So, third time’s a charm…or so they say.
Actually, I did a pretty good job of preparing myself mentally before returning to WW this morning after five weeks of not going. A good thing I did. As I’m standing there, the woman about to weight me asks how I’m doing. My response, in true Chloe form, “Well, I haven’t been here in five weeks and I know I’ve gained weight, so I’m not doing great. If I just don’t weight more than when I started, I’ll be happy.”
“If I just don’t weigh more than a pound more than when I started, I’ll be happy.”
“Whatever, I’m here. I’m starting over and that’s what matters, right?”
Weight woman, looking at me wondering why I’m not getting on the scale (or so I think): “Well, are you ready?”
And the reality hits me like a brick (one that I knew was coming, but even if you know a brick is going to hit you in the face, it still hurts); up 1.6 lbs from when I started. Well, when I started the second time. Overall, I’m still down 5 lbs and I’m going with that happy thought right now.
This is a process; a painful, awful, excruciating, and often disappointing one, but a process nonetheless. And each time I go through it, I learn a little more about myself and how I function.
The important thing is I don’t feel hopeless; disappointed, but not hopeless. I know why I gained weight and, while it would be nice to make a million excuses for myself, like that my metabolism sucks, or that genetically I’m not made to be thin, or that other people don’t suffer from emotional eating, or that I shouldn’t have gained that much because I was paying attention and eating less than usual, the bottom line is that I have been eating too much for me (although, as you have seen, some of it has not been wasted calories…although the majority has) and not exercising enough (which will be really funny next weekend when I’m dying as I attempt to finish a half marathon…notice I didn’t say “run”).
Yes, it’s frustrating, but I can only really blame myself. I know what I have to do to make this happen. For me, I have to be a points-Nazi. I still sometimes delude myself into thinking that I can estimate and keep track in my head, but I can’t and I don’t. So, back on the horse I climb, a little scratched, and a little bruised, but at least I can still get back on. The only thing that would really make me feel like a failure was if I stopped trying to ride.