So you'll never guess!! I'm still fat. Shocking, yes? Let's just get down to business, shall we?
The move? Fantastic. Except that I am a world-class stress eater. So, awesome, I lost about 5lbs before the move really got underway, and then in the past month or so I've managed to pack about 7lbs back on. I am like a tightly wound yo-yo people. I once worked with a woman who lost something like 75lbs one school year and then the next school year added it all back on and then some. Not me, folks. I will gain and lose like a champ, but only in 5lb increments. I have weighed the same, more or less, for the past 3 years.
Now that we're in the new house, in the new city, in the new part of the state, I am feeling the call to get back at it. I realize of course how hard it is to take seriously a weight-loss blogger who's lost no real measurable weight in 3 years. Talk about the world's most boring (and depressing, hello!) blog.
But there's a low point that I think everyone gets to that is their "rock bottom." Fortunately for me, "rock bottom" is not a pit of despair where I wake up with my hand in a super-sized carton of fries and powdered-donut sugar all over my face, not remembering how I got there. It isn't impulsively buying a bag of Oreos, then guiltily throwing them away when I get home, only to dig them out from the bottom of the trash can hours later. I've heard those stories. Thankfully they aren't mine. My "rock bottom" is when my current pair of jeans is too tight and I cannot bear the idea of going up to the next size. Because I've been in the next size up before and it's where the slippery slope of "what does it matter anyway? I might as well just give in and be fat" starts to come into play. I've done that before, with almost all of my 20's.
I can't do it again. I can't go through any more years of hating the way I look in pictures unless I am standing just so, with my head angled in just the right way. I can't live with "next year we'll do family portraits--I'll be thinner then" any more. And I'm not so interested in having to buy anything with an "X" in it's size.
So the first thing I did when we moved here was find a Weight Watchers meeting. And joined. And tracked my stupid points. And guess what? I lost 3.4 lbs the first week!!
Okay. okay. In the interest of full-disclosure, the first week I weighed in I was wearing a pair of jeans and a sweater. This week I wore a summer-weight flowy dress. Chances are I could have gained weight and still showed a loss given the difference in the clothing, but STILL. To hear, "you lost 3.4lbs this week," was truly motivating, even if it is an illusion.
And aside from the weight loss, the meetings are a freaking hoot and endless blog fodder. I am NOT one of those girls who can hear "nothing tastes as good as being thin feels!" without laughing. All I can think about are the SNL parodies of the '80s where Julia Sweeney coos "When you fail to plan, you plan to fail," and other Weight Watcher axioms until she goes face down in a cheesecake. And sure, I'm the only person there under the age of 70, and the group leader bounces up and down gleefully at the sheer thought of the fish risotto she's going to make for dinner (I do love her, though; she's further proof to me that I can indeed listen to anything as long as it's presented in an English accent).
So I'll continue to go to the meetings (this morning I even forgot to take off my name tag and walked around Barnes and Noble for a good 20 minutes wonder why all these perverts were staring at my chest. Oh. Oops.), and I'll join in and clap like a giddy little lemming when Bobby-sue sitting next to me loses her next 5lbs.
But for me it's baby steps. Last week I made a solid effort to avoid Ethan's left overs (and believe me, there are a lot of them), and discovered what an absolute grazer I am. So this week, the goal is no grazing. Writing everything down makes grazing a logistical nightmare--I'd be calculating points all day if I actually popped something in my mouth every time I walked through the kitchen. So in the interest of accomplishing anything else with my time, no more grazing. Next week I'll tackle something else.
For now I'll take my 3.4lbs and be happy. It's a start. Again.