A reader asked on Facebook whatever happened to me and the Optifast program.

It was a 12 week program consisting of 12 weeks of nothing but Optifast liquid shakes, bars, and soup, then it was supposed to be 12 weeks transitioning back to real food.

By week 9, I was begging them to let me eat.

The thought of taking another swallow of a shake or another bite of a bar (I had given up on the soup almost immediately, it was disgusting) made me physically ill. I started skipping meal times because I couldn’t bring myself to do it anymore.

I stopped losing weight, naturally.

The clinic behaviorist told me that my problem was I didn’t NEED to lose weight. I wasn’t there because my weight was literally going to kill me sometime soon if I didn’t lose as much as possible as fast as possible. And for that reason, I wasn’t as “motivated” as other participants.

Well then.

I somehow made it to week 12. In those 12 weeks, I lost exactly 9 pounds. I went from 204 to 195 and then my weight loss stopped. Four of those nine were in the first week.

I tried to guzzle the TWELVE 8 ounce glasses of water required a day. I tried to move a whole lot more. I went to clinic meetings early so I could do the exercise circuit in the adjoining room. I sat on giant bouncy balls and tried to do sit ups, I stood on stretchy tubing and did arm curls.

My weight didn’t budge, but I wasn’t going to quit. I figured keeping off nine pounds and increasing my strength was still worth it.

And then one day while driving home from my meeting, I slammed on the brakes to avoid crashing into the idiot who had suddenly stopped right in front of me – and the brakes in the van went out.  I was in traffic going 45 miles an hour, and in order to even slow down, I had to push the pedal all the way to the floor. I drove home with the emergency blinkers on in a state of panic and fear.

As you know, the van’s brakes were completely rusted out (thanks, Michigan road salt!) and the mechanic quoted us $700 for repairs. Might as well have been a million, so we opted to sell it to a junkyard for 200 bucks and become a one vehicle family.

The coworker that Chris carpools with, his wife is also a stay at home Mom with a preschooler, so we came up with a plan: Monday Wed. and Friday, I would drive Chris to his coworker’s house and drop him off, then his coworker would drive them the rest of the way. Then, they would drive together back to his house in the evening and I would meet Chris there to drive him the rest of the way home. On Tuesday and Thursday, Chris would take the car and drive the whole way so his coworker’s wife could have a car those days.

Optifast ONLY met on Tuesday. At a time that was impossible to get to without a car, and if I didn’t already mention it, in another CITY. I couldn’t take a cab or even a bus.  Optifast was run sort of like AA or other 12 step programs, meaning we only knew each other’s first names and shared no personal info, so I had no idea if any of my fellow meeting attendees lived anywhere near me, let alone if any would be willing to pick me up and drive me there and back every week.

And so, I had to drop out of the program. The one time I was really going to stick to it, and I honestly had no choice.

The good news is, I still weigh 195, which means I’ve kept off the 9 pounds. The 9 pounds that cost me $2700 out of pocket because Blue Cross Blue Shield didn’t cover any of it. I didn’t complete the program, so therefore, it wasn’t covered.

$2700 to lose nine pounds. And still, only nine pounds of the EIGHTY I should lose to be at my optimal weight (four foot eleven, age 44, small frame, I should weigh no more than 115).  $2700 that fortunately Chris and I have, because his employer gives them a Health Savings Account for out of pocket medical expenses, which is funded every two weeks right out of Chris’ paycheck.

And so that is what happened with Optifast.