I’ve noticed an interesting phenomenon during my experiences with my workplace’s “Biggest Loser Challenge.” I wasn’t sure what to label it, but it turned out there was already a word: pride. Apparently, this is a condition in which you are made to feel good about yourself.

A few weeks ago, I put a “Before and After” picture on my Facebook page to show my friends my progress. I had lost over 40 pounds from picture one to picture two, and I wanted to show off.

Now, if anyone I know would have posted a picture like that, I would have immediately added the caption “Photoshop!” which is exactly what every one of my friends did.

Instead of laughing and busting chops right back, I called one of my friends and started complaining and saying it wasn’t Photoshop and offering to take off my shirt to prove it … to which my friend replied, “What a great comic response; way to have a sense of humor.”

That was when I realized that it was possible to feel good about yourself. Right after that, I realized it is never good to feel good about yourself, when you have the friends I have.

I think it was harder remembering how to laugh at myself than it was losing the weight. To lose weight, I just had to eat differently and do some exercise … to renew my self-loathing, I had to grow my hair out for a few weeks so I could see the skin yarmulke on the back of my head.

I knew my hair was thinning back there, but I didn’t realize I had crop circles in the front of my head coming in, also. Maybe I should say going out instead of coming in. Either way, it made me feel good about feeling bad about myself again.

While it looks like I won’t win, it does appear I have second place locked up. Although wearing the mantle of “Second-Biggest Loser” somehow seems worse than actually being the “Biggest Loser.” At least it’s something else that can bring my massive ego down a rung or two and maybe keep my sense of comedy in check.

All I know is this: I haven’t had a cookie since the beginning of February, when I accidentally opened a box of Tagalongs and ate them, and then ate another box, too, and at this point, I can’t wait until I can have a cookie again.

The only other thing I miss is pizza. I wouldn’t say I crave it, mostly because crave doesn’t begin to describe my wanting. I can’t think of one word or phrase that can describe it, other than I’d kill at least half the population to have a half-eaten, cold piece of thin-crust, meat lovers’ pizza.

Luckily, it’s almost over. Next month, I will tell you how many days it took me to gain back what it took me four months to lose.