Jennie, your comment on the last post really touched me. It reminded me that weight loss isn't something we just do and have done with, and voila, life is great! It's a constant struggle, or some other less pejorative word which doesn't come to mind right now.
I was able to take off that 15 lbs, and then some. I got it in my head that if I lost six pounds more than my goal, then I could eat cheeseburgers for a week or two and "enjoy life"...
Yes, and while I'm at it, I'll teach that pig to play the piano. If I ate cheeseburgers for a week or two, I know for sure I wouldn't want to stop eating cheeseburgers, and there you go - vicious cycle with a side of fries.
I also miscalculated something else which should have been obvious - if I get to 144 (and therefore a size 4 instead of 6, OMGPONIES!!!1!), I'm going to want to stay at 144. This directly opposes my cheeseburger plan. It also, I've noticed lately, makes people say things like, "There's so little of you!" and, "Have you lost MORE weight?!" Like it's a bad thing!
... IS it a bad thing?
You know, I'd really love to blame this complex of mine on any number of outside sources - the media, my family, our delightful American culture-of-excess, those tiny Duke students with their bare midriffs and enviable eating disorders... But - and this is a grand ol' BUT - in the end it's only me inside my head, calling me fat and ugly, and pretending dieting will magically render me not only beautiful but happy.
Lately I've been working hard on my emotional life, learning to trust again after a few painful betrayals. What I realized swimming around in those depths is that the person who betrayed me the most is me. Ouch. I've called myself an emotional eater, and I'm now becoming acutely aware of how it manifests - I'm even beginning to be able to differentiate real hunger and emotional hunger! Exciting? Amazing? Excruciating. This is hard work, but also hopeful work. I feel like I can see a light at the end of the tunnel for a change.
There's so much more, but for now I'll leave it there. Until next time, my lil frosted doughnuts...
Friday, May 1, 2009
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Ridin' the Range Once More...
Well, it's been quite a while, hasn't it? I tend to resist writing when I'm feeling crappy about something (or many somethings in this case). But lately my ol' comforting Granny Misery has been shedding her apron for the hipper velour track suit of Anger. It's amazing how much we let ourselves take until something snaps. And when that something does finally snap, how wide and terrifying the rest of the world seems, and how hard it is to relate to that person who sat there like an old throw rug, just taking and taking and taking...
Ok, so maybe that's just me. In case it wasn't patently obvious, I'm a control freak. Probably many of you reading this are, too. In fact, I've yet to meet an intelligent, driven person who isn't. The worst part is, most of us look laid back and chill on the outside. And we are, most of the time, as long as we don't care about something. But as soon as we start to care... BAM. (Just like Emeril.)
So let's take weight loss as an example, since, well, that's what this lil' blog is about. If you've been keeping track of our heroine since the beginning of Season I, you'll remember she lost 150 lbs. What she's embarrassed to say here is that she gained 15 of those back this summer while trying to curb the pain of losing someone she honestly thought would love her forever. And we're not talking a clean break here, either... more of a slow, torturous, one-limb-at-a-time kind of loss.
(I'm going to stop talking about myself in the third person. I thought it was cute at first, but it's probably yet another avoidance technique.)
So I was sad. And while I'd like nothing more that to pour my heart out to the universe and have you all pat me on the head and tell me it's gonna be ok... that's not what I want to focus on here. I was sad and I ate. God, I ate the best stuff! Mac & cheese (my fave), Chubby's Tacos (my newest 9th Street obsession), terrible chinese food and pizza and chips and cookies and brownies and... you name it, it probably went it my mouth. Honestly, I owe it to my years of healthy eating and exercise (and my guilt) that I only gained 15 lbs - it should have been 30. As awesome as all that food was going down, the feeling of gaining weight was absolutely awful. So then I had misery on top of misery, and things just kept spiralling down. I started lying to everyone about how bad it was - including my therapist! But anyone who really knew me had only to look at my body to know something was up.
