As I was in the car on the way to the lab to get my blood work done (that my doctor ordered from my physical back in May), I was almost at the clinic and I sneezed unexpectedly. I didn’t realize what had happened at first, but I instantly felt more relaxed. That’s when I remembered hearing a pinging sound and I looked down to find not only had my sneeze caused me to lose a button on my trouser waists, but I had managed to bust the zipper in my fly. Disgusted with myself, I pulled over into the Target lot – and I was ever so grateful that I was right next to Target so I could run in and buy a new pair of pants. Lucky for me, the zipper still worked after I zipped it up and down once or twice, so I went ahead to the lab to have my blood drawn, and headed right back to the Target next door to buy replacement pants.
OK, I thought, that’s really it. The doctor warned me at my physical that I look like I am creeping toward metabolic syndrome (controversy over that diagnosis notwithstanding). Thank goodness I haven’t arrived yet. I’ve known for quite a while that I am heavier than I want to be, like to be, or should be. I have what I consider to be way too much happy fat. I’ve got pretty much everything I’ve wanted in life and I have indulged. I have eaten exactly what I wanted, when I wanted, for as much as I wanted, as often as I wanted – for years now. And my clothes have gotten tighter and tighter with each new pound. And now I can’t even wear some of my favorite shirts. The pants you already have an idea about.
Never mind that back in May my doctor glibly said “Have you ever considered gastric bypass surgery?” I was so stunned at the time, but an hour later I wanted to slap her. I think she was just trying to shock me, but I found out that I am nowhere near a candidate for such surgery, nor did I think I was at the time. All I remember saying at the time was something along the lines of “Hell no!” and probably not much cleaner than that. She did recommend, then, that maybe I should consider going to Weight Watchers. Which, as it turns out, I am not averse to. Once before, about 20 years ago, when I lived in Florida, I started attending Weight Watchers meetings with a friend from work, just to get rid of some of the excess poundage that I had tired of carrying around with me. So, I thought to myself this morning, what the hell? Why not give it a try again? Which is exactly what I decided to do.
The programs have changed quite a bit since then. I actually liked the daily planner you carried around with you on that old plan – and I lost weight like crazy when I stuck to the plan. But they don’t have that any more. I did opt for the online version of the plan. I can pay one-off meeting fees if I decide to go to the meetings at the JCC around the block from our house. I may go to the first week just to weigh in and get the “Eat Wisely” book, if they will let me have it. Anyway, the online version does have a nifty food tracker which is probably far more accurate and easy to use. I can log what I eat every day, easily keep track of my extra points, log my exercise (note to self: you really *do* have to do that 1/2 hour bike ride if you want to claim the 2 point benefit!), look up foods and recipes, etc., etc., etc. I opted for the Core Plan so there is less counting to do, but I may switch to the Flex plan if I find it too hard to stay with the Core foods. I’ll give it a try though.
{{{{{sigh}}}}} Why can’t I have the metabolism I had 20 years ago, when I could eat anything and everything and it would just burn away? Well, I’m 42 now and no use crying over what used to be. It was fun while it lasted. I don’t want to become diabetic if I can avoid it (maybe I can’t), I don’t want to have words with my doctor over my weight (which it will likely come to the next time she has something sassy to say about it), and I really would like to be slimmer and feel lighter. Not to mention that serious weight loss would be a huge benefit to my sleep apnea. Then, too, there is that one pair of red Lucky jeans (they really were!) which I just can’t bear to part with and I would so dearly love to squeeze my not-so-fat ass into them once again.
So there, I’ve outed myself about my need to lose weight. Sometimes confession really is good for the soul.
