Yesterday I had a mini melt down at my weight watchers meeting.
I went fully expecting to lose at LEAST 5 pounds. (because, it's been 2 weeks since my last weigh in and I had weighed myself at home the previous Monday and MY scale said I had lost 3 since the last weigh in, so, I was expecting at LEAST 2 more pounds, to make the 2 week total FIVE pounds which I realize is confusing but pretend like you're following along because I'm too tired and FREAKED OUT to try to figure out a way to say it so that it makes more sense) I step on the scale and WW lady goes "You lost! 2.2 pounds!" And, I said "What the HELL?" And she said "Excuse me?" And I said "I'm pissed. I've been working MY ASS of 5 nights a week at the gym, sticking to my points (no cheating whatsoever) and ONLY 2.2 FREAKING POUNDS IN 2 WEEKS?" And she said "Well, that's right on target, you're supposed to lose 1-2 a week blahblahblah" And I said "I'm still pissed off." And so, she said "Well, you can talk to the leader if you're that upset, maybe she can help you."
So, I walked up to the leader. "How are things going?" She asked. "Not good" I replied. "I've been working out for 2 hours a night 5 days a week, sticking to my points, drinking all of my water (which is TORTURE FOR ME, PEOPLE I HATE WATER.) And I only lost 2.2. I wanted more, I expected more and I'm disappointed."
"You are right where you need to be, you're doing great. blahblahblah."
And then she gave me some speech about how I am expecting too much too soon and then she said "You tend to be hard on yourself, don't you? You like to beat yourself up, don't you?"
"Um... that's what people tell me."
"Yeah, I can tell. And I don't even know you."
She's right. I am too hard on myself and I promised her I'd change my way of thinking and that I wouldn't give up because I realize that the weight IS coming off, even if it's not as fast as I'd like it to come off.
The entire way home, I cried, which, I realize is stupid because AS LEAST I'M LOSING, but I felt overwhemled. I have come so far, but I still have a long way to go and the thought of how much work I still have ahead of me makes me want to puke. I hate that my evenings have to be spent in the stupid gym, sweating and looking like a jackass trying to do such things as THE RIVERDANCE and weight machines without ripping farts because apparently? Weights give me gas.
I hate that EVERY MORSEL OF FOOD that goes into my mouth has to be accounted for and written down.
I was still pissed off when I got home and ready to say "Screw it! I give up! I'm done, over it, The Fat Wins!"
But I had this really great idea to pull out some old clothes, put them on and get a little perspective of how far I've come, regardless of what the damn scale says.
Man, that was the greatest idea I've had in a long time.
Remember this picture from Gabby's birthday party in August?
Ah, the Spare Tire. Lovely.
Well, here I am in that same outfit this morning.
The Spire Tire is still there, but LOOK! It has shrunk!
And the clothes? Theyare baggy.
It felt so good to realize that, hey, yeah, the pounds may be slow in falling off, but the all of the hard work I am putting in is paying off, it IS showing and so, I will keep going, even if it is FRUSTRATING AS HELL.
Because, I will not let The Fat win. VICTORY WILL BE MINE, OH LUMPY THIGHS!
(I am dork! Hear me roar! D-O-R-K)
(p.s. I'm thoroughly enjoying your voice mails. Keep them coming! 206-202-1345)
Woman you are totally wonderful!