sometimes, it's not fate

So I have a short 15 minute commute to work every day, and my routine is in stone. 52 oz. Diet Coke (only ¼ full of ice) at QT, say hello to the nice clerk who sees me 365 days a year, and drive down Baseline to work. Every day I listen to KTAR (news talk radio – don’t even start) on the way in, and have to time my QT visit down to the second so that I don’t miss Paul Calvisi’s sports report at 7:45.

Since I’ve listened to the radio for the same 20 minutes for the last 5 ½ years, I’ve gotten to know their advertisers pretty well. I consider myself pretty ad savvy – after all, I AM a communications and marketing professional, and have been around the block. However after you hear The Click Chick tell you 842 times that she lost 42 pounds in three short months at Medifast Weight Control Centers, eventually, your strength caves, and you start to believe.

I am also a believer in fate - and signs - so the fact that I pass right by a Medifast Weight Control Center on my way to work, the very 15 minute commute where I always hear the ad, isn’t lost on me.

So today at lunch time, instead of heading to the QT by the office for my midday 52 ouncer, I decided fate was sending me a message and made a rare break with tradition and drove back to the Medifast that I pass every day. And I went inside.

Don't get me wrong; I get it. Eat less, move more, you’ll lose weight. Make smart food choices, eat what came out of the ground or off of a tree or a bush. Avoid foods with 27 lines of ingredients you can’t pronounce. I know. But sometimes a little help isn’t a bad thing. Especially if you’ve invested a little money and feel obligated to follow through.

When I went inside, everyone behind the counter was in a white coat. (They are so totally not doctors, by the way.)  But according to The Click Chick, I can get their advice and moral support at just $1 a day, plus the cost of food, so I go ahead and sign in to speak with an enrollment counselor.

I’ve done Weight Watchers oh, 6 or 7 times, so I’m expecting to find out that there’s a weekly or monthly fee, and then I can buy food on top of that. Doable for a couple of months, if it means I can shed 20-30 quick pounds and be well on my way to bikini city. The enrollment counselor takes me into a nice office with inspirational posters and a bookcase crammed with their delicious and nutritionally sound shakes and bars, and proceeds to tell me that the first step in the process is to do some blood work that will cost me $349. Um. My insurance covers that at my annual visit with no co-pay. But I continue to listen.

Turns out The Click Chick was telling the truth about what they provide – but what she failed to mention was that you have to pay for a year’s worth or services up front. Are you kidding me? In this economy, you are expecting me to walk through this front door and shell out over $1000 before you give me one piece of crummy advice that will likely be something I already know?

I stopped that conversation in its tracks and went straight back to my car. And then to the Wendy’s drive through for a chicken sandwich and some fries. Does anyone else think that their fries sound a little healthier because they are “natural cut” with the skin still on, and they use “sea salt”? Mmm hmm. I know. But they were delicious.