The David Crapo Plan

I'm currently on my sixth week of the David Crapo Plan. Now, for those of you who don't know, David Crapo is my personal trainer. That's right, personal trainer. Basically that means he advises me on working out, eating well and avoiding cheese sticks. The very fact that I have a personal trainer named David Crapo may come as a surprise to most of you, especially since I have ridiculed my roommate every day for the past six months for his efforts to follow this supposed "David Crapo Plan"—the one that I lovingly refer to as the "kill-joy" diet. Please, let me explain.

For the past 27 1/2 years of my life, my mother (and everyone else for that matter) has kindly let me know how skinny I am. When I was young, my grandpa used to say, "Hey Dane, you're so skinny. Do you have to run around in the shower to get wet?" For years I have tried to gain weight. Mostly I ate whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. My only problem with that is, I love cardio exercise—running, biking, swimming, you name it, I enjoy doing it. After a run of failed attempts at packing on the pounds, I decided to really get serious about gaining weight. I usually don't pay any attention to the fad diets and work out plans that are always popping up, but the "David Crapo Plan" seemed to be getting a lot of buzz on all the local media outlets, so I gave him a call.

"Gain 10 pounds? Ya, of course we can do that," he said...That was the start of something really beautiful, that is until I sat in the Bod Pod and saw my score of 20.2 percent body fat. Just so you know, that's 32 lbs. of blubber spread all over my body. If hearing that wasn't bad enough, Justin adds insult to injury with his shining score of about a million points less than me—and he's the one with the nickname "Lard Butt." What the *level one* is happening to me? I've got something sinister going on inside of me. I feel like the farmer who just found out the Rats of NIMH have been living under his farm for years...

Needless to say, I've been humbled. I've been shown my weakness and been labeled "excess fat" by the Bod Pod calculations. So after a day of feeling sorry for myself and teetering back and forth from anorexia to lemon juice cleanse, I've decided to buck up, bid the Tilla-moos a fond farewell and drop my caloric intake each day to 2400 (this, of course, was prescribed by my trainer last night after I became slighlty unhinged). The days of whatever, whenever are over and the dawn of the best shape of my life has begun. Wish me luck.