Tonight I’m going to a Weight Watchers meeting, for the first time in over two years. Things have reached a tipping point, I suppose—none of my lycra-free clothing fits any more, and I find that jeans fresh from the washing machine bear absolutely no resemblance to the stretched-out, barely-comfortable ones that went in. I’ve been moaning about this since October. Clearly, I’m not going to lose any weight without help. WW works—I lost 100 pounds on the program seven years ago—so back I must go.
But why am I so terrified? As the meeting time draws closer, I’m getting more and more anxious. Having a hard time sitting still, in fact, and wandering into the kitchen in search of something salty/sweet/crunchy/soft, until I remind myself that I’ll be standing on a scale in less than an hour. I have a good idea of how much I weigh, which is 22-25 lbs more than I weighed at my wedding in May. Maybe it’s because my goal was 7 lbs higher than WW’s official range for my height—I had a doctor’s note—and the weight I’d been happily maintaining all this time was another twelve pounds over that. They’re going to tell me I have 45 pounds to lose, when I’m only thinking about 20-25.
Oh. That’s probably why I’m flipping out: I’m all about baby steps, looking at the small picture, and they’re going to slam me with the super-sized one until I bleed. Or cry. They won’t mean to, of course, since it’s a supportive atmosphere, but I know what the goal weight is that they’ll assign me, and it won’t be one that I’d pick.
Wish me luck, everyone. I’m posting about it here because I know it will keep me honest. If I don’t let you in on my secret, I can cook all kinds of goodies and write about them, and you’ll never know it’s killing me inside. Some of the things I prepare may be a little less, shall we say, decadent for a while, but hopefully not for long. WW really does allow you to eat anything, as long as you account for it, so once I get through the strict jump-start phase, I should be able to bake as much as I want. I’ll just eat less of it, goddammit!