Tag Archives: Weight Loss

THE DISAPPEARING MAGICIAN Don’t Try this at Home By Hazel Dixon-Cooper

a

Instead of astounding one of his Las Vegas audiences by making an elephant disappear, Penn Jillette amazed the country by losing 104 pounds in four months.

In 2014, weighing 322 pounds and on eight different medications for hypertension, Jillette ended up in the hospital with life-threatening, uncontrollable high blood pressure. A doctor told him that if he could lose 40 pounds, he might be able to significantly reduce both his blood pressure and the medication he took. The doctor suggested bariatric surgery. Realizing that he must lose weight and change his eating habits if he was going to live, Jillette shunned the surgery but agreed to lose weight.

The magician says he does not believe in moderation. Instead of beginning a sensible and healthy weight-loss program, he called his friend, Ray Cronise, a former NASA engineer-turned-weight-loss coach. Cronise’s program is not moderate.

For the first two weeks, Jillette ate nothing but potatoes. Nothing. He could eat russets, fingerlings, Yukon Gold, or any other type he craved. He could boil them, bake them, or eat them raw. He had to eat them plain—no salt, oil, or sour cream—and was allowed up to five per day. He lost 18 pounds. Corn was next on the menu. “It tasted like candy,” Jillette said. He added other vegetables, fruits, and unprocessed grains over the next few weeks until he was eating 1,000 calories a day.

In addition to the potatoes-only diet, the program consisted of intermittent fasting, cold showers, and lots of sleep to trigger a metabolic winter. According to Cronise, the idea was to jump-start Jillette’s body into feeding on itself to create rapid weight loss. It worked. Over the next three months, Jillette dropped another 72 pounds. Now he eats one meal a day, usually a huge salad, in the late afternoon and all the fruit he can stuff in his face.

Jillette says he hates to exercise, and didn’t while on the program. The truth is that it was forbidden. “Why would you want someone who is 100 pounds overweight to risk injury by exercising?” said Cronise.

What injury? Does he think his clients should jump into an extreme body-building routine? Maybe the near-starvation diet and rapid weight loss made Penn Jillette too weak to exercise.
Even if you have a hundred pounds to lose, as I did, walking is a safe way to stay mobile. At first, my feet and ankles hurt so badly that I couldn’t go farther than the end of the block. I was short of breath so I shuffled. As I grew stronger, I increased the distance until I was routinely walking three to four miles a day. Our bodies are made to move.

Jillette admits that he had a 90-percent blockage in an artery in his heart. That, with his weight and dangerously high blood pressure could have been the perfect storm for either a heart attack or stroke, especially with the added stress of even moderate exercise. He had surgery to unclog the artery two months before beginning the drastic diet.

Quickly losing a huge amount of weight looks dramatic, and it’s tempting to think that you could be five or six sizes smaller within a few months. The trouble with that and every quick-fix program is that you risk your health. Rapid weight loss can set the stage for gallstones and fatty liver disease. You can lose more water and lean muscle tissue than actual fat. This is especially true if you are not helping your atrophied muscles repair themselves by exercising while you are losing. Jillette says that he did begin a mild program including riding an adult tricycle several miles a day after he lost the weight.

Exercise or not, you would think that, after such an extreme weight loss, Penn Jillette would be the first to promote this plan to anyone within earshot. Not so. Instead, he told Dr. Oz, USA Today, and a slew of others that this diet is not for everyone. In fact, he’s adamant about it. So is a line-up of physicians, nutritionists, and weight-loss experts who all agree this has done nothing but set him up for failure. Although potatoes contain natural compounds that affect inflammation, hunger, insulin, sleep, and mood, they do not provide all the nutrition your body needs to maintain health.

Ray Cronise alludes to creating the potato diet and says that he chose the starchy vegetable because it is a good source of protein. However, the concept has been around since 1849. That plan promised fat men that they would become lean and required them to stay on the potatoes-only menu for three-to-five days. More than a hundred and sixty years later, the potato diet is still being recycled as another miracle cure for obesity.

Penn Jillette has kept his weight off for a year. He’s also promoting his new book, Presto, about his experience. Right now, he’s still motivated. However, the long-term odds are against his maintaining both his current weight and his health. Ninety-five percent of people who fall for any medical, commercial, or over-the-counter weight-loss fixes are going to fail.

No miracle cure, no fad, no draconian hard-ass way to lose weight will help you keep it off. The only way that works is getting rid of your carbohydrate and fat addictions, and that is a slow process. Drive by the drive-through. Pass up the pizza. Dump the processed food and nitrate-loaded meat products. You can start as I did by gradually making healthier choices. One skipped order of French fries, one refused dessert, one trade from fried chicken to grilled halibut will start to turn your life and your health in the right direction.

There is no presto in weight loss. Just like a magic act, the promises of near-instant results are only illusions.

Noted astrologer Hazel Dixon-Cooper is known and loved by fans and astrology buffs all over the world. You can find more about her at www.hazeldixoncooper.com and easily purchase her books at https://www.amazon.com/Hazel-Dixon-Cooper/e/B001H9RFEM

CONFESSIONS OF A FAT COSMO GIRL Hazel Dixon-Cooper

a

 

Wake up calls are warnings to wise up. One scare like the threat of losing the car or the house or the job usually snaps most people back on track.
 
