Pot Holes

I’ve been writing this in my head all day. I was going to title it Inviting Failure. But I haven’t failed. This is just a stall. A bump in the road. I will get past this and I will be okay.

I made a big mistake this week. I’ve been excited and anxious for today’s weigh-in because it marks my anniversary with Weight Watchers. It was Monday, November 3, 2008 that I joined. This is the longest I have ever made it on the program. This is the most I have ever lost on the program. This is the last time I will ever have to lose this weight. I am confident in that.

This week has been a rough one for me, food-wise. We had two parties at work, food left over from a board meeting, and yesterday, we went to KB’s house, where her husband is all but a gourmet chef and makes the most delicious food EVER. And, did I mention it was Halloween?

On Tuesday, I sampled the party fare, but did not stuff myself.
Wednesday…Wednesday is where I made my mistake. I was standing in front of the fridge, searching for something, anything to munch on, and I told the Hubster, “You know, I think I will just expect to gain this week.” Little Sister had been sick, and I had been at home with her. I always struggle with food when I am at home during the day—fajitas for breakfast and popcorn for lunch, meals for champions, right there. It was as if I had given myself permission to fail…not to fail, but to…to not succeed. And it was nice to not be anxious about the scale for a few days. It was nice to allow myself a treat and not agonize over the choices I made. However, those few days of peace were not worth the anguish I felt today.
On Thursday, I managed to avoid the cookies in the break room that rivaled the size of my head. I even talked myself out of seconds of a sandwich that I really wanted.
But on Friday…what happened on Friday? Sausage and cheese dip happened. And bagels. And candy. Candy happened on Friday. Mother Nature showed up and gave me another excuse to gain weight this week. (Um, did I just tell the whole world what they think I just told them? Yes, I did. I’m a girl. It happens. It’s one of the facts of life, even—no, not the TV show, but who’s singing the song right now? “You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both, and there you have the facts of life…the facts of life.” You’re welcome.)
Saturday, I rolled out of bed in time for Turbo Kick and Body Pump, and then went shopping, and it wasn’t until I arrived home around 2:00 that I realized I hadn’t eaten anything all day. I grabbed a sandwich, and then indulged that evening at KB’s house, and only snagged a few of Little Sister’s treats.

Still. I woke up this morning feeling lousy. Before I even stepped on the scale, I knew. I tried to tell myself that it was okay. That I’ve lost for the last 6 weeks, and I was bound to gain sooner or later. I reminded myself that I expected it, given permission, even. Then, I got to my meeting. Leader Pam weighed me in. “You’re up a little bit,” she told me. “Is everything going okay?” I explained work parties and gourmet food and Halloween, and yes, even the facts of life to her, and she smiled and said that life happens, and it’s okay not to be perfect all the time. Then she handed me my book. I was horrified at the number behind the plus sign. Tears sprang to my eyes and I looked back at her. “That is NOT a little bit.” She patted my hand and told me it was okay. I was not okay, though.

I stewed in the meeting, setting ridiculous goals for myself. (Cabbage soup all week? Working out 3-4 hours a day?) Afterwards, I cried in the car as I drove to the YMCA in Prior Lake, texting Turbo Sara that I needed a good butt kicking. Since I got there early, I ran on the treadmill, pushing myself, punishing myself, sweat flying everywhere. By the end of class, I was dripping, my heart pounding. But I felt better, too. I know that this is temporary. I know that I am not going back to where I was, and that I have the tools and the knowledge (and the support) to turn myself around right now, before it gets worse. Before I give up. Before I stop believing in myself.

While I’m unhappy with the gain I had this week, and anxious about what the holidays in the next two months will bring, I’m impressed with my attitude. (Okay, not my initial attitude, my I’ve-had-a-while-to-think-it-over attitude.) This is a major breakthrough, a key change for me. I won’t pout and feel sorry for myself and drown my woes in chocolate. I won’t push myself so hard, I lose hope. I will lean on people I know will support me and I will look to myself to make the choices I know are best for me.

That said, I’ve set some more realistic goals for myself. I will track my points every day. I have discovered that this really helps me. It makes a difference in my weight loss and I will do it. I will continue my regular workouts, which hasn’t been a problem, but I will push a little harder. Jump a little higher. Do a little MORE. I am starting a new Kettle bell class on Thursday, and I am a nervous, but excited for the change, too.

In January, when everyone and their mother joins Weight Watchers to help them with their New Year’s Resolutions, and the studios at the Y hit capacity with all the “tourists” who hang out for a few classes, never to be seen again, I will be there, smiling, encouraging, and making room for them. I will get through this. I will lose the weight. And I will succeed.

I know I have been remiss in my blogging of late. The A/C adapter on my laptop died and it’s a proprietary part, which means I have to shell out $70 to Dell or risk eBay to obtain a new one. Since funds are a little light right now, I’m putting off the purchase, which chains me, once again, to my desktop. Blogging is much more fun from my recliner.

~FLP~