A friend called up yesterday morning to announce that she had found the right diet plan for me.

Not a success after all

A friend called up yesterday morning to announce that she had found the right diet plan for me. You'd be forgiven for thinking that she'd found the recipe for the elixir of life when all she had was a printout of a plan she'd found via a search engine.

But for the drowning person who's gained a pant size, even driftwood like that can seem like the stuff that going to float you to safety. The only trouble is keeping to the plan. Two months ago, gripped by sudden fervour, I decided that I would now hit the pavement religiously on Marine Drive every day to give my heart a chance of living past 30. Only a bridge separated the seafront and Princess Street where I live ufffd hardly an insurmountable mountain. Little did I know, that in the weeks to come that this soon prove to be my albatross.

So there I was a day after I had made up my mind, with new shoes, new workout clothes and a new 'power' playlist. People watching proved amusing. There was the foreign expatriate with the high top sneakers and checkered shirt who was outrunning Indian men half his size and half his age. Scores of anonymous couples with their backs to me tried to steal a sneaky kiss. There were exercising couples in co-ordinated outfits and housewives in uncomfortable shoes. They were all here to lose weight and I saw them every day until that one fateful morning when I woke up, thought I could take a break, rolled over and went back to sleep.

Things changed after that day. The bridge suddenly seemed like the largest roadblock this side of Asia. My thighs hadn't gotten less wobbly. What was the point? My fervour suddenly seemed foolhardy and thus came the end of yet another attempt to lose weight.
u00a0
There've been countless books written about how to lose weight but I've yet to come across someone who tells you what to do when your initial enthusiasm has slumped and your jeans finally button up, never minding the roll of fat that spills over. That nugget, I'd reckon, would sell far more than the musings of Andalusian shepherd boys and single handedly bring to end home shopping network promos of fat burning vibrators promoted by oiled gym bods. And if only for the latter, I'd write that book myself.

Only, I'm hardly the success story you'd be inspired with.