Sometimes I feel silly continuing this weekly update when it's clear I haven't really committed myself to eating better or losing weight.
When I'm at a restaurant, it never occurs to me to choose the grilled chicken and vegetables platter because I'd rather be scarfing down a burger. On the drive home from work, I no longer contemplate taking the interstate exit that leads to the Y. The perky little gym bag I bought at Target last fall was sitting on the floor of my bedroom collecting dust until this weekend, when I finally emptied the contents and tucked it next to the tupperware bins of journals and yearbooks competing for space in my closet. Any weight I lose isn't a result of hard work or will power. It's just dumb luck.
And dumb luck doesn't last very long.
LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 137.2
CURRENT WEIGHT: 138
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 13
It's in moments like these that I have to remind myself I'm not doing this (solely) for the Internet's entertainment. I'm doing this because my cholesterol is high and I'm fifteen pounds heavier than someone with my frame should be and I want to have a baby and I don't want to carry him/her in an unhealthy environment.
When defending myself TO myself, I grudgingly acknowledge that a few changes have been made to the food Luke and I keep in the house and the way I eat during the day, at least while I'm at work. For example, there are no Wal-Mart fruit smiles or pudding cups waiting to be consumed as mid-day snacks. My lunches have become fairly simple: unless we're trying to finish off dinner leftovers, it consists of a half-cup of Campbell's soup and two servings of fruit (fresh or canned). I stopped stashing granola bars in my desk because the more food I have at my disposal, the more I will eat. I'll never be that girl who can eat whatever she wants and not gain a pound. And when I do lose weight, eating right will never be enough to shave off the gut I've been sporting since the age of eleven.
Instead of losing heart, I need to face my reality and stop pretending someone else's happy-go-lucky diet plan will work for someone like me. I enjoying eating and eating often. My body enjoys storing fat. I need to take this information for what it is and not bitch and moan about how cool it would be to fit into a size six jeans. I need to embrace my eight/ten waist and do what I can to make sure it stays that way. There is no fairy godmother waiting to flick a magic wand and change the way I think about food or how my body processes it. I've got to do it myself.
What's killing me about today, though, is that in light of Molly's weight-loss challenge, I've been weighing myself every other day to monitor my progress, and until this morning, the numbers were favorable. On Sunday, I was still in the 137 range. Monday morning, 136.2. However, after I weighed in I took Luke to the airport to catch a 6:30 plane to California, where he'd spend the next three days on business, and I used his absence to justify devouring an entire batch of spinach dip all by myself. And STILL this wouldn't have been a big deal, except the dip...alters my bathroom habits for several hours, so it wasn't until I got to work that I, um, took the kids to the pool, if you know what I mean, which of course you do because what the hell else could I possibly be talking about?
Molly, I swear, next week there'll be a loss, even if I have to stick an index finger down my throat to make it happen.
But this new attitude will have to wait until tomorrow, because I'm picking up my husband from the airport tonight and he's already requested a stop at Steak 'n Shake. And because I'm such a loving wife, I'm happy to oblige him.
(Just kidding about the barfing part. It's OK to laugh.)