About 8 years ago, I weighed 225 pounds. 6 months later, I was down to 165. Two years later, I had gained it all back, and then some. I blame it all on Christmas, and a chocolate chip cookie.
Now, I know weight can be a very sensitive topic sometimes, so I’m going to try to dance around the subject a little. Which will inevitably help me lose more weight because dancing is an active exercise. But it also makes me feel awkward. I’m no dancer. I’m terrible at it. I can churn some butter, sure. I can even do the sprinkler with a little warming up. And, if I wear a cup, I might be able to pull off a pretty decent worm. I tried twerking once. Just the once. I don't need to do that again. And no one else needs to wish they could unsee that. But let’s face it; I got no rhythm, I got no style, and I got a belly that gets in the way of the really fun Patrick Swayze dirty dancing stuff. Not that I’d have any chance to do that anyway, because I’ve also got no game. But that’s all right. I’m married. Who needs game anymore when you’re married?
My goal at first was to lose “some” weight. I knew that if I put a number to it, I’d have a goal to reach that I could, well... fail to reach. So, I kept it nice and vague. I’ll lose a few pounds. Then maybe if that works out, I’ll lose a couple more. That sort of thing. It turned out that the first few pounds came off easier than I expected. I lost 3 pounds one week, 2 pounds the next week, maybe 4 pounds the week after. I was starting to get enthusiastic! “Hey, maybe I can do this!” Then I only lost a pound one week. Oh man! What’s going on?! What did I do wrong?! Never mind the fact that I’m still losing weight. One pound?! But the next week I’d lose another 3. Whew! Crisis averted.
Let me explain how I lost the weight. I joined Weight Watchers. It was great, I’ll admit it. I ate way more fruits and vegetables because most of them were free in points. It was a point system. Everything you eat has some sort of point value, and you only have a certain number of points that you’re allowed to eat per day. You could eat all the free fruits and veggies you wanted, pretty much. And you did, because you were starving!
If your limit is 40 points for the day, and that yummy chocolate chip cookie from the vending machine is 14 points, you’ve only got 26 points for the whole rest of the day! Wanna know how much a quarter pounder with cheese at Mickey D’s was? Way too much, that’s how much! Plan on spending the rest of that day’s 26 points and then some if you’re going to have an extra value meal! So. I had a chocolate chip cookie and a burger and fries. Diet soda please. Tastes like garbage at first, but 0 points. You get used to it. No idea what that fake sugar was doing to my system, but that’s a whole other bloggy that I'll write some other time. Right now, we’re talking about how I’ve got no points left, and I haven’t even gotten to dinner yet. Or even mentioned breakfast. I’m starving, people! I’m used to eating! I’m hungry, I eat. I’m bored, I eat. Im upset, I eat. Something looks yummy, I eat it. Even when I’m stuffed to the gills, if there’s a bite left on my plate, I can’t just throw that away! I eat it (it's principle)! Then I unbutton my pants. There. Problem solved. Unfortunately, those sorts of habits made it so that eventually I couldn’t button them back up again. I had three pairs of pants that the buttons had actually popped off! They got the hell outta there! Too much pressure, I guess.
Anyway, I mentioned earlier that I blamed Christmas. Let me explain why. I’m doing great for a few months, losing pretty steadily, dropped 6 inches from my waist size. Went from a size 40 to 34 inch waist pants. That felt good! So Christmas rolls around and I say to myself, “you deserve a week off”. It's the holidays, afterall. So I eat. I eat well. Very well. Hell, I’m good at it. Like riding a bike, you know? I eat turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, corn, broccoli smothered in melted cheese... Let’s not forget the pumpkin pie, apple pie, chocolate pudding pie, 3 or 4 different kinds of cookies... And why not throw in a couple of pints of Ben & Jerry’s just because I’m on a roll. Pretty soon, the week is up (yeah, that was all just one week!) Now, I’m thinking that the week went way too fast and I’m not done eating yet, because, like I said, I was on a roll. So I add another week to my foodcation. There’s still pie left, folks! Week two stumbles past and I’m finally ready to jump back on the scales. Well, maybe climb back on the scales. I looked down at the digital readout. When I could finally get the numbers to focus, everything else got all fuzzy. My head started spinning. I had to sit down. I tagged in my 6 year old for the rest of my weigh-in. I was emotionally unequipped to handle the numerical consequences of this epic foodcation of mine. I had gained 14 pounds! Let’s do the math. 14 pounds divided by 14 days = 1 pound per day gained. 1 pound every day! Um... Ok. Breathe. It’s gonna be alright. You’ll get back on it.
