No Alli of mine.

            Warning, this entry is a very accurate portrayal of what happens when you mess with weight loss supplements. As a result, there is some material that will bother most people, especially the faint of heart. I am not proud of what happened, but it happened. It is relevant to most people’s weight loss journey, the struggle of the diet. If you are disgusted by candid accounts of what happens in the bathroom, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

            Monday marked the first day after a week long hiatus from running. It went horribly. No funny remarks, just all around a bad day at the gym. My body felt weak, and I struggled through the whole thing. I almost finished, but felt I could not, and that made me feel more like a failure than if I had just slept in.
            I have come to the conclusion that I really need to start fueling my body better. During this whole thing, I have not made an effort to eat healthy. If anything, I have been eating worse. I know better than this. Working out does not give me license to eat crap…greasy, sugary, delicious crap. And this is the worst time of the year for it. I bought a bag of Halloween candy for the trick-or-treaters at my office. Within three seconds of getting that candy bag in my truck, I turned into Jabba the Hut and just went to town. I thought the trick-or-treat event was today, but it’s tomorrow. I’m really worried about having candy left to hand out. At least I’m going to be Snooki for Halloween, so it’s not like I have to be thin or attractive.

This was my Monday, I get up early. I go to the gym. I eat leftover pizza at work. I go bowling. I order a burger, fries, and a bucket of beer. I could have just slept in and had a salad. I am an idiot. And that is something I could have totally controlled. There are healthy things out there I actually like to eat, but it takes time to prepare those types of meals. It takes organization and discipline. These are two things I lack outside of work. But, it’s something I have to do and I can’t cut corners.

There are really two things I can do to cut down on calorie intake. First, I have to, and really have to, cut down on the booze. The managers in charge of checking ID’s at Bakers started to remember my name. Then I started going to HyVee, and the managers there see me and just give the “she’s good” wave to the cashiers. Then I told Josh he needs to start going to the grocery store for me. It’s not happening.

The second thing I can do is stop making all kinds of fatty foods. I have been on a cooking rampage this year and have made some delicious stuff. I keep finding excuses to do it. Last night, I wanted to celebrate me and Josh’s nine-year dating anniversary. He said that it doesn’t count since we are married, but nine years is significant… and the perfect excuse to try my hand at vodka cream sauce. Of course, I have to drink some wine while cooking.

As I was pouring the heavy cream and vodka (yes, you read that right) into my dish, I thought to myself, “wow, if you ate this with Alli, that would be a mess.”

Many dieters out there, whether you want to admit it or not, know what I am talking about. For those of you in denial, let me elaborate.

Alli is the brand name for Orlistat. It is a pill that you take and it sits in your lower intestine and blocks one-third of the fat you eat. In plain words, you poop out the fat. There is an obvious benefit to having one-third of that pizza not turn into cellulite. I started taking them, just to give me an extra edge on my dieting and working out.

It sounded like a good idea, but in practice these pills are actually quite stupid. If you eat something healthy, the pills really aren’t needed and aren’t going anything other than wasting your money. If you do eat something you shouldn’t, sure you will “pass” the fat, but you will be punished. I learned this lesson at a most unfortunate time, the day of my sister’s wedding.

I had taken Alli off and on a few times before. Sure I heard the warnings: Don’t wear white pants. Bring an extra pair of pants. Be prepared.

I wasn’t concerned. In fact, quite the opposite. My boss at Victoria’s Secret encouraged me to double my dosage. She used to take it when it was prescription, and the over-the-counter stuff was half-strength. My mother-in-law, who is in the medical profession, confirmed this. Fine, I’ll have two, thank you.

The pills never bothered me, even after nights of burgers or pasta. Sure, I noticed the side effects to some level, but they were tolerable. If anything, I was relieved of the chronic constipating I have struggled with all my life.

I had lost a considerable amount of weight before Anna’s wedding, but in the month before it, I had a setback. I went to Mexico for a week. Then I went to Las Vegas, then Boston, then home for Christmas. Then I started my new job. Between all those places, I found about ten to fifteen pounds, and the bridemaid’s dress I had worked so hard to squeeze into, no longer fit.

Well, back to the Alli I went. I got some alterations on my dress and all was good.

My sister’s rehearsal dinner was lovely. It was downtown in Kansas City. I chose the chicken option, which turned out to be chicken piccata. I love piccata. I think there were some amazing buttery whipped potatoes, and crème brulee. I ate all of it and washed it down with some red wine and two Alli pills. Other than the time I took a dip of Copenhagen snuff at the end of a pub crawl, this was probably the worst decision I’ve made in a while.

I had an amazing night at the bar that night when my sister and all her friends. I woke up at about five a.m. literally jumping out of bed with an intense Charlie horse in my right calf. That’s strange, I thought. I haven’t gotten these since college, and usually it’s after a whole weekend of partying. I only went out last night.

Then I found the cramping wasn’t just in my leg, but it traveled up to my intestines. I stumbled to the bathroom and found that my dehydration was only going to get worse.

I should note that the main defining ingredient in chicken piccata is a lemon butter sauce. And there was a ton of butter in everything else on that plate, which made it so delicious. Unfortunately for me, one third of my dinner was going to appear as oily, orange diarrhea.

I’m not going to go into intense detail. I don’t have to, and I’m sure most of you squeamish readers have not heeded my warning. Let’s just say…I don’t find the bathroom scene in Dumb and Dumber amusing anymore. Yeah, it was that bad. To make it worse, we were sharing a room with our friends. They had been locked out during the night and slept on the floor of another room. They came knocking shortly after the eruption of Mt. Pickle and of course, had to desperately use the bathroom.

I warned them, the damage had not all flushed down. It looked like I poured pizza grease down the toilet and it was sticking to the side. Everyone in the room thought it was really funny until they figured out that the ass smell of our room wasn’t going anywhere. We put the fan on and tried to go back to sleep.

Well, I couldn’t go back to sleep, partly because I had to stay close to a bathroom. Apparently Alli was not done with me yet, and I was due downstairs to get ready for the wedding. My sister was texting me to come down, and I told her I was not feeling well.

I finally waddle into the suite where we are to get ready. My aunts see my haggard face and assume it’s a hangover. I won’t discount the amount of drinking I did the night before, but it wasn’t the complete cause. I felt like a fat, seeping bag of shit. Actually, that’s a very accurate description, because I was seeping. All day. They weren’t kidding about the extra pair of pants.

My symptoms finally tapered off in time for the ceremony, and the day went off without a hitch. It could have been worse, I could have been wearing the white dress.