So, here I am, at the beginning of Week #7 of Weight Watchers. I’ve acclimated myself to how the program works. I know the Points® values for the foods I eat most often. I’ve adjusted my way of eating, slowly but surely, toward more veggies and less meat.
Now it’s time to really make the commitment.
Because I’ve lost less than three pounds in the past six weeks. And I want to see more results.
Meetings are helpful, and weigh-ins impose a sense of accountability that might not otherwise be in effect (despite my incessant blogging about my weight). Still, when I’ve gained nearly a pound in a week without meaning to, it’s hard to hear about the woman who’s lost 57 pounds — and not just hear about her, but hear HER, herself, explaining what’s different now, saying how she’s still got a long way to go, and referring to Flex Points as “devil points.”
It makes me want to cry sometimes. What are these people doing differently from me, that they lose five pounds in a single week, and I can’t even do that in a month and a half? What’s wrong with me?
I ask myself that a lot, it seems.
Of course, when I get like this, it makes me want to crawl into a little hole and eat one-point fudge bars all evening, and not do the things I should be doing (mainly exercising), and that doesn’t help matters. Me skipping out on Aikido tomorrow would be a Very Bad Idea™, since I need to get back into the swing of things.
But, damn, I’m just so depressed. I’d rather curl up on the couch and take a nap.
Aaron tried to cheer me up, and he did a pretty good job of it, too. “You’re all depressed over 0.8 pounds?” he asked, and reminded me that I’m still headed in the general direction of where I need to go. That was helpful, and made me feel better, to an extent.
I need a little Aaron on my shoulder all the time, to drown out the little Diana on the other shoulder that berates me for sleeping in too late and not exercising enough and generally being a schmuck in so many ways.