There's only so long you can stay that sad, I think. I got so exhausted from trying to pretend things were ok, that I slowly and cautiously began opening up to friends - and, yes, my therapist again. I started letting myself cry and lie on the couch and feel miserable, and stopped apologizing for it or making excuses. I looked around my house and my life and began taking small steps toward what I knew would make me feel better. I cleaned my room, I did the dishes... and I got back on points - I've lost 5 of the fifteen and am in the groove again!
And then something crazy happened... I snapped. I realized that misery stemmed from abuse - from abusing myself and from letting other people abuse me. And I got ANGRY.
Thing is, I'm not really good at anger. I've always stuffed it down and "moved on". It's seemed easier to blame myself than to get upset with other people. So I feel kinda like a newb here, trying to let all this anger out. It's scary and overwhelming... and awesome.
So... here I go...
Ok, so maybe that's just me. In case it wasn't patently obvious, I'm a control freak. Probably many of you reading this are, too. In fact, I've yet to meet an intelligent, driven person who isn't. The worst part is, most of us look laid back and chill on the outside. And we are, most of the time, as long as we don't care about something. But as soon as we start to care... BAM. (Just like Emeril.)
So let's take weight loss as an example, since, well, that's what this lil' blog is about. If you've been keeping track of our heroine since the beginning of Season I, you'll remember she lost 150 lbs. What she's embarrassed to say here is that she gained 15 of those back this summer while trying to curb the pain of losing someone she honestly thought would love her forever. And we're not talking a clean break here, either... more of a slow, torturous, one-limb-at-a-time kind of loss.
(I'm going to stop talking about myself in the third person. I thought it was cute at first, but it's probably yet another avoidance technique.)
So I was sad. And while I'd like nothing more that to pour my heart out to the universe and have you all pat me on the head and tell me it's gonna be ok... that's not what I want to focus on here. I was sad and I ate. God, I ate the best stuff! Mac & cheese (my fave), Chubby's Tacos (my newest 9th Street obsession), terrible chinese food and pizza and chips and cookies and brownies and... you name it, it probably went it my mouth. Honestly, I owe it to my years of healthy eating and exercise (and my guilt) that I only gained 15 lbs - it should have been 30. As awesome as all that food was going down, the feeling of gaining weight was absolutely awful. So then I had misery on top of misery, and things just kept spiralling down. I started lying to everyone about how bad it was - including my therapist! But anyone who really knew me had only to look at my body to know something was up.
There's only so long you can stay that sad, I think. I got so exhausted from trying to pretend things were ok, that I slowly and cautiously began opening up to friends - and, yes, my therapist again. I started letting myself cry and lie on the couch and feel miserable, and stopped apologizing for it or making excuses. I looked around my house and my life and began taking small steps toward what I knew would make me feel better. I cleaned my room, I did the dishes... and I got back on points - I've lost 5 of the fifteen and am in the groove again!
And then something crazy happened... I snapped. I realized that misery stemmed from abuse - from abusing myself and from letting other people abuse me. And I got ANGRY.
Thing is, I'm not really good at anger. I've always stuffed it down and "moved on". It's seemed easier to blame myself than to get upset with other people. So I feel kinda like a newb here, trying to let all this anger out. It's scary and overwhelming... and awesome.
So... here I go...
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Our Secret Society
I was on a second date last night, and revealed the big Weight Loss Secret.
It's funny, I am proud as hell to have lost half my body weight, but for some reason with men I consider it this dirty little secret. Why? Because they might one day see my stretch marks and not like them? Because they'll worry I'll get fat again? And if they did either of those things, would they really be at all the kind of man I want? Of course not.
But still, I think of it as a secret... something to be revealed as he gets to know me... maybe even a test of sorts.
Anyhow, by way of telling my date, I showed him my fat pants picture. "Oh," he said, "you used to be big."
That word... big. It had such a strange effect on me. I started thinking of all the words - from fat to voluptuous to overweight to zaftig - and none of them made sense to me anymore. I'm not even sure I make sense to me anymore...
