About halfway through my trip, I took a break to upload some photos from my mom’s phone. Probably vacations aren’t the best time to take stock of your appearance, but those photos were not flattering, and I decided to take my doctor’s gentle suggestion to join Weight Watchers as soon as I got home.
Today was my first full day ON THE PROGRAM. After a humiliating readout of the foods I had eaten on my last day of vacation, I was determined to do better. Who knew that my breakfast was so calorie-dense? Or that I couldn’t afford to snack, even if I made healthy lunches and dinners?
The final straw was when I tried to go to a meeting. I walked in late, mistaken about the time, and met two charmless ladies who offered no support, no kind word of encouragement, just a grilling about my failure to print out the pass and the repeated suggestion that I probably wasn’t entitled to meetings, anyway. I was expecting to be brave in the face of a humiliating weigh in, to keep it grimly together while we discussed inanities like calorie reduced bread, and instead I got this bullshit.
On the way home I started to cry. It’s bad enough that I have to deal with the fact that I’m eating wrong after years of taking pride in my local, whole foods approach. It’s bad enough that all of the exercise I get in a week – the running, the weight training, the aquafit, the walking, the yoga – don’t help. It’s bad enough I have to brace myself for the look of hurt in my husband’s face when I tell him I can’t really eat all of the generous helping of what he has made from scratch. And the worst part of tonight was knowing that, despite still feeling hungry, I have nothing to look forward to but water.
I fucking hate this. But I am not giving up. I am going to another meeting in another place. I’m going to keep anal-retentively tracking my food. And I am going to be smaller when school starts again in September.
“As God is my witness, I’ll always be hungry again!” – the Simpsons