Friday, 28 August 2009

Special K Challenge Travesty

So. After yesterday's epic fail (sorry, Christine, I can't help it) – what have we learnt?

Let's begin with the positive.

We have learnt, I fancy, that near-boundless respect is owed to dieters. Because anyone who can withstand that kind of punishment must be made of stern stuff indeed.

But we have also learnt (it seems to me) that Kellogg's Special K Challenge is an absolute, chronic charade. My body didn't need any kind of rational argument to accept this; it knew it instinctively.

You know those stories about a man and his dog walking at night? They're caught in a blizzard, lost, desperately in need of shelter. And they are striking out to try and get to the nearest town.

All of a sudden, the dog starts to bark and refuses to go any further. No matter how the man may tug and curse and kick, the stubborn mutt digs in its little toes and will not budge. With all his strength, the man is unable to shift it.

Suddenly, the blizzard lifts, and the man finds himself feet away from the edge of a precipice.

You know the story.

Well, that's what my body was doing to me when I tried to eat Special K for lunch. It was protesting with every ounce of its strength, doggedly (see what I did there?) attempting to halt its foolish master.


Because, yes, I'm pretty sure that two weeks of that treatment would lose you some weight. But I'm sure that two weeks of eating only eggs would do that. Because you'd quite quickly become so incredibly sick of eggs that you couldn't bear to eat them.

(In this hypothesis, I admit, I exclude the evidence of a former housemate of mine, who appeared to subsist almost entirely on fried eggs. But, hell, you know what I mean.)

That people be held in the thrall of this nonsense – that the Special K Challenge be considered even remotely legitimate – is a travesty, and a tragedy.

Now. I'm off to a Lebanese restaurant. Ta-ra.

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