Tonight I went into my Rehab meeting which is commonly referred to as Weight Watchers. I truly hate the name of the organization because it implies that I must actually watch all of this weight that I have put on...and that depresses me. The only watching I want to be doing...is watching it come off. Which, naturally, is far easier said than done.
After missing the better part of May and taking what amounted to a six week hiatus...I managed to put back on everything that I gained. At least I'm pretty sure of it. I didn't look at the book to see the + sign...but I know it was there. I'm pretty sure that she wrote down two digits...which as you can well imagine...totally sucks.
But what did I really expect? I mean, you can't eat a good portion of a Dairy Queen ice cream cake, three doughnuts, portion sizes fit for Shaq, and unmeasured butter indefinitely. Well, I suppose you can...but leaving your house will require a crane, eight people, and a television crew. I think not.
And just as I was getting ready to just lie to myself that I could do the program on my own...I got the little yellow card in the mail that is Weight Watchers' version of a "get out of jail free" card. You don't have to pay for the missed meetings...just bring in the card...pay one week...and move on. So, I figured that it (along with the fact that my fat clothes are now fitting) was a sign.
I waited until 5:45 today to walk in...which was a serious mistake. All of the perky ladies who have lost a gazillion pounds are already there encouraging everybody and coming up to the line to speak to people. I don't want to speak to anybody. I'm mortified that I have failed and have had to come back again. If Weight Watchers' national had actually kept a file of my membership data (dating back to 1977)...it would very likely weigh more than I do.
Miss Dot is taking her time with a very confused lady who has apparently never been through the drill. Puhleeze. She's probably had a metabolism until recently, and is now joining our group to lose her 13.2 pounds. The heifer. After her, there is a mother and daughter pair who talk incessantly and apparently think that coming to the meeting is "fun." Really?
Then there was the lady on crutches who broke in front of me...but I didn't have the heart to tell her that she had. She kept asking me questions about how long the meetings were and asking if the leader was good. All of the while...she is inching up just a hair with each inquiry.
So, I ended up in line for 17 minutes as I waited for the four people in front of me to get their stuff done. I just stood there staring at the floor and wishing like anything that I could just fling her a $13 check and get the weighing over with...but alas, NO.
Finally, I did get to weigh, and as usual...I have no idea how much that might be. I refuse to let them tell me how much I weighed on Day 1, and here three months later, I choose to remain in the dark. I just don't have time for a mental breakdown right now...and having this information would either drive me to overeat from the stress of knowing how much I weigh (and I would gain weight in the process) or I would just throw in the towel and eat (and I would gain weight in the process). The only third option I could think of was total ignorance. Now, I just assume that I weigh more than most defensive lineman...but since I don't really know...I still have hope that perhaps I don't.
One must have some hope in order to lose weight. Either that, illness, or a divorce. I'm thinking that hope is the best alternative in this particular threesome as well.
I sat in the back (as I always do) and there was a new big couple who was in my spot. This annoyed me at first...but I just found another quiet spot to plop down even farther away from everybody. The only person who was not annoying was the guy who has lost 155 lbs - Ricky - who had gastric bypass because he could not move. Now, he walks with a cane and is making definite progress. He was also the only person other than the leader who noticed A) I was gone and B) I was back.
It's always nice to be missed. But then again...since I have absolutely nothing in common with these people other than we are all well...fat...I don't mind just blending in...as hard as that might seem to believe.
So, for the next week I will be struggling. I'm not looking beyond one week. It is not easy to break the bonds of addiction...even if that addiction is to chocolate. I mean, you don't HAVE to do crack...but you DO have to eat.
To keep myself motivated...I've decided that there are a few things that I want to be able to do...and in spite of how much I weigh...I will know I am progressing when any of these occur:
I can cross my legs at the knee.
I don't have a bruise on my right hip where it hits the seat belt thingy in the car every time I get in.
I don't panic when I go to the theater, ballgame, airplane, or anything with assigned seats for fear that I will be sitting beside another big person. (Or require a seat extender.)
I can actually wear shorts. (Without fear.)
I wear black by choice and not because it is the only color offered. (Check out the Junior Zeppelin Department - otherwise known as "Women's Fashions" and see if it isn't just a sea of black...accented with gargantuan floral pieces appropriate for an AARP trip to Hawaii.)
Someone will tell me that I look "cute" in something I'm wearing and ask me where I got it. (And the hummingbird pin that everyone loves...doesn't count.)
I can go to the gym. (Yes, you can actually be too big to go to the gym...if you can't fit into your gym clothes.)
I am able to sit in a chair without first checking its ability to withstand me. (Nothing is scarier to one's self esteem than breaking a chair.)
I can "scootch by" someone instead of taking the long way around. (Or lodging myself between the cart and the candy rack in the grocery store.)
So, I have a lot to look forward to.
Fortunately, I have a good attitude, support, and it IS summer...where good, nutritious food abounds...but unfortunately has to be counted. Oh well! Later!