The Subway Diet
By Marc Cappelletti
Jared did it. The guy ate nothing but Subway sandwiches and lost a ridiculous amount of weight. Basically, there used to be two Jareds and now there is only one, and he is a very well-paid spokesman for the company. What you may not know about Jared is that behind his cheap little thin-lipped grin is a foot-long sandwich full of lies.
The first time I saw Jared hold up his oversized pleated pants and proclaim that he shed the weight simply by eating at Subway I was inspired. Who wouldn’t be? In a world with dangerous dieting side effects like “gas with oily spotting” and “ more frequent stools that may be hard to control,” the opportunity to lose weight without requiring a second pair of pants is quite the easy sell.
Now, I stand at a perfectly average 5 foot 10 inches. When Jared entered my life I weighed in at about two hundred and sixty pounds. That’s a little on the husky side, sort of early Saturday Night Live Chris Farleyish – far from his jacket-splitting Tommy Boy years and beyond. I used to think I was fine considering I hadn’t worked out since my days as a JV high school pitcher. But after a few too many Friday night tables for one and a janitorial request to reinforce my chair at work I decided plain and simple it was time to shed some pounds. I looked to Jared for advice.
My dieting began just like any other structured self help program begins – taking firm control of my life one five dollar foot long at a time. I remember that first day so vividly. The energy I felt when I walked into Subway at 9am for my breakfast sandwich was like nothing I had felt before. I remember the bread was warm, the first fresh batch out of the oven. The meatballs were cooked to perfection and the provolone melted ever so slightly inside the sandwich, filling the crevasses between each meatball and the bread that contained them. Every bite was like a revelation. Every swallow a comforting pat on the back.
When I got to work I was in such good spirits that I took the stairs for the first time since the elevator broke a year or so before. The morning passed quickly and when lunchtime came I wasn’t hungry. The foot-long meatball sub at breakfast was filling enough for two meals, but this was lunchtime and they say that skipping meals alters the body’s natural metabolism. This can actually contribute to weight gain, so I needed to eat.
I had never tried a blue cheese buffalo chicken sandwich before, but thought that this was as good a time as any to infuse my life, and my body, with new things. Within minutes I was chomping down on a pound of boneless chicken smothered in hot sauce and topped with chunky bleu cheese dressing all in sandwich form. I had to pat my face with a napkin every time that orangey buffalo sauce came over the corners of my mouth. It can burn if you leave it their too long. I returned to work stuffed like a Puerto Vallarta piñata saying to myself, “Who knew that healthy living could be this filling?”
Dinner went much the same way – a four-meat, turkey, salami, ham and roast beef super sub on herb and cheese bread. After I finished I sat down on the couch and noted the day’s intake in my Food Journal. It’s a fact that people who write down what they eat are more conscious about their health and consequently lose more weight than those who don’t. All that writing about food eventually made me hungry, so I went to the kitchen for my typical late night snack of a banana with peanut butter. Then I though, what would Jared do?
Thankfully Subway is open late night, because I no doubt would have starved without a snack. I ordered up a chicken and bacon ranch sandwich, which has long been a favorite of mine. And this being the culmination of my first day on the Subway diet, I treated myself by ordering the value meal, which came with a large Coke and my choice of two cookies or a bag of chips. I went for the cookies. This was, I admit, a bit of a dieting splurge, but hey, we all can’t all be Kate Moss now can we?
My regiment of four, sometimes five Subway sandwiches a day continued for the next eight months, culminating in dramatic results. In the same time it took for Jared to lose one hundred pounds I developed a chronic sweat disorder, outgrew any type of clothing made for humans and was fired from my job when I could no longer fit through my front door.
I knew it was time to see a doctor when an itch forced me to discover a meatball sub that I had somehow stored in between my second roll of hip fat and the curtains I had tied around my waist as pants. How it got there I don’t remember, but do remember the consequent trip to the hospital going smoothly. The police were surprisingly adept at cutting away an extra two feet on either side of my front door and the crane operator’s sense of humor shined through when he said, “This crane can only lift so much weight fatass! Don’t squirm or you’ll bend the shaft!”
At the hospital the doctors were forced to weigh me via the displacement method in a pool intended for use by rehabbing paraplegics. Ninety gallons of water poured over the edges when they rolled me in, shorting out some guy’s motorized wheel chair. The doctor calculated my weight at 723 pounds.
All things being equal, I had put on four hundred and eighty pounds of meaty, cheesy, toasted bread weight and it was all because of Jared and his horrible, horrible diet.
Due to a pending lawsuit against Subway I am no longer at liberty to go into every detail of my situation but I can say this: that pleated pants, polo shirt wearing idiot of a spokesperson is not to be trusted. How the Subway diet worked for him I’ll never know. Also, just to show you that I’m not suing out of selfish retribution, I plan to donate every cent of the million-dollar suit to Overeaters Anonymous, a group to which I am now a contented member.
I must cut this letter short, as I hear my doctor being paged over the intercom. In a few short minutes I’ll be on my way to healthy weight loss the way many new dieting programs begin – one life-threatening surgery at a time.