Real proof I'm a glutton for punishment

Two weeks ago, I went ahead and did a crazy thing: I put myself on a diet. No, not one of those celebrity diets you see popping in teen magazines all over the place.

For a while now, it seems that my usual diet of McBurgers, pizza, soda and ice cream has done little for me other than making my clothes hug me a bit tighter than what is comfortable. My arduous program of no exercise at all doesn't seem to help things, either.

After a lot of consideration, I visited the neighborhood weight clinic. There, I was weighed and, for starters, a regimen of reduction massages and body wraps was prescribed.

I was asked to come back the next day with swimming trunks, two towels (one big to lie down on, one small to wipe excess cream and oil). Also, I was required to purchase a bottle of rubbing oil, and two special creams.

I must say, I had NO IDEA what I was getting myself into.

Massage time!

When I read 'massages', I foolishly pictured tall, Swedish women softly caressing my naked body with oils. Instead, I got a diminutive lady in her late 40's, who asked me to dress the massage table with the big towel, then lie on top of it. Then proceeded to rough me up in the most brutal manner possible. For an incredibly long half-hour, she proceeded to pull, push, mash and squish my skin so hard I thought it was going to break apart in her hands. When she finished, my belly, sides and back felt sore as heck. Damn, I felt like she had punctured my spleen, my liver or at least some internal organ.

Later that very day, the soreness would escalate to the point where I would not be able to move any part of my body without feeling like an 80-year-old retiree with a bad hip.

Anyway, right after we were thru with the massage, it was time for the body wrap. This very same lady pulled out a bowl with damp bandages which she proceeded to envelop my torso with.

Although I'd been told that they were 'cold' wraps, I didn't quite figure out what that meant until I felt the wet, chilling bandages making contact with my warm torso. I felt a massive goosebump going thru my whole body.

After the lady was thru, she left me to myself, all alone in that big white room. I dunno which was worse: being uncomfortably wrapped like a big taco or having absolutely nothing to do but listening to Muzak for 30 minutes straight.

Once my time was over, the lady came back to give me my freedom once more. I was overwhelmed with joy.
My first session was over. Only 24 more to go...

The best was yet to come

But the suffering was far from over. A few days later, I got my first diet plan.
That's when crap really hit the fan.That’s when I finally had to face the fact that I wanted to lose weight and stuffing my face would just not do. It was heart-breaking.

The next 3 days were spent eating all the papaya I wanted. Actually, drinking is more accurate.
Since I knew I would despise eating papaya chunks, I asked people to put the papaya in the blender and make it into a drink. I drank, and drank and drank till my gut was filled with liquid. Then I would rush to the bathroom, with an imperative urge to pee like a madman.  Drinking and peeing, that sums up those dreaded 72 hours. Oh, and trying not to think about eating every two seconds.

Luckily, the papaya gave way to more substatial food. My first breakfast with the new plan consisted of cottage cheese on whole wheat bread. Not much, but when you’ve been ‘eating’ fruit for three whole days straight, you take what you get.

The fight keeps on

I have lost ten pounds so far, which is good, but I still need to lose a couple of pounds more.
Therefore, the diet is still on, and so are the massacre massages and the polar-worthy wraps.

I just hope I get rid of the excess poundage before I go insane.
Even more so.