So, after what I like to call a “fail-filling” day because, well, it was so very full of FAIL, I got great news tonight … that I lost 4 pounds during the holidays.
Sure, I skipped last week’s meeting so the loss was for two weeks. But still, I’ve practically had a feed bag (of FAIL) strapped to my face since mid-December. The hell?
I can only suspect that actually eating real food and not living on all things vegetable- and soy-based did great things for my system. I had cookies for dinner last night, since I worked late and everyone who didn’t want to keep sinful foods around their houses ever-so-graciously brought in their crap for the rest of us. Gee, thanks!
Anyway, whee being 0.2 pounds away from my next goal. Of course, I wore paper-thin clothes today — it might be a little harder to show a loss next week, when I resume dressing for sleet and snow. 🙂
I was paid a compliment earlier today by, well, let’s say someone who’s never paid me a compliment before. She told me to feel free to keep on wasting away, but to leave some meat on my bones. Just a little — something for someone to hold on to. I was stunned and pleased that she even noticed, let alone said something!
I was going to write about how sucktacular my day was otherwise, because it was, but it feels good to say nice things so I’m going to keep on going. (I’ve got smelling salts for those of you who just fainted. …)
With it being a new year, naturally I figured we’d see some new faces at my de-pudgification meeting. And one in particular stood out — well, her story did, anyway, and I wanted to write it down and remember it because it’s inspiring.
We all know that pudgiliciousness leads to infertility. Which is kind of funny when I think about all the birth control I’ve consumed, probably for nothing. (But since birth control can also be so very full of FAIL, I don’t regret it. Not one bit.)
Anyway, a new girl joined tonight who works for a local fertility clinic. And she said Weight Watchers is probably the biggest boon to the fertility industry she’s witnessed, and she’s living proof. Apparently she had joined WW two years ago and was going to pursue IVF treatments. Well, after she lost her initial 10%, she dropped out of the program because, surprise, she had gotten pregnant!
She says that happens all the time. Imagine the hundreds of thousands of dollars saved in fertility treatments simply because women took steps to get healthy. Wow. Just, wow.
So, now her son is 10 months old and she’s ready to lose weight again. I had to applaud that. I mean, I applaud for everyone, but it’s neat how people make such an impact on those who are listening, even if she will never know that I was sitting directly behind her, in awe of every word.
I actually wore clothes that fit today, which I don’t often do — I was explaining the “Hammer pants” phenomenon, how all my pants crotches hang by my knees and my pants drag on the floor; maybe M.C. Hammer’s sense of style came from a big weight loss? — and my group of friends was double-taking and asking how much I’ve gotten rid of so far. With the 0.2 that I have to lose to get to an even number, it’ll be 47 pounds gone in seven months.
What’s cool is how, with all the new people in the meeting, I’m plain old average, size-wise. Sure, I’m still pudgilicious by all accounts. Ain’t no mistaking me for a supermodel anytime soon, trust me on that. But instead of always looking around at those who’ve been there longer than me and seeing how far I have to go, I could kind of sit back and enjoy how far I’ve come, too.
I was just looking at my final paycheck of the year and feeling grateful to have one, yes, but also rather stunted, that my standard of living is defined by the salary I agreed to at one job. (I should have multiple profit centers — my income should not be capped — my creativity should be paying me off, again and again, if only I’d harness it.)
But the same is true for my life. Because I’ve had this or that wrong with me, or because my ass was the size of a small island, my enjoyment of my time on this earth has been severely curtailed.
I mean, not just the health or the fear aspect of dropping dead at a moment’s notice, but you wonder what kind of relationships or jobs you would have had, or whether the ones you’ve experienced would have been different … and how.
Anyway, I’m just watching the new season of “Biggest Loser” and being genuinely angry that nine people who need help are being sent home tonight, on the very first episode. So I’m going to end this feel-good fuzzy-wuzzy fest now and just be glad that, at my present weight, I would never have qualified for this season.
And while I won’t focus on it, I’ll never forget that, six months ago, I could very well have been “big” enough to be on the biggest season of the show in history.