When I was a little kid growing up in Ohio, there was no better pizza treat than Godfather’s Pizza.  I still remember the commercials to this day.  One of them had the Godfather (an Italian Mafia-looking guy) in a jail cell wearing his striped coveralls, ordering up his final meal of delicious pizza.  Godfather’s was a treat to be taken seriously, because it was a rare thing for my family to eat out.  Besides that, the pizza was absolutely amazing, and the atmosphere of the place — new inventions called “arcade games” in the parlor — was a dream for a kid like me.  I have so many fond memories.

Sadly, when I was about 10 or so, Godfather’s was bought out locally by a company called Showbiz Pizza, which is still around in some places.  Unfortunately, the Godfather’s in my home town, and indeed the entire Midwest (to my knowledge) was simply shut down and sold off to other businesses.  My favorite pizza place became some sort of card and gift shop, and I was relegated to the greasiness of Pizza Hut for the rest of my life.  It was a travesty, and I was sad.

Fast forward about twenty-odd years.  My friend calls me excitedly one day and tells me that we need to plan a trip to Chillicothe, Ohio.  Chillicothe was about a 45-minute drive south of where I lived in Columbus, and is basically a redneck, white-trash heaven.  Of course I asked, “Why would I want to go there?”  “Pizza,” he exclaimed.  “You want Godfather’s pizza.”

True to his word, Chillicothe contained an owner-operated franchised Godfather’s Pizza.  It was hot and cheesy and delicious and every bit as awesome as I remembered as a kid.  Even better, I was an adult now and could eat it whenever I wanted.  Of course, there was a drive involved, so I rationed it out.  Still, it was bliss.

A couple of years later, I moved here to Salt Lake City.  Imagine my delight when I discovered that Godfather’s was still alive and well in the western states, and that there were several within a short drive from my apartment!  Never again would I have to stomach Pizza Hut, and there would be delicious Godfather’s for the taking whenever I felt the urge.  Suddenly, a childhood memory and longing desire became an everyday reality.  It couldn’t get much better.

December, 2008:  A month that will live in infamy.  For whatever reason, (I blame the economy), Godfather’s Yummy Pizza has completely abandoned the Salt Lake area, and the entire state of Utah.  Both eat-in locations, and all three carry outs have closed.  I drove by today, tearing up at the sight of the “Space Available” banner covering the once beautiful sign that promised perfect pizza pleasure.  My stomach gurgled, signaling its own sigh of sympathy at our mutual loss.  My taste buds felt dull, and my tongue ached for the wonderful sauce, cheese, and pepperoni perfection.  Once again, cruel fate has intervened and taken away a cherished indulgence.

Now comes the search for something else.  I don’t know where to get pizza now.  Sure, there’s always Dominos or Papa Johns.  If I’m desperate enough, there are a few Pizza Huts floating around.  Of course, there are the local places too.  Who knows?  Maybe I’ll find something, someday.

But nothing will replace my Godfather’s.  I knew thee well, and will miss you.

Once a week, I cheat on my diet.  It’s just one meal, one specific time, and it’s quite fulfilling.  Thus far, it’s always been on Saturday, and the meal of choice has (with one exception) been delicious pizza.

I’m a pizza lover through and through, a fact to which any of my RL friends can easily attest.  I’m also what’s known as a “pizza purist”, which means it’s pepperoni and cheese.  I like other things, but I always go with the pepperoni and cheese, because that’s what I like best.  Pizza is nature’s perfect food, and by that I mean that pizza can be anything.  It can be cold for breakfast, it can be hot and delicious for dinner, it can be vegetarian, it can be a meat-lover’s dream, it can a snack, a meal, or even desert.  Pizza is perfect because it can be adapted to fit any situation or lifestyle or taste.  Pizza is awesome, which is why I choose pizza as my cheat meal, because it’s the one thing I despise giving up.  It’s so incredibly yummy.

Of course, I track my calories as part of my diet, and entering my numbers on Saturday has become cringe worthy.  Just as an example, my cheat meal this week consisted of a medium-sized Godfather’s pizza, and two Mexican cokes.  The pizza alone was 2,080 calories, and with the Mexi-Cokes, the meal came to 2,371 calories… 421 calories over my daily maximum limit.  I feel guilty.

Should I stop with the cheat meals?  I do so love the pizza, but my personality is not habit-forming.  I could, in theory, stop the cheat meals, or perhaps lessen the frequency.  Still, I look forward to Saturdays because of them, and I think I’d miss it if I game them up.  I’m so good the rest of the week, keeping my intake to between 1,200 and 1,500 calories per day.  I’ve been getting in long hikes or bike rides consistently, and the results so far speak for themselves.  Surely one day of going over the limit isn’t gonna wreck everything, is it?

Post a comment below and give me your take on my dilemma.  Should I stop cheating?  Should I change the frequency?  Or should I just keep going, seeing as how I’m probably just over-thinking the whole thing anyway?  Let me know!

