Saturday, September 4, 2010

Like seeing a ghost

I hauled my carcass to Weight Watchers this morning. I have a scale at home - an accurate one - but I purposely did not weigh myself for the past two weeks.  I was afraid that if I knew how far adrift I was, I wouldn't go to the meeting, wouldn't face the music.  I feared I'd convince myself, "You can get back on track next week" and then repeat that scenario ad infinitum.  I had a good week (two strenuous workouts, one bike ride, some dog walking, and fairly decent eating habits), so I went.

I was up five pounds over my last visit (in mid-July).  The kindly WW employee who weighed me in offered to make today's weight my starting weight.  "You could start over," she said.  I declined.  It's all part of my journey and I can't pretend that last year did not happen. It is what it is.  The meeting was a good one - the topic was exercise and how to fit it into one's life.  After five years as a member, I've sat through every possible meeting topic and variation thereof, but it's always helpful to hear how the other members interpret it.

I had the kid with me, and after the meeting I took her next door for pancakes.  I had a five-dollar gift certificate for the joint so I figured it was time to use it.  The breakfast rush was on, and we had to wait a few minutes for a table.  After a bit, we were seated in the section belonging to a hard-working middle-aged server who was all double negatives and "what can I get you, honey?" I ordered two pancakes and a side of hash browns.  For my companion, I ordered the kids' pancake and porky breakfast with no porky. While we waited for our order, A colored yet another rainbow and I looked around at the lunch crowd while thumbing through emails on my phone.  The median weight in our immediate area, I think, was around 300.  I spotted one couple who sat diagonally from each other at a table for four.  They spoke nary a word, just kept chewing.  Across from us, four Rubenesque ladies struggled to get out of their booth. From table to table, the food portions seemed overly generous. 

Now, please know that I was not looking upon my fellow diners with disgust or anything close to it. I have struggled far too hard with my own weight issues to cast stones at anybody else.  I came to the realization, though, that I can never give up the fight. A size 10 quickly becomes a 14 become plus-size becomes a Discovery Channel special about your life. A lady in the meeting this morning shared with the group that she'd had a heart attack.  "My cardiologist is a great guy," she said, "but I don't want any of you to meet him." She had learned a hard lesson about her health (five stents later) and now found the time to take care of herself.

I ate 3/4 of a pancake (I had not realized quite how large they'd be) and a few bites of hash browns and split. By the time we left, the server had called me every possible term of endearment except "sweet lips."  She was like the Midwest's answer to Flo from Mel's Diner. To counteract the pancake, I ate sparingly the rest of the day, and delighted my family with fresh green beans for dinner (and by "delighted" I mean "disgusted").

Anyway, I am feeling motivated and certainly hope it lasts.  I suppose it helps that the season of festibuls is over.

I'll leave you with a tune to which I've been tapping my foot all week.  This video has embedding disabled, but I hope you'll check it out.  I dare you not to at least bob your head a little.

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