After the date, I crashed hard. I had crazy dreams about green golden retrievers and bizarre bazaars and foreign countries, and woke up to a full-blown panic attack - the cry-in-the-bathroom-at-work kind.
There are women - people - who grow up in one place, and follow the rules, and do what's expected and normal. And there are women who add a little of their own spice to it all, but basically follow the accepted patterns. And then there are women who beat to their own drum, follow their own path, create their own destiny... all the while being jealous of those women who followed the rules and have their home and family and two-car garage.
Change is exciting. It's empowering and often impressive - for instance, losing half your body weight! But it creates, for me, this accompanying insecurity. I continue to create this Laura, but I look sometimes and barely know who she is. And, really, I'm no jet-setting international woman of mystery... I'm just a girl who made a couple big changes. So where am I? WHO am I?
A friend of mine reminded me just now that amputees often still feel phantom limbs. I wonder... do I feel phantom fat?
It's funny, I am proud as hell to have lost half my body weight, but for some reason with men I consider it this dirty little secret. Why? Because they might one day see my stretch marks and not like them? Because they'll worry I'll get fat again? And if they did either of those things, would they really be at all the kind of man I want? Of course not.
But still, I think of it as a secret... something to be revealed as he gets to know me... maybe even a test of sorts.
Anyhow, by way of telling my date, I showed him my fat pants picture. "Oh," he said, "you used to be big."
That word... big. It had such a strange effect on me. I started thinking of all the words - from fat to voluptuous to overweight to zaftig - and none of them made sense to me anymore. I'm not even sure I make sense to me anymore...
After the date, I crashed hard. I had crazy dreams about green golden retrievers and bizarre bazaars and foreign countries, and woke up to a full-blown panic attack - the cry-in-the-bathroom-at-work kind.
There are women - people - who grow up in one place, and follow the rules, and do what's expected and normal. And there are women who add a little of their own spice to it all, but basically follow the accepted patterns. And then there are women who beat to their own drum, follow their own path, create their own destiny... all the while being jealous of those women who followed the rules and have their home and family and two-car garage.
Change is exciting. It's empowering and often impressive - for instance, losing half your body weight! But it creates, for me, this accompanying insecurity. I continue to create this Laura, but I look sometimes and barely know who she is. And, really, I'm no jet-setting international woman of mystery... I'm just a girl who made a couple big changes. So where am I? WHO am I?
A friend of mine reminded me just now that amputees often still feel phantom limbs. I wonder... do I feel phantom fat?
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Barbara Millicent Roberts
Back a bit there was a big bruhaha about Barbie's body. If she were real, the sensitive masses cried, her waist would break in half from the weight of her massive bosom!
Sure she would. Nevermind the fact that she's a PLASTIC DOLL, but ok, I get it, we know how suggestible and susceptible children are. Hell, little girls are now claiming to be on diets in the 2nd and 3rd grades. It's a horrifying ripple effect created, I think, by our adult fascination with an ever-present - and unattainable - standard of beauty.
So, yes, I get it. Barbie is no doubt a big part of that, with her clothes-horse attitude and pink perma-pucker. So, ever the movers and shakers, Mattel met the people's protests head-on and created a new body for Barbie. Her waist and hips were widened slightly, and her breasts were reduced. Voila, sensitive new-age Barbie.
I didn't think much about this at the time, but recently I was playing with wee Ella Kate and got my hands on a delightfully naked New Body Barbie. Here's what struck me: Barbie used to have the body of a porn star. Sure, that's unrealistic. But now? She has the body of those tiny, perfect women who can make the rest of us feel, just by their mere existence, that life might not be worth living. (I exaggerate a tad, but I'm making a point here.)
So, if you think about it, Barbie is now, with her "new, realistic body", a far bigger threat to the self-esteem of our girls. I believe the new body is only slightly more attainable than the waist-snapping porn star version. Really. So now the message is: You still aren't good enough, as evidenced by this "realistic" doll figure.
