Slow weight loss sucks – and I keep falling for the quick fix anyway

I’ve tried to lose the same 8–10 kg (17–22 lb) about four times now.

And I mean tried. Not “ate a bit less for two weeks” tried. I’m talking keto — the full adaptation phase, the keto flu, the breath that could strip paint. Extended fasting — 24, 36, once a slightly unhinged 48-hour attempt that I would not recommend to anyone, especially because of migraines. (I’ll write later about a successful 72-hour fast.) Intermittent fasting in every window configuration you can think of. OMAD, aggressive calorie deficits. The whole catalogue.

The problem is that I have chronic migraines. And if you’ve ever lived with them, you already know where this is going. Any aggressive restriction that messes with blood sugar or electrolytes sends me straight to a darkened room for the better part of a day. You don’t just lose the deficit — you lose the week.

So here I am. A thirty-something dad who knows exactly what to do, has spent way too many hours down internet rabbit holes on this topic, and still somehow ends up in October wearing the same jeans he was wearing in January. Slightly tighter, if anything.

This isn’t a motivational post. I’m not going to tell you to “trust the process” or “fall in love with the journey.” I’m going to tell you why this is genuinely, biologically hard — why your body is actively working against you — and why we keep falling for the same quick-fix promises anyway.

Why slow fat loss is so damn hard

Let’s start with the enemy, because it’s not your willpower (though that can play a part too).

When you cut calories and start losing weight, your body panics. Not metaphorically. It actually interprets sustained caloric deficit as a famine signal and deploys every hormonal weapon it has to stop you. Leptin — the hormone that tells your brain you’re full — drops. Ghrelin — the one screaming “eat something, you idiot” — goes up. Your metabolic rate slows down. Your body becomes more efficient at extracting energy from whatever little you do eat.

This is evolution doing its job. For 99% of human history, surviving a food shortage was the difference between living and dying. Your genes have no idea you’re just trying to fit into last year’s jeans.

Your fat cells have a memory

This is the part that sounds like sci-fi but is unfortunately very real.

Your fat cells don’t just store energy passively. After significant weight gain they undergo epigenetic changes that make it easier to regain weight later. Inflammatory markers, gene expression, cellular signalling — everything gets recalibrated toward “hold on to fat.” Some research suggests these changes can persist for up to a decade.

Think of it like a scar. The injury heals on the surface, but the tissue underneath is different.

The cruel irony? Muscle memory uses the exact same epigenetic mechanism — and it works for you. Take six months off training, come back and start lifting again, and your muscles rebuild far faster than it took to build them the first time — you’re not starting from zero. Fat cell memory offers no such deal. It works against you, quietly, for years.

Same biology. Opposite teams.

Why we always want to go fast anyway

I know enough about the biology to sound convincing at dinner parties. Not that I attend many of those. I know slow is better. And I still, every spring, get sucked into the fantasy of losing it all in 8 weeks before the holiday.

Because I’ve seen the before-and-after content. 12 weeks. Dramatic transformation. The dopamine hit of those first-week results (when water weight drops and you feel like a genius) is genuinely addictive. Slow fat loss gives you almost none of that feedback.

Dads especially fall into the deadline trap. Family holiday in July, old friends at a reunion in September, the jeans from the before-kids era. “Slow and steady” doesn’t feel like an answer when the deadline is 10 weeks away.

Why we think the quick fix will work this time

Confirmation bias is a hell of a drug.

We only ever see the people for whom the quick fix worked. The diet industry is built on repeat customers — people who succeed enough to believe in the product, fail enough to buy it again. It’s a bit like gamblers: everyone only posts when they win, but almost never how much they lost.

Honest pixels in a world of slick lies: the quick-loss approach has a near-zero long-term success rate. Not because people are weak. Because the biology makes it almost impossible. The rebound is baked in.

What actually works — dad mode

I’m not going to pretend I’ve solved it. I’m still working on those same kilos. But here’s what has actually moved the needle for me, in a life with two kids, a job, a Linux server that needs attention, and the constant ambient chaos of being a parent.

1. Strength training — at home, with what you have. You don’t need a gym. Bodyweight, a pair of adjustable dumbbells, 30 to 40 minutes three times a week. The goal isn’t aesthetics. The goal is preserving muscle mass so your metabolism doesn’t crash. Balancing iron and silicon — this is the one thing I genuinely won’t skip.

2. High protein. Actually high. The target is 1.6 to 2.2 grams per kilogram of bodyweight per day (roughly 0.7–1.0 g per pound). I don’t hit that every day — but I aim for it intentionally, not accidentally. It’s the most satiating macronutrient, it protects muscle during a deficit, and just consistently trending toward it is enough to make a difference. If you do nothing else on this list, do this.

3. Sleep and stress. Cortisol promotes fat storage, especially around the belly. Poor sleep wrecks your hunger hormones. I have two young kids and chronic migraines, so I’m not pretending I get eight hours of perfect sleep. But I prioritise it. It matters more than any supplement.

4. Less ultra-processed food. Not none. Less. I’m not a clean-eating zealot. I believe in living a normal life that includes pizza and the occasional packet of something you shouldn’t eat at 10 p.m. And yes — I love smash burgers and I really don’t like raw vegetables. But ultra-processed food is engineered to make you eat past fullness. Just paying a bit more attention is enough to shift things.

5. Weigh yourself once a week. Maximum. Daily weigh-ins are noise. Once a week, same time, same conditions. Look at the 4-week trend, not today’s number.

6. Start again. As many times as it takes. This one isn’t a tactic. It’s more like the only real non-negotiable. I’ve fallen off this exact plan more times than I’d like to admit — holidays, migraines, a bad month, life just being life. The version of me writing this isn’t someone who finally cracked it. It’s someone who just started again, probably for the fifth time, and decided that counting the restarts is less useful than doing the next one.

The goal isn’t a perfect streak. The goal is that the average direction — over months and years — points the right way.

One more thing: if you’ve been doing everything right for months and nothing moves, see a professional. A good dietitian or endocrinologist can catch things a fitness blog can’t (thyroid, insulin resistance, anything hormonal). No shame in asking for help.

The actual goal

Family first — always.

I’m not trying to look good for the algorithm. I’m trying to have enough energy to actually play with my kids. To still be functional and healthy when they’re teenagers. To not be the dad who’s always tired, always injured, always starting over.

Slow, patient, sustainable fat loss — fitted around real life, not replacing it — is the only version that actually works long term.

It’s boring. It’s unsexy. It’s exactly what I keep almost doing before I get distracted by another 12-week promise again.

But I’m getting better at it. Slowly.

Anyway. Attempt five. Let’s see.