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| My family at Disneyland in December 2012 from left: son-in-law Patrick, daughter Allison, daughter Megan, son-in-law Christopher, husband Jim, and my chubby self. Charlotte is in front doing some weird shoulder thing. I'm going to use this as my "before" picture. |
Actually, this is the 41st year of my association with that organization. I started back when I didn't actually have enough weight to lose to qualify for the program. Used to be, if you didn't have 20 or 25 pounds to lose (I can't remember), you had to have a note from your doctor.
So I got my family physician to write me a letter saying my health would improve if I lost 18 pounds. Now, all these years later, I would kill to only have 20 pounds to lose. I'm far, far away from that and have been since I had children.
I like to tease my daughters that they ruined my figure. I had just dieted my way into a size 11 when I got pregnant. I still have that dress that I wore to a friend's wedding, just to prove to myself that it actually happened. I quit smoking as soon as I found out I was pregnant, so I attribute about 30 pounds of the weight gain to that. I eventually was 70 pounds overweight when I delivered.
The truth is, I was never thin. I was a chubby child, which never bothered me until I hit sixth-grade and became aware that other people were judging me. I was wearing go-go boots and hip-hugger skirts, and though I looked fantastic. Developing self-consciousness is a bitch. From that early 1960s realization on, never a day went by that I didn't worry about how I looked or mourn how fat I was.
In junior high and high school, it was only 20 pounds too many, but it seemed like 100. Now, I mourn all the hours I spent worrying about those measly 20 pounds, especially when I know exactly how bad it can get.
I know I'm insane for going public with this, because announcing you're on a diet usually dooms you to failure. Consider Kirstie Alley, Wynonna Judd, Carnie Wilson. They make public pronouncements, then fall off the wagon and end up packing the pounds back on. I've sat next to enough gastric-bypass patients in WW meetings to know that's not a silver bullet, either.
In Weight Watcher meetings, I'm a pain in the ass. I crack jokes and quote so many Alcoholic Anonymous slogans that members must think I'm in recovery. Think about it, those slogans are applicable to many endeavors in life: One Day at a Time, Easy Does It, Keep it Simple Stupid, and my favorite, It Works if you Work It.
Pretty much any plan works if you work it, but WW works better than others. I've lost 23 pounds since I started about eight weeks ago. I'm doing water aerobics three times a week at the gym. I feel better and have a lot more energy.
The plan is much better than it was in the late 60s and early 70s when I started. A woman found some Weight Watcher recipe cards from 1974 in her mother's basement, including many for mackerel, and put them on the internet with some very funny comments. Back then, the plan was based on the diabetic exchange program. We used to talk about eating "boxes" because each food group had little squares after it that stood for one unit of that food.
The program back then called for you to eat a certain amount of tuna and liver every week. I was okay with the tuna, but I'd rather be fat the rest of my life than eat liver. Just the smell of it makes me want to retch. Seriously, when we have iron supplements, why would anyone eat that disgusting stuff? My dad liked it, but he had to order liver and onions in restaurants, so we didn't have to cook it at home.
This time, I really believe I'm going all the way, because I'm scared. Fear is a fantastic motivator. Every single health problem I have would be eliminated or made better by losing weight and a better diet: bad knees, acid reflux, sleep apnea, and high blood pressure. I'm not getting any younger, and I want to be able to run after Charlotte and her soon-to-be born baby brother.
I always had people who loved me and found me attractive at any size, and the weight never stopped me from doing anything I wanted to do, but I had to overcome a degree of humiliation. Like having to wear a man's wetsuit and fold up the legs and sleeves because I was too fat to fit into a woman's version. The same thing happened in fencing: my fencing jacket sleeves practically hung to my calves because I had to wear a man's size.
Many of the health habits I acquired from Weight Watchers stuck with me in-between the times I actually was working the program. I almost always substituted something for fries when eating out, and I never eat hamburgers. But birthday cake is my bete noire; I will scrape off the buttercream icing and eat it with a spoon.
If I don't arrive early enough to my Tuesday night meeting I won't get a seat because of all the New Year's resolution newcomers. I wish them the best, but I know from my years of experience, that the herd will be considerably thinner by Easter. With any luck, I'll still be there, learning how to avoid my Easter temptations: chocolate-covered marshmallow bunnies, and yellow Peeps.
Then the pre-bathing-suit crowd will show up at meetings, and for once, looking for a suit might not be the tremendous ordeal it has been in the past. By then, I should be considerably smaller. I am resigned to the fact that like alcoholics, I'm never going to be done with meetings. Maybe I'll apply to be a leader when I get to goal, since I have to be there anyway. Might as well get paid for it.
