Losing Weight Intelligently
There
was a wild clatter in the den. I had
forgotten again, as Lapius had asked me to do
repeatedly, to buy a large rubber mat to place under his exercycle.
S.Q.
Lapius was pumping away furiously, his hair matted
with sweat, his T-shirt moist, his breath coming in short gasps. He stopped when I entered. And tried to say
something but didn’t have the wind.
The
kitchen odors were inviting. I could
smell cheeses, garlic, clove, and other spices.
Lapius had prepared one of his gourmet meals.
“You
are preparing a gourmet meal,” I said as I helped him from the exercycle and balanced him till he
could catch his breath.
“Precisely,
Harry. This constant fight against
weight must be continued in order to permit me the luxury of food and drink.”
“There
are no calories in celery and water,” I told him.
“Nor
taste either,” he gasped.
“You
are fighting a losing battle,” I badgered.
“All you are losing on that bicycle is a few pounds of water. You know that better than I.” Actually he remained, despite his expertise
in most matters medical, purposefully ignorant of calorie balance with regards
to weight. He knew the details, I
supposed, but blocked them out.
“It’s
as simple as elementary arithmetic,” I told him. “The meal you are preparing will contain
about 3500 calories ---“
“Ridiculous,
Harry. I have omitted the potatoes.”
“But
not the cheese on the tomatoes, the rich gravy on the veal, the parmesan to be
scattered on that, the blue cheese dressing, and the basket of garlic
bread. Not just one or two pieces but an
entire loaf of French bread.”
“Harry,”
he said morosely, “It’s uneconomical to prepare only one or two pieces of
garlic bread. We can’t be profligate.”
“The
point, Simon,” I admonished, “Is that 3500 calories assimilated into your obese
body is the equivalent of one pound of weight.
If you eat fifty calories a day less than your daily energy
requirements, less than one piece of bread, it will take you ten weeks to lose
that very same pound of weight.
“Of course. That’s the purpose of the exercycle.”
“Do
you have any idea how many miles you would have to peddle to get rid of the
pound?”
“About three.”
“Nonsense,
Simon. If you ran 1.5 miles daily you
would spend only about 200 calories.
Thus you would have to run that distance daily for two weeks to lose the
3500 calories you intend to consume tonight.”
“Be
quiet and open the wine. The 1972
“Alcohol
is immediate energy, Simon. If you
really wanted to lose weight you would forego the wine, as well as your usual
martini prior to sitting at the table.”
“Well
I didn’t plan to have hors d’oeuvres,” he said lamely.
“One
ounce of gin, which is somewhat shy of what you imbibe in your habitual preprandial martini, contains about 160 calories that turn
to instant energy. These calories help
you get almost 100 percent efficiency from the rest of
the food you eat.”
“Really? Well I
certainly can’t give up eating. Perhaps
I should have that ileal by-pass operation—you know
where they shorten the intestinal pathway for the absorption of food.”
“It
won’t work, Simon. The results are not
glowing. About 90 percent of the people
who have had that surgery have returned to their old weight within five years.”
“Well
there must be a way.”
“Sure
there is. Let me take you to dinner.”
“And
waste that good food. Not tonight,
Harry. But I promise you can take me out
tomorrow night.”
I
have to admit the food was delicious. I
knew it would add a pound to my weight within three or four days. But true to his word, Lapius
joined me the following evening.
“Where
are we going?”
“You’ll
see,” I said, as I rolled the car up to a MacDonald’s.
Lapius was aghast.
“The atmosphere isn’t conducive to dining,” he complained.
“We
are not dining, Simon, we are eating.”
He surveyed the menu carefully and ordered a big Mac.
“I
guess this will get me through the evening,” he said morosely. “But you know I won’t be able to digest it
without some wine to wash it down.”
“That’s
the idea, Simon. The less you digest, the less weight you will gain. Here let me help you.” I leaned over the spare table and removed the
rolls on which the hamburger basked.
“Not that too Harry?”
“Yes
that too, Simon.”
“Even
in jail they serve bread with the water.”
“Simon,
I am simply amazed that a man with your medical background, with your
sophisticated knowledge in so many esoteric areas of medical science, can be
such an idiot about food.”
“All
I can say to you, Harry,” Lapius said, after nibbling
gingerly on the hamburger, “is that you would be a great guy to have around in
a famine.”
“And
if everybody ate like you, Simon, we would be having one soon.”