Sure, what else could Mattel do? But, really, people. Really. Bring back the porn star.
Oh, and on an ironic note? New Barbie also shed the plastic skin-colored panties in favor of a plastic skin-colored THONG. My head... it shakes...
Sure she would. Nevermind the fact that she's a PLASTIC DOLL, but ok, I get it, we know how suggestible and susceptible children are. Hell, little girls are now claiming to be on diets in the 2nd and 3rd grades. It's a horrifying ripple effect created, I think, by our adult fascination with an ever-present - and unattainable - standard of beauty.
So, yes, I get it. Barbie is no doubt a big part of that, with her clothes-horse attitude and pink perma-pucker. So, ever the movers and shakers, Mattel met the people's protests head-on and created a new body for Barbie. Her waist and hips were widened slightly, and her breasts were reduced. Voila, sensitive new-age Barbie.
I didn't think much about this at the time, but recently I was playing with wee Ella Kate and got my hands on a delightfully naked New Body Barbie. Here's what struck me: Barbie used to have the body of a porn star. Sure, that's unrealistic. But now? She has the body of those tiny, perfect women who can make the rest of us feel, just by their mere existence, that life might not be worth living. (I exaggerate a tad, but I'm making a point here.)
So, if you think about it, Barbie is now, with her "new, realistic body", a far bigger threat to the self-esteem of our girls. I believe the new body is only slightly more attainable than the waist-snapping porn star version. Really. So now the message is: You still aren't good enough, as evidenced by this "realistic" doll figure.
Sure, what else could Mattel do? But, really, people. Really. Bring back the porn star.
Oh, and on an ironic note? New Barbie also shed the plastic skin-colored panties in favor of a plastic skin-colored THONG. My head... it shakes...
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Change of Fools?
It's been a while since I've written here. It's been a while since I've felt good enough to write.
In the interim... no, there is too much, let me sum up. Fell for a new guy who cheated on me after a couple months. Gained ten pounds but have now lost five of them. Have been up, have been down, and probably as far from myself as I'd ever like to be.
Now you're caught up.
Yesterday I had one of the worst panic attacks I've had in years. I think my heart was racing from 8am until well past dinner. Finally I talked to my Topper, and she gave me an anti-anxiety pill. Thank god.
Today I was chatting with my friend Marsh, my best friend from college. He asked me about the panic and I told him I was doing ok. And then he gave me possibly the best - and most effective! - pep talk I've ever had...
I've always thought of myself as someone who hates change. I mean, honestly, I practically lost it when Crest discontinued the Smooth Mint Gel. (I'm still mad about that, Crest, if that's your real name!) I ran a campaign to send all the blue M&Ms back to the company and demand the return of the light browns. Really, once I'm familiar with things, I want them to just stay the way they are. (You know who you are, Victoria's Secret laundry detergent...)
This has been something that defines me. I've said it both in jest and in all seriousness to hundreds of friends and acquaintances.
Today, though, Marsh pointed out that I've already made so many huge changes. He pointed out that I had not only the courage to come out of the closet when I fell for Cara, but to change my mind when I felt it was right for me to go back to men. He also pointed out, of course, the weight loss. He said that so many people can stick to a diet for a bit, but then they fall off the wagon and go back to status quo. But not only did I stick to it, I changed who I was for it. I changed my life, my weight, my health...
Honestly, I was baffled. I had really never considered all that before. Never considered that perhaps I'm not afraid at all... Or even when I am, I can still find the strength to go forward, to take those steps.
It's a rare day, folks, when someone changes your idea of your very own fundamental self. I'm turned inside out, but shyly proud at the same time. This Laura who I thought was a big mess... it turns out she's got something pretty good going for her.
Thank you, Marsh.
In the interim... no, there is too much, let me sum up. Fell for a new guy who cheated on me after a couple months. Gained ten pounds but have now lost five of them. Have been up, have been down, and probably as far from myself as I'd ever like to be.
Now you're caught up.
