morning in tears, knowing
she had once again cheated on her program. I remember thinking, that’s an odd
problem. How scary to eat in your sleep! I had certainly heard of sleep walking … but
sleep eating?
Wouldn’t you know it: that very night I awoke to find myself in the kitchen at
three o’clock a.m. consuming a bowl of Frosted Flakes. I was horrified!
It’s not that I didn’t try to help myself. Every day, I’d climb out of bed with my
mind made up to put myself on the plan that people paid money for every day.  Before
mid-afternoon, I had cheated and was swearing I’d start again the next morning.  By
nightfall, I had eaten everything I could imagine I’d possibly want to eat for the next six
months, because I was definitely going to stay on a restricted diet – beginning in the
morning!
It was awful.  At one time, I thought I’d figured out the answer.  People paid me
money to lose. That must be the key; the money kept them accountable!  So I promised
myself that when I lost my weight, I would get a brand new wardrobe.  That didn’t
work.  Next, I transferred payment (the same amount clients paid for an eighty pound
program) out of my checking account and asked my husband to keep it from me until I
reached my goal.  Somewhere today, there is a sailboat in Miami wearing the benefits
of that money transfer. Weight loss seemed an impossible task for the future “queen of
the dieting industry.” What great irony!  As unbelievable as it sounds, not one person
mentioned me being fat.  I think they were afraid to tell me. They didn’t want me to quit
helping them!
  Every time I weighed someone and discovered that they’d lost, I mentally beat
myself up.  I called myself everything disgusting I could think of, trying to shame
myself into staying on the program. 

 And then one day, it happened: the moment in time
that would change my life forever.
Visitors from our home state were staying with us for a few days. Because the
living room seats were all taken, I grabbed a rarely-used antique chair for myself and
took a seat. That chair went from “rarely-used” to “never used again” as it collapsed
from my weight, causing me to tumble awkwardly to the floor in front of God and
everybody!  In my mortified desperation, I prayed that the floor would open up and
swallow me whole. Obviously it didn’t; instead, people ran over to help me up, which
only embarrassed me more. Suffice it to say, it was not a pretty sight.  To this very day,
memories of that moment make me cringe.
Nothing in life could have motivated me more.  I began immediately.  I swore
silently (not daring to tell anyone because I’d failed so many times) that nothing would
go into my mouth that was not on the program!  I didn’t need a new diet – the one I
used in the clinic obviously worked.  I just needed to stay on it faithfully.
It was the most difficult battle of my life.  It didn’t matter that I actually had
plenty of normal foods to eat, and wasn’t physically hungry. Staying on that thing was
nothing less than complete torture!  My mind became my worst and most dreaded
enemy.  It mocked me daily, reminding how fat I was, how awful and unworthy. It
showed its cruelest nature by taunting me, even when I had overcome temptations.  I
withstood the trials of food offerings, everything from French fries to cheesecake. I was
losing weight. In spite of these successes, my mind continued its abuse.  “Oh, go ahead
and eat,” it would urge. “You’ve been so good; a few bites aren’t going to hurt you.” 
Or, “Just give it up … you’re going to be fat and ugly forever … you know you’re just
going to gain it all back. Why do you even bother?” Then, “No one loves you anyway.
At least get some enjoyment out of life. Eat what you want.”  It sounds crazy, and
frankly, I thought I was.
It didn’t take long to wonder which was the most evil: the weight, or the mental
anguish I endured while dieting.  What was wrong with me? Surely this was what an
alcoholic or a drug addict felt like.  In a split second, I had one of the most profound
revelations of the decade.  Food can be an addictive substance!