This is week three of my diet.  After thinking about it a lot, and on the advice of others, I decided that 1000 calories per day was just too little.  Not only is it pretty much impossible to do, but it’s not healthy.  I knew that going into it, but luckily common sense prevailed and I upped my daily count.

I did some research on ye olde Internet and found some formulas and calculations to determine my proper dietary needs.  For a 200lb man, at 5’10, and 493 years old, my calorie requirements are 1,950 calories per day.  That still seems pretty high to me, so I’ve comprimised and set my goal between 1,200 and 1,500.  I think that’s a bit more realistic, as well as healthier to boot.

I’m quite pleased to announce that I’ve lost five pounds, and now stand at an even 200 (as of today).  More than that, I can honestly see a difference in the size of my waist.  I know there’s a “wishful thinking” factor, but there’s definitely a difference to be seen.  I also notice a slight difference in my face too, and that’s got me excited as well.  I’m very happy with my progress so far.

Here’s a breakdown of averages according to the data I’ve been keeping:

Fat – 28.5% (340 grams)
Protein – 13.9% (372 grams)
Carbohydrates – 57.6% (1,545 grams)
Alcohol – 0.0%
Other – 0.0%

My carbs are a little high, and my protein is a little low, but my fat intake is right about where it should be.  I also had a beer last Saturday (thanks Sra!), but it didn’t have enough effect to register in the formula.  With some slight adjustments, I’ll be sitting pretty.

Daily Calorie Intake – 1,752 cals
Daily Sodium Intake – 2,930 mg
Daily Sugar Intake – 82 grams
Daily Cholesterol Intake – 156 mg
Daily Saturated Fat Intake – 21 grams
Daily Fiber Intake – 13 grams

As you can see, I’m a little over my average for calories per day, but this was due to my “cheat meal” of delicious pizza last Saturday, so the curve is a little off.  I’m still under the 1,950 suggestion though, so it’s all good.

I’m also burning an average of 2,800 calories per day, so that’s another plus.  I actually hope to up this a little in coming weeks.

Overall, I simply feel better.  I’m not all “bloaty” like I’ve been feeling for a good year now, and I’m happier when I catch a glance in the mirror and can actually see progress.  I even did Ensign Peak earlier tonight to watch the sunset, and made it to the top without having a heart attack or wheezing like Orson Wells in the 300 meter hurdles.

Progress, my friends.  My six-pack will be back.

It’s part of my exercise regimen, which also involves walking and hiking.  I’ve also begun a "diet" of sorts, which isn’t so much a diet as it is a philosophy of eating.

I’ve noticed two things during my recent rides, neither of which is good.  One, I’m seriously out of shape.  Like gasping, wheezing, soaked with sweat out of shape, and that’s just carrying my bike down the front stairs of my apartment.  Two, all of Utah is uphill in all four directions.  I mean, really… is it so much to ask for a break?  All of my bike-riding skills were forged in Ohio, which is flatter than Natalie Portman under a bus tire.  My body wasn’t designed to climb vertical surfaces on a personal, human-powered conveyance.  I look around me and see all the serious bikers, guys and girls with the full-getup, which includes the tight biker shorts, funky hat with sunglasses, yellow stretchy jersey, and clip-shoes, casually climbing 85-degree hills in 95-degree weather without even giving it a second thought, and I can only think "man, a big slice of pizza and an ice cold root beer, along with a big bowl of ice cream sounds really good right about now."

Which leads me to my next thought.  I’m always hungry these days.  My "diet" is really just a change in my eating habits.  Whereas before, I’d eat two or three gigantic meals every day, consisting of anything that moved slowly enough for me to jab with a fork, (especially if it included pepperoni.) Now I eat three or four very small meals, spaced out a bit.  When I say "meals", I mean something like a piece of toast with peanut butter.  Or an egg.  Under 1000 calories a day is what I’m starving myself with presently, and I’m always hungry. 

You would think that by eating several times per day, along with drinking approximately 50.7 ounces of water, my hunger would be satiated.  You would be wrong.  Never underestimate the power of desire, especially when you bike past an Apollo Burger routinely.  Several years of being fat have taught my subconscious that mass quantities of food are what I need, and no piddly egg is gonna change that.  I have paradigm issues to conquer for sure.

I’ve been on my diet and exercise deal now for almost two weeks, and by god, I do notice a difference.  One, my enormous super-orbital gut looks a little more deflated.  I don’t feel anywhere near as bloated or Hutt-like anymore, and my reflection occasionally shows a tantalizing glimpse of the old abdominal muscles.  I’m starting to feel better, and if I could deal with the hunger thing, I’d be in good shape.  I’m well on target for my September deadline for gut-freedom, and if I can keep the pace, it will happen even before that. 

I’m proud of me so far.  I’ve been able to will myself away from junky food.  I have a bottle of Sprite that I keep in my fridge as a reminder not to drink it.  It sits there, mocking me with it’s lemon-lime goodness, but I just scoff.  I will triumph over the Sprite, just as I will regain my wonderful 25 year-old body.  Just don’t ask me to climb that damn hill by my house on my bike anymore, and we’re cool.