Yesterday I had one of the worst panic attacks I've had in years. I think my heart was racing from 8am until well past dinner. Finally I talked to my Topper, and she gave me an anti-anxiety pill. Thank god.
Today I was chatting with my friend Marsh, my best friend from college. He asked me about the panic and I told him I was doing ok. And then he gave me possibly the best - and most effective! - pep talk I've ever had...
I've always thought of myself as someone who hates change. I mean, honestly, I practically lost it when Crest discontinued the Smooth Mint Gel. (I'm still mad about that, Crest, if that's your real name!) I ran a campaign to send all the blue M&Ms back to the company and demand the return of the light browns. Really, once I'm familiar with things, I want them to just stay the way they are. (You know who you are, Victoria's Secret laundry detergent...)
This has been something that defines me. I've said it both in jest and in all seriousness to hundreds of friends and acquaintances.
Today, though, Marsh pointed out that I've already made so many huge changes. He pointed out that I had not only the courage to come out of the closet when I fell for Cara, but to change my mind when I felt it was right for me to go back to men. He also pointed out, of course, the weight loss. He said that so many people can stick to a diet for a bit, but then they fall off the wagon and go back to status quo. But not only did I stick to it, I changed who I was for it. I changed my life, my weight, my health...
Honestly, I was baffled. I had really never considered all that before. Never considered that perhaps I'm not afraid at all... Or even when I am, I can still find the strength to go forward, to take those steps.
It's a rare day, folks, when someone changes your idea of your very own fundamental self. I'm turned inside out, but shyly proud at the same time. This Laura who I thought was a big mess... it turns out she's got something pretty good going for her.
Thank you, Marsh.
Monday, March 17, 2008
The Great Scale Bash
I have this very cool friend who is a therapist at an in-patient center for eating disorders. I picked his brain Saturday over lunch, because I have another friend about whom I'm worried. As we discussed my friend, I began to realize why I'm worried about her, and then why I second-guess my worry.
He asked me to describe her eating patterns, and I said, "Oh, she does eat. I've seen her. It seems like she'll either eat a whole lot or a very very little." He immediately had a name for that - which I can't remember, of course! - and said that it's definitely disordered eating. He described feelings of extreme guilt after the overeating episodes, and then undereating to gain a sense of control. Yes, yes, I'm thinking, that's my friend! But... wait... how would I know how she feels?
Oh, yes, because that's how I feel.
I quietly admitted that to him, and he nodded sagely. "That's how to approach your friend," he advised, "Share that you're there, too."
We started talking then about the scale. I proudly reported that I haven't weighed myself in three weeks, then slammed against a wall of honesty and had to admit that it's because I'm afraid I won't like the number. I confessed that I weigh myself a lot when I know I'll like what I see, and not at all when I know I'll hate it. I think to myself, I just have to get this under control... then I can check the scale again.
At that point, he described to me what his doctors told him when he had gastric bypass surgery - that weight is a medical issue; he worries about how he feels, and the doctors worry about how much he weighs. What a concept, huh?! He told me about the scale-bashing parties they have at his clinic. They literally take the scales out with sledge hammers and beat the shit out of them. I started laughing... I love it!
It was a big moment for me. I thought about that scale at home - the one I bought so proudly on sale - and thought about how much it sort of haunts me as I go about my life. And what sort of life? The kind where I'm happy only when I'm starving myself? That's not ok. I went home after lunch, grabbed the offending appliance, and took it out back with my two hammers (single girl, two hammers). I set the scale on the ground and raised the heavier hammer... but at the last minute started to worry what the neighbors would think. And, frankly, I wanted to be able to war-cry while I did it. So I took it back inside and set it on a chair with the hammers on top of it, to lie in wait for its desctruction.
Now I'm thinking I want to gather my friends around me and let us all take a swing. Just the thought is extremely liberating.
I realize the conflict when I write this. Those numbers were so important to me for so long. They got me here, to my size six (another number!) and my new, healthier life. I honestly don't know how I would have done it without them... not in a "God bless the numbers!" way, but genuinely... how do you lose weight, especially a massive amount, without paying attention to the scale?