The problem was, like I said, I was on a roll. I got back on it alright. Rather, the pounds got back on me. I bounced around since that Christmas, but mostly up. I made a few pushes to get back on track and they were successful for a week or so, but you know what? There’s always a reason to cheat. Birthday party for the kids here, holiday there, rare BBQ at work that I can’t pass up, day trips away from home eating restaurant food, that demonically delicious chocolate chip cookie in the stupid vending machine at work… the list goes on and on. I could always find a reason to cheat.
Fast forward. I surpassed my original heaviest weight, got up to 242 at one point. While it contains my favorite number (42), 242 is not my favorite weight. I heard about intermittent fasting. It's this idea that you stop eating after dinner, no late night snacking. Next morning, no breakfast. I think you're supposed to go 16 hours before you eat something. I average 12 to 15 hours. Most days, anyway. This has dropped me back down to 220, right about where I was before I started Weight Watchers so many years ago.
I'm ready now though. Ready to do it again, for real this time. Ready to cinch up that belt, maybe poke a couple new holes in it. Ready to break out the skinny pants from that box buried deep down under a bunch of crap in the closet. Ready to cut my toenails without nearly passing out. Ready to get excited about food again.
That's one of the weird things that doesn't really make sense to me. I eat what I want right now. I go back for seconds. I fill up the to-go box with so much sesame chicken, pork fried rice, egg rolls, and crab rangoon that I can't get it to close and it leaks all over the inside of the bag. I'll drink a milkshake with dinner, knowing full well how much that's going to hurt when I'm done. And I'm not done until the straw makes that sucking air gurgle sound at the bottom of the cup (gotta get every last drop). Then I'm forced to unbuckle the pants. Maybe even drop the zipper a tooth or three. And hope to hell my youngest doesn't come over for the next lazy bloated hour to cuddle me with all his elbows.
I eat what I want, when I want it. And yet, I can't decide what I want to eat because none of it sounds appetizing anymore. I'm so bored with all of it. I'm so sick of picking what to make for dinner, or choosing a restaurant for take-out. Because I don't want any of it.
When I was doing the Weight Watchers thing, I was hungry all the time. Everything was so yummy. I appreciated every morsel I put in my mouth. I knew those morsels were limited. Portion sizes were astonishingly smaller than what my natural inclination would be to put on the plate. There was so much plate visible! I could see the plate! The food didn't cover every square inch, piled three inches high like it normally would have done. So I enjoyed every bite. Right now, I shovel food into my face hole. Back then, I chewed slowly. And with awareness. Tasting every bite. Right now, I eat because I eat. At one point in my life, I enjoyed the food. I'm ready to have that back again. I'm ready to not see my belly jiggle long after I slap it with comedic intent. Sad, self-disgusted, self-deprecating comedic intent. I've never had a six pack. But I wouldn't mind at least getting rid of the keg.
So yes, I'm ready. Again. Because I know I've said this a hundred times. I look at the pictures of that year I was skinny, and I see a different person. I want to look in the mirror and see a different person again. Don't get me wrong. I'm ugly as shit and losing 60 pounds won't change that. But there will be less ugly to look at, so I'll take what I can get!
Christmas is over. All the holiday yummies have been devoured. I'm ready. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'm going to have a salad, and eat some fruit. Well, maybe not tomorrow, exactly. I gotta get some groceries first. I don't have any real food in the fridge at the moment. But later this week I'll start. I'll just get one more bursting at the seems take-out from the Chinese joint. I'll get one last delicious specialty mac&cheese from the bistro. I'll have one last pint of Ben&Jerry's to send me off. Then I'm ready. Definitely. For sure this time. You just watch. It's gonna be great. Let's do this!
Ooh! Maybe just one more of those vending machine chocolate chip cookies, too...
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