A fat woman’s life is a series of wake up calls she fails to answer. From the jangle of shooting pains from her permanently twisted ankles, to the sound of her money being sucked down the drain of an endless weight-loss racket, she ignores the signals—sometimes until it’s too late.
 
My most important call came as an invitation to write for Cosmopolitan magazine, which both thrilled and terrified me. At fifty pounds overweight, I was a poster child for the anti-Cosmo girl.
 
For years, no matter what I tried, I failed. I joined and left Weight Watchers three times. I chugged Slim-Fast shakes, ate pounds of bacon on Atkins, and shuddered through the don’t-leave-home cabbage soup plan. Of course I lost weight, hundreds of pounds. I gained every ounce and more back. A doctor friend suggested MediFast. He swore by it, even as his belly pushed through his white lab coat.
 
I ate nothing but protein, everything but protein, and swallowed eat-anything-and-still-lose diet pills. My only nutritional expertise was the talent to turn a healthy 500-calorie meal into a 3,000-calorie binge.
 
Every fatty has a secret stash of junk food. I had several. Although I took the candy dish off my desk at my day job, I simply transferred the candy to the back of the bottom drawer. At home, I had a cache of Hershey Miniatures pushed under a stack of papers on the floor of my office. My purse always held an assortment of munchies. Under the maps and assorted change in the car’s console, I’d buried a bag of peanuts or a box of Junior Mints.
 
If no one sees you eat, it doesn’t count as much. It’s easier to lie to yourself when there are no witnesses. I justified hiding the food because I didn’t want to have to listen to another lecture, well-meant or not. What I really didn’t want was to have to be accountable for what I was doing to my body and my health.
 
So I became a stealth eater, and nearly the size of a stealth bomber. When the stash under my desk at home was empty, I would sneak into the kitchen and raid the pantry. I gnawed six-month-stale Halloween candy that had fallen out of the bag and lay forgotten on the back of a shelf.
 
I began to notice other fatties stuffing French fries in their faces while sitting on a bus bench. Or squeezed into one side of a booth for two, thighs oozing off the edge, as they shoveled down a hot-fudge-covered brownie with ice cream. Sometimes they had a porky partner along. More often, they were alone. We were kindred fools sliding down the buttered slope to self-destruction.
 
There were days when I’d panic because, for a moment, I would wake up and see the damage I was doing. Then I’d swear off food just like I’d done a thousand times before, and for a couple of days or a week, I’d lay off the junk. It never lasted long enough to make a real difference.
 
By the time I received the invitation from Cosmo, I’d settled into that steady five-to-ten-pounds-a-year climb to triple-X tent dresses. You might ask who cares if you’re fat. At that instant, I cared so much that would have given anything to be thin—for about five seconds. Then the fat fog kicked in. I flicked off the message and headed for the cafeteria at my day job.
 
“The regular, Hazel?” the overweight server behind the counter asked.
 
“Yes,” I replied. I was glad she was there because every fat person knows that you get bigger portions if another fattie’s dishing them. She placed a huge apple fritter on a plate and handed it to me. Then I got a cup of coffee with cream and sugar.
 
Under any kind of stress, I reached for food like a drunk reaches for booze. Anything that was sugary or greasy was the temporary fix I used to dull the emotions I couldn’t face. There’s a good reason it’s called comfort food. For about thirty seconds, the mouthful of the dessert or the mashed potatoes or the cheese-laden casserole warmed me, both physically and emotionally. As soon as I swallowed the bite, the glow faded and I had to shove another forkful in my face, and then another and another until I was so stuffed with food that I couldn’t feel anything but food. The guilt set in as soon as I’d hogged down that fried fritter mess.
 
I’ll start dieting tomorrow.
 
Swearing off food was easy when I was stuffed, and tomorrow is always the day.
 
Staring me right in the face was a chance to write the most well-known astrology column for the most successful women’s magazine on the planet. What did I do? Rush for the worst thing I could eat.
 
When the editor at Cosmo called, she was easy to talk to and sounded young. As we chatted, I imagined her sitting at her desk, designer jacket hanging on the back of her chair, designer coffee steaming in a designer cup. I sat at my desk shaking like a druggie needing a fix.
 
She offered the job. I accepted. Although my personal food fight was far from over, this time I’d snapped awake, and somewhere in the middle of my brain a switch flipped. That was the beginning.
 

 

With the mouth of a Gemini, the soul of a Pisces, and an intuitive Aquarius Moon, Hazel can nail anyone’s personality the moment she knows their birthday. She’s been teaching and practicing astrology for more than twenty-five years, and is the author of the internationally best-selling Rotten Day humorous astrology book series. Her just-released book, Harness Astrology’s Bad Boy, is about Pluto, the planet of transformation. She can be reached through her website, www.hazeldixoncooper.com and on Facebook, www.facebook.com/hazel.dixoncooper. Hazel loves to hear from her fans around the world and personally answers each message.