But it's time to let go. It's time to stop living for the diet, time to stop feeling guilty about everything that goes in my mouth. It's time to refocus on health and well-being, not numbers.
Yeah, great, Laura, but how does one go about that?? Well, I've got no freaking clue. But I'm sure as hell going to try, and my first step is to wail on that scale Office Space style.
He asked me to describe her eating patterns, and I said, "Oh, she does eat. I've seen her. It seems like she'll either eat a whole lot or a very very little." He immediately had a name for that - which I can't remember, of course! - and said that it's definitely disordered eating. He described feelings of extreme guilt after the overeating episodes, and then undereating to gain a sense of control. Yes, yes, I'm thinking, that's my friend! But... wait... how would I know how she feels?
Oh, yes, because that's how I feel.
I quietly admitted that to him, and he nodded sagely. "That's how to approach your friend," he advised, "Share that you're there, too."
We started talking then about the scale. I proudly reported that I haven't weighed myself in three weeks, then slammed against a wall of honesty and had to admit that it's because I'm afraid I won't like the number. I confessed that I weigh myself a lot when I know I'll like what I see, and not at all when I know I'll hate it. I think to myself, I just have to get this under control... then I can check the scale again.
At that point, he described to me what his doctors told him when he had gastric bypass surgery - that weight is a medical issue; he worries about how he feels, and the doctors worry about how much he weighs. What a concept, huh?! He told me about the scale-bashing parties they have at his clinic. They literally take the scales out with sledge hammers and beat the shit out of them. I started laughing... I love it!
It was a big moment for me. I thought about that scale at home - the one I bought so proudly on sale - and thought about how much it sort of haunts me as I go about my life. And what sort of life? The kind where I'm happy only when I'm starving myself? That's not ok. I went home after lunch, grabbed the offending appliance, and took it out back with my two hammers (single girl, two hammers). I set the scale on the ground and raised the heavier hammer... but at the last minute started to worry what the neighbors would think. And, frankly, I wanted to be able to war-cry while I did it. So I took it back inside and set it on a chair with the hammers on top of it, to lie in wait for its desctruction.
Now I'm thinking I want to gather my friends around me and let us all take a swing. Just the thought is extremely liberating.
I realize the conflict when I write this. Those numbers were so important to me for so long. They got me here, to my size six (another number!) and my new, healthier life. I honestly don't know how I would have done it without them... not in a "God bless the numbers!" way, but genuinely... how do you lose weight, especially a massive amount, without paying attention to the scale?
But it's time to let go. It's time to stop living for the diet, time to stop feeling guilty about everything that goes in my mouth. It's time to refocus on health and well-being, not numbers.
Yeah, great, Laura, but how does one go about that?? Well, I've got no freaking clue. But I'm sure as hell going to try, and my first step is to wail on that scale Office Space style.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Skepticism?
Last night Cath sent me two blog posts that she thought I'd find interesting, one a horrifying breakdown of Weight Watchers statistics, and the other a bitingly bitter hoorah to the first.
For you, the first: http://fatfu.wordpress.com/2008/01/24/weight-watchers/
And the second: http://ottermatic.wordpress.com/2008/01/24/one-in-a-thousand-a-break-up-story/
My reaction to them, predictably, was mixed. The first had my jaw on the floor - am I really so rare to have not only lost this much weight, but maintained it? Apparently. And the second had me cringing and having to force myself to keep reading.
It isn't that I don't understand - on the contrary, I think the problem is that I understand all too well. It is patently ridiculous to expect someone to live on 1,100 calories a day, no doubt. And as I've said myself, all those "encouraging" platitudes have, for me, the substance of a stack of 4 saltines (1 point). Sticking to any diet, Weight Watchers included, is not just rough, it's almost self-mutilating.
I know, that sounds completely maudlin and ridiculous, doesn't it? But I stand by it.
