Saturday, August 23, 2008

Four Sticks

So if you are "in" Weight Watchers you have to go and get weighed every single week. Or not, but I would say it's a huge part of success. Or not.
My first couple of months I was all over it. I counted points for everything and was religious about writing it all down. Then mid-summer hit and between camping and camping again and a visit to the parents I became more and more aloof about the structure.
I wasn't too concerned, however, because while I was wondering about the number of points my delicious juicy cheeseburger held mid-bite ( as opposed to knowing in advance, which generally works out better ) I continued to lose weight. Not as rapidly, but to be expected. My tiny little .2 and .4 weight losses resulted in many the comment of, " at least you didn't GAIN". Which is a huge catch-all phrase in the Weight Watcher world. But then I had THIS week.
THIS week is the week before school starts as well as my birthday. Oh, and did I mention my biggest hurdle? PMS. Between the stress and the celebrating and the out of control cravings for salt and chocolate, HIDE your candy people, Lori is coming in!, you could say that the points were as obvious to me as a meteor in the sky at two AM. In other words, NON-existent.
And it's funny how it works, becuase now, just six days later, I cannot even recall the crap I fed myself. These morsels that in the moment seemed so... important! I think I remember fried potatoes and breaded chicken at the wedding. I definetely recall the Mexican that I am still belching up. I KNOW the pizza was absolutely FANTABULOUS.
But now, here I am, right after weigh in, and digesting the biggest mistake of all. I GAINED A POUND.
A WHOLE POUND. Which, according to the Weight Watchers home page is equivalent to about four sticks of butter.
It's my first GAIN since being on a weight-LOSS program.
What will I hear now? At least you didn't get MORE??
I should have seen it coming. Every week I get major weigh in anxiety and pee about 367 times( which is my bodies response to stress) right before I step on the scale. I breathily mutter to anyone who will listen, " I know I gained this week". But I don't, and I walk away smiling, laughing at my stupid body for letting me trick it yet again!
As I was walking out the door this morning, after the requisite 5 trips to the ladies' room, my husband mentioned that I shouldn't be upset this week if I gained weight. He is nothing but supportive of the process and doesn't complain when I fix meals that seem a little thick on the fiber and a little light on the red meat. He also never says a word when I am inhaling my fourth piece of deep dish topped with blueberry pie. But this should have been my green light that THIS time the anxiety was legitimate.
I suppose this is where I admit to myself that I am normal and that I should use it as a motivator and that I should try harder. In reality, this is normally about the time where I would quit. Say to myself this is bull****, when I know better. But, with the Olympics and all, I am feeling a little like aiming to be a champion. Go for the gold.
So I will forge ahead. It's gonna be Point -city around here for the next couple of weeks. Ladies and gentlemen, bust out your fiber-filled bread, because I am American, and I watch the Olympics! And perhaps I might even consider particpating in an athletic event instead of laying down in my bed while making fun of the outfits?

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