Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Hi, I'm Stephanie....
a.k.a. WW Client #114464029.
Yep, that's me. The little one in the lower portion of the frame is completely innocent (well, at least when it comes to weight gain) and just wanted to be a part of all the picture-taking excitement. Some may believe he is responsible for part of the belly I'm still carrying around, but I'm not here to place blame. You can make your own judgement as to his involvement. (I'll add that he was two weeks late and weighed 9 pounds, but don't let that affect your opinion.)
The repeat offender (me) is back at Weight Watchers. As hard as they try, by switching up their programs and their methods, I keep coming back for more. Sorta like I do with dessert.
What kills me is that it's not like I don't get it. I'm no genius, but I understand that when you take in more than you burn, it becomes part of you. That fettuccine finds a way to your thighs and the dark chocolate and marzipan chocolate bar implants itself directly below your belly button. I get it. But when I'm in the moment, when the food looks and smells incredible, when the kids are fighting, the laundry is piling up, and I've got hours of work ahead of me after I finally wrestle everyone into bed, food is my comfort and my therapist, all wrapped into a calorie-packed bite. The problem comes in when I try to implement this vast knowledge I have of nutrition on my own, with no program. Apparently I'm not so good in the accountability department. I've come to realize that I NEED to pay that $12 to the nice lady behind the scale. I NEED that public humiliation. I NEED to have the little sticker placed in my book saying whether I lost or gained.
I've been riding this roller coaster for a few years now. Having a baby when you're pushing 40 kinda does things to you. I go from being sick and tired of the extra junk in my trunk and doing well, to feeling sorry for myself and making up excuses. Maybe you're familiar with this method of justification. Some of my favorites are, "Well, at least I don't weigh 800 pounds like that lady they had to cut out of her house on the Discovery Health channel!" or "I don't smoke, I don't drink, and I don't do drugs...can't I have SOME enjoyment in life?" or "You know, I HAVE had four kids. What do you expect, me to look like, some sort of a -- wait, what? OctoMom was just on the cover of InTouch in a bikini?" Damn her.
So I'm back at it again, journaling what I eat and tracking my points. Some days it's easy and others it just feels like another chore. Some days I handle it well and think I've got the whole healthy eating thing down pat. Other days, I look at everyone else's plate on the table with an icy stare while I choke down yet another veggie burger.
I really don't have a goal weight in mind yet and, even if I did, I sure as heck wouldn't be sharing it here! I'm not foolish enough to think I'll be knocking anyone off the cover of Maxim, but I just want to feel healthier and make better food choices. I also don't want to keep putting on ten pounds every year, only to find myself having to purchase an entire row of seats on an airplane when I want to travel in my retirement.
Hopefully by this point, you're feeling incredibly sorry for me and are wondering if there's anything you can do to help. Well, I'm glad you asked. If, God forbid, I'm ever the victim of a crime or in a car accident, and you happen to be a witness, I'm counting on you to step OVER my body and grab my PURSE. In the small side zipper compartment is my Weight Watchers booklet. It has my WEIGHT in it...like my REAL weight. Not the weight on my driver's license. It's been verified by the highly accurate scales at Weight Watchers and, I believe, double-checked by that accounting firm that tabulates the votes for the Academy Awards. You, my friend, take that documentation and you RUN. You run for the hills and you bury it. Deep. I'll forgive you for not resuscitating me or applying a tourniquet. What, with medical technology like it is today, chances are good I'll eventually overcome my injuries anyway. And if I had to do so wondering if anyone saw my poundage, I just might not have it in me to fight.
I know I can count on you.