Two large guys go on a big diet

Dean Balsamini

In the early ’90s, I ran the San Francisco and Washington, DC, marathons. But since then, my fitness took a nose dive — and when the reality hit that my shirts hadn’t shrunk, old friends didn’t recognize me, and I feared mirrors like Dracula, I figured it was time to shock the system.

My compadre, Paul, wondered why I didn’t join him in doing Atkins, since it’s worked for me before. In the past, I’d lost 10 to 15 pounds on the diet.

But this beached whale needed drastic change, and “Fat, Sick & Nearly Dead” author Joe Cross offered a lifeline: a draconian juice fast promising big-time weight loss: 60 pounds in 60 days. I upped it to 90 days, figuring the pain of drinking what I’ve dubbed “porky potion” to erase a decade’s worth of sloth was worth it. I didn’t follow the Cross program to the T, just the template that only fruits and veggies were on the menu — and most of the time, I’d be drinking them. Here’s how it went:

Week 1: I weigh in at 278 pounds. The biggest obstacle is getting past the first few days. A family friend gave me a Breville juicer for good luck, and out of the gate I opted for twice-daily juices made from apples, oranges and kale and sometimes lemons. It’s not as tasty as a Kobe cheeseburger, but at least it’s filling.

Week 2: I tweak the diet by transferring the finished drinks from the juicer to a blender with crushed ice. It’s a game changer! The healthy but bland concoction is now a tasty, more filling smoothie.

Week 3: I don’t weigh myself, because I don’t want to get discouraged, but my pants are starting to feel baggy, so I must be shedding pounds. I begin munching on romaine lettuce at night so I don’t go stir-crazy from not chewing real food. But I can deal with my kids eating pizza and chicken parm, and my colleagues ordering Chinese or Japanese food for lunch.

Week 4: I feel lighter and more alert, and I need to cinch my belt a notch. I no longer resemble a pumpkin, and even my mother points out that my face looks less bloated.

Weeks 5 and 6: Making juice is messy, and I want to try something new, so I start buying my drinks. I find a cool juice bar in my hometown of Montclair, NJ. Their magic elixir is called ABC, comprising apples, beets and carrots, with a little ginger to give it some kick. Bingo — it’s delicious. We cater Easter dinner, and though the menu includes chicken parm, stuffed shells, sausage and fried onions, and a chocolate-fudge ice-cream cake from Cold Stone, I feast instead on ABC and a plate of romaine lettuce with balsamic vinaigrette.

Week 7: I’m drinking the same concoction, but I’ve added a beefsteak tomato and some pitted olives and broccoli to my salad, which I eat once a day. My Sunday morning softball team loses in walk off fashion, but I’m buoyed by a former teammate, whom I hadn’t seen since last year: “How many pounds has that dude lost?” he asks one of my fellow players. Being lighter on my feet gives me more energy to play ball. Some might wonder how you could play ball when you’re barely eating, but the fiber and nutrients keep me going: I may not be chewing, but that doesn’t mean I’m not feeding my body what it needs.

Week 8: My belt is out of notches for me to cinch, and my old pants are swimming on me. I pack them in a Goodwill bag — hopefully someone in need of size 42 Dockers can use ’em.

Weeks 9, 10 and 11: I can see the finish line. My nightly salad is bigger. I even add a few cashews and almonds to avoid turning into a rabbit. I stay the course with my two daily juice drinks. I chew lots of sugarless gum and drink lots of water and Pellegrino.

Week 12: I clock in at 209 pounds — I’ve lost 69 and have shed nearly six inches off my waist. My wife tells me I no longer snore. I feel like a lost motorist who now has GPS — I have a long road ahead of me, but I know I’m headed in the right direction. My next pit stop: running next year’s San Francisco Marathon.

Pre-Diet Menu

Breakfast: coffee and a plain or cinnamon raisin bagel with butter; bacon
Lunch: none; always skipped
Dinner: varies, including subs, burgers, meatloaf and sushi

Diet

All meals (twice daily): freshly juiced fruit and veggies, mostly apple, oranges, kale and lemons; plus a daily romaine lettuce salad topped with sliced tomato, pitted olives, steamed broccoli and light honey mustard dressing

The expert says: “It’s too low-calorie,” says RD Kerf Glassman. Plus, forgoing protein and fat could “mess up your metabolism and make you lose muscle mass,” she says. She suggests a diet of vegetables, healthy fats and lean proteins.

