I started Weight Watchers again. AGAIN. Like, for the, well let’s not talk about how many times. I REALLY like that Getting Started book, let’s just leave it at that.
I just wasn’t feeling right. I’m still not. I feel uncomfortable in my body, in my skin. I don’t feel spry, and it’s just… everything is harder. Amazingly, looking in mirrors still sometimes surprises me. It’s like… oh. Hmm. That fat girl. Yeah.
So, I went back. I have a friend who went back, and I thought we could do it together. Ish. She lives too far to really do it together. But we have text support.
My first two days I didn’t do the diet. I tracked all my points, just to see. I ate normal days, didn’t go crazy in a “last weekend” kind of way. I ate at least double what I should be eating in those days. Nice little hint to myself about how I got as fat as I did… So sad.
I lost a pound my first week. Not only was Khalil gone, so I missed him, but I was also in charge of my own lunches and dinners. And I haven’t done too bad. I have to say.
But when I was sitting in the meeting, pondering my pound, so many thoughts came up. I kept trying to tell myself that slow and steady wins the race. But I couldn’t help but do some math. Like, 1 pound a week for a year puts me 52 pounds lighter. Which is AWESOME. But which is… heavier than I was at my wedding 5 years ago, last time I did WW. It makes me so sad, thinking about all the weight I’ve gained in five years. Over FIFTY pounds. Seriously. That’s just… sad. It makes me think of wasted time, makes me regret how hard it is for me to make good choices.
This time, hopefully, I’m picking myself up and dusting myself off. Trying to be excited about the small success, and also keep the big picture in mind- a healthier me. A me that is comfortable in her own skin. And maybe a wee bit cuter.