To weigh or not to weigh

   Yesterday was my Weight Watchers meeting at work. As I had written, I didn't know if I was going to weigh in or not. I was strongly leading towards NOT weighing in, but was trying desperately to trick my mind into thinking that I didn't have the option not to.  I left my office for the weigh-in at around noon. The meetings are in the office across the parking lot from mine. I felt like I was going to the gas chamber or somewhere equally as unpleasant as that. I stopped on the way to pick up the mail for my office. When I got into the meeting room, there were maybe 5 others there standing in line waiting to be weighed. I sat down and for some bizarre reason started rubbing my fingers roughly over the plastic of the Ziploc bag that I keep my Weight Watchers materials in. It was like rubbing on that plastic would make something change. Then I had the overwhelming feeling of sickness. It was like I was some invisible hand was reaching into my stomach and twisting my intestines into a knot. I was all of a sudden really aware that there were other people there and they might be watching me like I'm some kind of freak. It was a surreal moment like you see in movies. When I looked up the two ladies that always talk to me each meeting (I couldn't tell you their names if you offered me a million dollars), were motioning for me to get in line. For a second I was pissed off. We don't HAVE to weigh in each week. I was feeling pressured. BUT, I had to make a decision or the line would be too long and my decision would be based on that and my impatience. I decided that I would sign the sign-in sheet and ask the meeting leader what to do if we do not want to weigh in. I went into my little plastic bag and got out my weigh-in booklet. I figured she would have to write something in there to make sure I was counted present. She hands us weekly materials for the meeting, so I had to go up to her anyway. I signed the sheet, grabbed my weigh-in folder, and stood in line behind the 3 people who were waiting. I was still thinking and felt really awkward. I remember looking down at the carpet and noticing the tiny intricate pattern that may or may not have been there only by coincidence. In no time it was my time at the front of the line. I plopped down my little weigh-in folder down in front of her. I told her that I didn't think I was going to weigh in. She asked if there was a reason I thought I had done so badly. I felt like I was going to cry. I really did. I could see that pool of water building up over my eyeballs and distorting her face. The tears never ran down my cheeks, but they were actually impairing my vision at that point. All I could think about was my trip to Northern Virginia this past weekend. The Big Bowl, the Red Robin, the Wegman's Asain wokery, the eggs and sausage every morning at the hotel complete with salsa, cheese, and sour cream. I swear this next part. I DO NOT remember taking my shoes off, stepping on the scale, or what I said or what she said or what went through my mind or anything. The next thing I clearly remembered was sitting down and the girl beside me asking me about the lunch I bring to the meetings each week. Right before the meeting started, I opened up the weigh-in book and saw my weight for the week. I had lost 2 pounds. Instead of being happy, I was numb.
   This experience really scared me. Not because of the weigh-in, but because of my reaction to it. I got so worked up about it that I don't even remember half of what happened. That's not good. Where was my brain at that moment and what was it doing? When I started this program, I resolved that I would get on the scale no matter what I thought the outcome would be. I knew I would have to monitor my every bite because it would show up on the scale at a later time. What I didn't expect was to be so upset because of all of this. I've been to four or five meetings now. In the past I would have quit by now. Maybe that is what is scaring me. I never know when I'll just give up. I'm waiting for me to realize that something is right...or wrong...get scared and run. I don't really know how to be a new or different Wendy. I just know how to be fat, limited, quitter, unhappy, Wendy. I know how to quit...very well. I know how to avoid...very well. I know how to be depressed...very well. I know how to PRETEND to be happy...very well. I don't know how to be deal with my emotions at all. It's like all of a sudden I can't use food to cover up what I really feel and I'm scared of it. That leaves me very exposed because I don't know what else to do when I get happy, or sad, or nervous, or scared.
   This journey is going to be impossibly long.

The track...on and off

   I have a favorite song from the 80s by a group called the Breakfast Club. The song is called "Right on Track". I love that song, not only for its musicality, but for the video. There are these women in the video dressed up like chickens and dancing. They have on deep red lipstick too. Now, as we all know chickens cannot dance and they totally don't have lips to put lipstick on. But, I think it is funny to think of what our world would be like if these dancing, lipstick wearing chickens really existed. A better one, I think.
  The point of that little story is that the song makes me think about my weight loss journey. I'm constantly getting back on track. AND, it is very rarely that I am "right on track".  I often sing that song to myself when I had a good day and do everything right. It's the hope that I am "right on track" or on the right track that inspires me. Then I go and mess it up by doing or eating something stupid. I'm so incredibly flawed. I often wonder if maybe my brain isn't wired all jacked up. Like I'm missing something up there that allows me to resist the things that are bad for me. If I'm creating my own problems, I seem to be plagued by natural ones. I may never find what will make me complete and "ok".
  I go to my Weight Watchers meeting today at noon. I'm not going to weigh this week. Unless, I get some bravery between now and then, I'm just not going to do it. This is so typically me. I avoid the truth at every chance I get. My weight is what it is right now. Not knowing isn't going to change it or make it go away. Maybe I can rationalize it all before noon and go on and do it. I know what I did this past week and that it will show up on the scale. But, who does it matter to more than to me? So, why not know? If I had a tumor, I would want to know so I could get it taken care of. Not knowing isn't making the problem better, right? For the past 2 weeks, I've had the most tumultuous Thursdays. This is where I usually give up and coward away resolved that I will never change. Can I convince myself to weigh today?

Fat, Sugar, and Salt...oh my!

   I hope the new year is going well for everyone. I'm having my usual ups and downs. I went to the gym yesterday and ate half of my Weight Watchers points for the day. Then there was this morning. It's amazing how much damage I can do within a few mere minutes. I got up this morning at 5:15am, went to the gym, worked out, immediately headed to McDonalds, and undid everything. Good grief!!!! I ate all of my daily Weight Watchers points in one meal. I was uncontrolable. I actually sat in my car with my head down on my steering wheel crying before I went into the gym. I wasn't going to go in at all. You see, yesterday my usual Nu Step machine was dirty. I used the one beside it. When I looked up there was a mirror in front of me. I almost had a panic attack. I don't like looking at myself in the mirror AT ALL. I certainly didn't want to see myself all flushed and sweating. All if could think about yesterday was how I was this big blob on a machine, barely moving, yet sweating, and getting nowhere. I see the other people at the gym moving so gracefully and purposefully and I get so jealous. I have always wanted to be an athletic person. Here's a little secret. I love watching people's muscles move. Not in some kinky, sick, freaky way. I love to see people's skin over their muscles and they way it all works like a machine. I don't like to see bones though. I can't really explain it. It's just so different from what I see in the mirror...fat, no visible muscle, weakness.
   It is becoming pretty obvious that I am my own worst enemy. How do I stop that? How do I learn to love myself enough to stay away from fast food? How do I learn to value myself enough to do "good"? I don't how to do this and I don't know where it all went wrong? It certainly is not because of my upbringing. My parents and grandmothers all treat(ed) me like a queen. My grandmother once told my Daddy that I was treated better than the President's daughter. It's so true. Maybe being treated so well and having everything given to me did something. Maybe I feel like I don't have a reason or the strength to change. I don't know. Need to do some thinking.