Here's where I'm going to offer a different perspective, though... I'd argue that the way most of us "fat chicks" treat our bodies when we're not dieting is just as bad. So, what? It's another Kerry vs. Bush, isn't it? There just isn't a good answer.
I've lost 150 pounds. I lost the first 100 without any help from Weight Watchers (the ol' dubdub), Jenny Craig, Atkins, Nutrisystem, Richard Simmons, South Beach, bulemia, or any of those friendly commercial options. I cut out hydrogenated oils, high fructose corn syrup, and caffeine. I began walking and kept walking, at least five days a week. I started running. I lifted weights. With four little rules, I changed my entire spread of habits. I can't stress how amazing this part was - I was excited, motivated, happier, healthier, and losing weight slowly and safely. At 5'9" and 200 pounds, I could eat pretty much what I wanted within those rules, and not think too hard about any of it. That whole process took me about two years.
But those last 50? That's where Weight Watchers came in. And, yeah, it sucks. It's exciting at first, too, but it really does suck. Don't get me wrong, it works. If you follow the plan, it works. It's just that following the plan sucks.
So... what to do? How much does losing those pounds matter to you? My first 100 were most certainly a matter of life and death (the average life expectancy for obese people is shockingly young according to a documentary I watched recently), but the last 50? Were those necessity or vanity? I don't know for sure, but I suspect the latter.
I still don't regret any of it, and I'm damn proud of what I've done. It's just food for thought, so to speak. Perhaps if people were honest about how hard weight loss is, there would be fewer people attempting it. But maybe there'd also be fewer who fail.
For you, the first: http://fatfu.wordpress.com/2008/01/24/weight-watchers/
And the second: http://ottermatic.wordpress.com/2008/01/24/one-in-a-thousand-a-break-up-story/
My reaction to them, predictably, was mixed. The first had my jaw on the floor - am I really so rare to have not only lost this much weight, but maintained it? Apparently. And the second had me cringing and having to force myself to keep reading.
It isn't that I don't understand - on the contrary, I think the problem is that I understand all too well. It is patently ridiculous to expect someone to live on 1,100 calories a day, no doubt. And as I've said myself, all those "encouraging" platitudes have, for me, the substance of a stack of 4 saltines (1 point). Sticking to any diet, Weight Watchers included, is not just rough, it's almost self-mutilating.
I know, that sounds completely maudlin and ridiculous, doesn't it? But I stand by it.
Here's where I'm going to offer a different perspective, though... I'd argue that the way most of us "fat chicks" treat our bodies when we're not dieting is just as bad. So, what? It's another Kerry vs. Bush, isn't it? There just isn't a good answer.
I've lost 150 pounds. I lost the first 100 without any help from Weight Watchers (the ol' dubdub), Jenny Craig, Atkins, Nutrisystem, Richard Simmons, South Beach, bulemia, or any of those friendly commercial options. I cut out hydrogenated oils, high fructose corn syrup, and caffeine. I began walking and kept walking, at least five days a week. I started running. I lifted weights. With four little rules, I changed my entire spread of habits. I can't stress how amazing this part was - I was excited, motivated, happier, healthier, and losing weight slowly and safely. At 5'9" and 200 pounds, I could eat pretty much what I wanted within those rules, and not think too hard about any of it. That whole process took me about two years.
But those last 50? That's where Weight Watchers came in. And, yeah, it sucks. It's exciting at first, too, but it really does suck. Don't get me wrong, it works. If you follow the plan, it works. It's just that following the plan sucks.
So... what to do? How much does losing those pounds matter to you? My first 100 were most certainly a matter of life and death (the average life expectancy for obese people is shockingly young according to a documentary I watched recently), but the last 50? Were those necessity or vanity? I don't know for sure, but I suspect the latter.
I still don't regret any of it, and I'm damn proud of what I've done. It's just food for thought, so to speak. Perhaps if people were honest about how hard weight loss is, there would be fewer people attempting it. But maybe there'd also be fewer who fail.
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