For those who haven’t seen my pudgy pork roast ass lately, I’ve found some of the weight that I’d lost. Damn it.
Oddly enough, I maintained my ‘low’ weight for the past year. It was in the past two months of transition (job, apartment, other shit) that I sprouted an extra ass cheek.
I think it’s because the last year was SO BAD, that the only thing that I could control was my food intake. And now that things are getting better, I haven’t exerted so much control about what I’ve been eating — I’ve finally felt more in control of my life, so I could ease up on the eating restrictions.
And so…
I stepped on the scale last night and just about died. So tonight, after a full year away, I dragged all three ass cheeks to Weight Watchers. Since I’ve been paying for it all this time and all.
As I met with the leader (whom I LOVED) after the meeting, since I’m being treated like a total newbie, I started to say what everyone says … that it was a tough year and I thought I could do it on my own and blah blah blah.
You know, the stories everybody tells.
But then I went into details. And my new leader — who has heard everything a thousand times — widened his eyes and indicated that, OK, NOW he has heard it all!
And in that moment, I stopped feeling sorry for myself. I stopped being angry that I let some of the weight return. I stopped blaming myself and everyone else who has sabotaged me — who I LET sabotage me.
He asked what brought me back. I said I’m taking my life back. Which I’ve tried to do a hundred different ways and times, and here we go again.
The first time I went to WW, it was to lose weight. It was through that experience that I gained a sense of control over my life. This time, I’m going back for the control, and the de-pudgifying process will follow.
I’d say the scare on the scale is responsible for about 96% of this new adventure. Wanting to die while climbing stairs might be part of that, too. My favorite jeans not fitting sucks … as does the fact that I bought those jeans another size down, and they’re still sitting in the plastic from when Old Navy shipped them to me. That REALLY sucks.
And I would be lying if I didn’t admit that the other 4% of my motivation came from being with people this past weekend who were, are and will be special to me. Friends, lovers and business partners, past and present — people who ‘knew me when’ and will know me a long time from now.
I don’t know if it was any of them per se, or maybe more the idea of living a long and healthy life so that I will know them forever, that kind of kicked my ass. And maybe a small part of me felt regret that I wasn’t able to showcase a supermodel-sized self because I totally dropped the ball on my health-improvement plans.
Good thing they all love me anyway. 🙂
But while I’ve never defined myself by appearance, that doesn’t mean I don’t WANT to. Because I do. I so very much do.
So anyway, I’m not blogging to broadcast to the world about the size of my pudgy pork roast ass. I AM doing it to make myself accountable to getting it right this time.
My leader asked us how many of us were first-timers to WW. Two people raised their hands, out of 40. That means I’m not the only one who fell off the bike in the middle of the ride. But I — like so many others — got back on. And walking through the doors for the first time — or the second shot at the first time — is always the hardest part.
Perhaps at my next weigh-in, even if I haven’t lost a single pound, I will be able to say that at least my heart is a lot lighter, knowing that my victories are not limited to the scale, but that the war with the scale is a battle I can win nonetheless.
