Monday, December 28, 2009

Afterthoughts and Vintage Diet Rootbeer

Tonight, my Diet IBC Rootbeer and I salute you. Why is it vintage? Well, I bought it Wednesday, and the last of the six pack survived until Monday. Around here, that's some pretty old IBC, so I've waited until the children were abed, and I am opening it, as I prepare to relay to you the experience of my very first Weight Watchers meeting.

At 5:35, after a day of anticipation, I tossed Texas toast onto the childrens' plates along with the rest of their dinners, kissed my husband, grabbed my purse and my keys, and raced out the door. My meeting was at 6:00, and the on-line instructions said to be thirty minutes early, but I was going anyway. Mayhem had reigned at my house, right up to the moment of my departure, but nothing was going to stop me from making my rendezvous--not the make-up-less-ness of my face, not the spit-up on my sweatpants, not the dog hair on my sweater, and not the fear in my little palpitating heart.

Five minutes later, I parked, grabbed my pocketbook, and headed toward the store front emblazoned with "Weight Watchers" before my mind had a chance to catch up with my feet. As I approached, I noted that the entire front of my chosen headquarters was glass. Shouldn't they have blinds or something? Lots of blinds? You know, blinds to close to protect--well, maybe not the innocent--but at least the embarrassed, the shy, and the utterly cowed.

At least, in any case, to protect those of us who were walking through the door feeling like a three-tiered potato garden with legs. And that is exactly how I felt as I faced the lovely AND THIN women behind the counter. Now what you should know, is that the reason I have probably left Weight Watchers as a last resort for all these years--aside from the money issue--is that I always felt that Weight Watchers was a sentence. You know, kind of like community service--you've been bad, so you deserve some kind of punishment.

Then a couple ladies at my church who I thought looked pretty good anyway, starting looking more and more fabulous, and come to find out, they were doing Weight Watchers. I still wasn't convinced though, as it took me up until a couple of years ago, to admit I had a problem with food addiction. So, with this better understanding, when my brother asked me what Weight Watchers was, I told him it was like AAA, only for people with food addictions.

Yeah. After he got done laughing at me, he informed me that AAA was for cars, and AA was for alcoholics, but that he wished me the best with WW. Well, I needed all the good wishes I could get when all 6 of us got on the scale in front of the big glass windows. I'm not sure the truth set us free, but here it is for all of you who are sickly desiring to know. Me, myself, the ta-ta tier, the mid-torso tier, the tushy tier, and I weighed in at 206 pounds.

I waited for the ghastly number to flash somewhere in foot tall digital letters accompanied by lights and sirens, but nothing like that happened. In fact, not even I got to find out until later. The wonderful woman behind the counter didn't even raise her eyebrows. She just printed out this little sticker, stuck it in my book over the place that said "WEEK 1" and welcomed me warmly with a manageable handful of beginners materials and instructions.

During the meeting, I sat next to another newby, a woman who looked about my size, and listened to an older couple talk about beating their children at "Wii: Just Dance" over Christmas. I found out later, the man has lost 115 pounds in the last year. Suddenly, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I could do it too.

I left the meeting with my first goal in mind--just 5% of my body weight--10 pounds; and I also felt encouraged that I was already on the right track with some goal setting of my own. During the meeting, a GOAL was defined in the following way:

"A goal is created three times. First as a mental picture. Second, when written down to add clarity and dimension. And third, when you take action toward achievement."

So here goes. I am making my mental picture: me and my skinny jeans--with the potato garden days left behind for good. I am writing it down to create clarity and dimension--might be causing a rift in the space time continuum--but I'm writing it down. And tonight, I took another step toward achieving my goal.

I am allowed 28 points a day, with 35 flex points throughout the week if needed. I'll be reporting my points here everyday. Yep. I'll be standing in front of the glass window, and the whole world's gonna know how I did every, single day.

What a time for my root beer to be gone . . .

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