Paul McPolin

I was a high-school wrestler. I competed in the 128-pound weight class. But if I wrestled today, I’d be in the sumo category.

My pal Dean is a fellow midlife meatball. When he challenged me to a fat-off — 90 days, $200 — I raised the ante, suggesting we add the risk of public humiliation by documenting our competition in The Post.

While my portly pal gave up solid food to drink two glasses of liquid lawn every day, I turned to Atkins. I had once lost 60 pounds on the diet. I didn’t recall much about it, but I remember liking it because it allowed me to drink scotch and eat steak. Still, I made some small adjustments. I call my version of Atkins “the Paul-eo Diet”:

Week 1: I weigh in at the size of a small Toyota: 272 pounds. The goal of inception week is to starve your body of carbs so it enters a process called ketosis and begins burning fat for energy. I shun bread, bagels, beer, pasta, pizza, cereal, fruit and candy — essentially the reasons for living. My menu is now meat, salad, green veggies and cheese. My daily mountain o’ cheese includes chipotle cheddar in my morning eggs and Parmigiano-Reggiano (Atkins favors hard cheeses) for snacks.

Week 2: Under “Paul-eo” you avoid only breads you can see. That means I toss croutons from my Caesar salad, but I can eat meatballs — the breadcrumbs are invisible. (Rule No. 1 of Paul-eo: Cling to rationalizations like a drowning man to a life raft.)

Week 3: Gluttonous midnight snacks — think milky troughs of Cap’n Crunch — have long been my dietary undoing. I avoid the trap by downing a daily dessert of sugar-free cherry Jell-O with a dollop of Reddi-wip. Sometimes, to my family’s horror, I spray the Reddi-wip straight into my mouth. Although I’m making progress, I’m plateauing at around 265 pounds.

Week 4: I break the 250s. My doctor announces that my blood sugar has plummeted so steeply he’s taking me off one of my diabetes meds. Word of the fatboy face-off is now circulating in the newsroom. “How can you possibly win,” two laughing 20-something colleagues ask as I munch on dry salami, “when Dean hasn’t had solid food in a month?”

Weeks 5 and 6: An unmitigated disaster. I blame my firefighter brother Ray and Jesus, because the former cooks a carb-loaded Easter feast for the latter, sabotaging my food plan. The same week, I attend my fantasy baseball draft at an Italian restaurant and scarf down seven slices of pizza. Crestfallen, I abandon the treadmill and avoid the scale like it’s an IED.

Week 7: My home’s water heater ruptures, forcing me to go to the gym because it’s the only place I can get a hot shower. That reintroduces me to the treadmill, and I’m able to run hard. I’m down to 248 pounds. My new hobby is frying three pounds of bacon every week and eating it for breakfast each day. Deano continues to impersonate an Irish hunger striker.

Week 8: Vacation. What I eat in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

Week 9: The Hangover.

Week 10: I’m pretty discouraged by my two-week unraveling, and refuse to weigh myself. But I do invent a new sport — sprint golf. After I tee off, I run to my ball. I do this for 18 holes. This burns calories, even though I usually don’t have to run very far.

Week 11: I’m doing daily 30-minute runs and living carb-free. I have nightmares of the sky opening up and pizza slices raining down on me.

Week 12: I lost the bet, but I also lost 40 pounds. My lovely wife, Maura, recognizes me again, and I have Dean to thank.

Pre-Diet

Breakfast: onion bagel with cream cheese; two cups of coffee with half-and-half
Lunch: diner cheeseburger; side of onion rings dunked in brown gravy

Dinner: a half-pound of rigatoni with marinara sauce, grated cheese and three meatballs
Late-night snack: alternating courses of Cheez-Its and bowls of Cap’n Crunch

Diet

Breakfast: three scrambed eggs with 2 oz. chipotle cheddar cheese and two crumbled bacon strips; 1 cup of coffee with heavy cream

Lunch: 8 unbreaded Buffalo chicken wings

Dinner: rib-eye steak; buttered spinach

Late-night snack: fresh mozzarella slices with artichoke hearts; cup of Jell-O with dollop of Reddi-Wip

The expert says: “You have to make sure you’re getting good, quality protein, and you’re not just eating meat,” says Glassman. “That means incorporating plant-based proteins like nuts, seeds and beans in addition to the salami.”