dianaschnuth

I’m not sure why I keep posting updates. Both James and I are sucking it up big time, and really can’t seem to keep focused on our weight loss goals. I’m back above my spring starting weight again.

However.

I took a big leap on my birthday (Tuesday, for those of you who aren’t keeping track): I joined Weight Watchers. My employer sponsors a Weight Watchers At Work program, so I can go to a WW meeting with my co-workers during my lunch break every Tuesday. It seems fairly well attended — I think there were at least 25 people there, probably more.

I didn’t get the standard-length Getting Started talk; instead, I got a quick explanation and the Week One materials. I’m OK with that, though, as everything seems fairly self-explanatory. The program isn’t difficult to understand. Take a short assessment of your activity level, current weight, gender, and age to calculate the number of points you should eat in a day; use the nifty slide rule to compare fat and calories and fiber to calculate the points value of a food; and track what you eat as you eat it.

Easier said than done.

I’m discovering some important things about myself. Firstly: I am an evening eater. During the day, at work, I’ll eat something small every two hours, and I’m fine. Once I get home, though, it’s time to relax and kick back — and part of the comfort of home is the comfort of food. I enjoy the physical act of eating.

Which brings me to my second point: if it’s in the house, I’m going to eat it. Before I decided to go on WW, I asked Aaron to buy some cans of Beefaroni during the weekly grocery run. (I knew I was being naughty, but I didn’t care.) Once I committed to WW, I could easily have stuck them in the back of the shelf and pretended they weren’t there. Did I? No. Instead, I calculated that one can of Beefaroni is ten, count ’em, ten points, and proceeded to eat the Beefaroni anyway.

Also during last weekend, I had a moment of weakness and bought some homemade sweets from a guy at the flea market: coconut-covered date rolls, chocolate-covered banana chips, and chocolate-covered espresso beans. I’ve been fairly good at keeping my hands out of those, though. Somehow.

Not only am I finding it challenging to slow my evening eating, but I’m finding Weight Watchers to be a major paradigm shift from eating low-carb in general (I haven’t been on the Atkins Diet proper for some time now). Things that I used to think were fine — unbreaded catfish nuggets, protein bars and shakes, peanut butter — are now taboo. Things that were once taboo — fruits galore and real milk, among others — are now encouraged. Where before I could satiate my snackie fix with an Ostrim (ostrich/beef stick — very lean), now I must go with strawberries or pickles.

I’m not expecting big things out of this first week. I’ve already eaten through most of my flex points for the week (even if you don’t count that first day, when I just ate “normal” to see how many points that would be). I know I’ll get the hang of it, and learn all the tricks of the Weight Watchers masters. For now, I really just have to focus on being dogmatic about the diet: Do what they say to do. Don’t question. Don’t go outside the lines. They know what works.

I’ve also discovered some motivation that I wish I would have thought of sooner: trying on the swimsuit I’ll be wearing on vacation in two weeks. It’s a one-piece that I bought a couple of years ago and haven’t had the chance to wear for real. While it does fit… I really feel like a sausage in it. My husband is probably the only person who will think this is sexy. And now there’s no time to do anything about it. I can’t take care of this in just two weeks. Well, I could, but it wouldn’t be healthy.

So, without trying to sound too down on myself, that’s where I stand. Can’t keep focused. Feel frumpy. Thinking that 175 pounds is a pipe dream.

I’m not as fat as I was. I have a lower BMI than many people in my Weight Watchers group. But that doesn’t mean I’m happy with the way I look and feel.

You’d think that would be enough motivation, wouldn’t you? Meh.