A Brief History of the Relationship Between Ms. Adiposa and The Wagon

24 Aug

sometiems u fall  off da wagon 

Believe it or not, I’m not a yo-yo dieter – not yet.  Nor do I have any intentions of becoming one, though I suppose it’s worth noting that nobody sets out with that noble goal in mind. 

I don’t remember the exact date I first got off my ass and decided to lose weight, but it was probably about five years ago.  Originally I had typed “definitely more than four and less than six years ago”, and then I realized that pretty much answered my question right there.  At the time I was working a different desk job than I am right now (SSDD*) and had made work-buddies with a lady who had – back when she was my age – used Weight Watchers to hit her goal weight and stay there during her young and wild years.  She had apparently even actually been a Weight Watchers leader.  Now she was 50 and had done what most middle-aged people do and gained weight and desperately wanted to lose it again. 

She had been talking about it for a while, and I’d been paying only vague attention for a while.  Losing weight was something I always wanted to do – who doesn’t? – and understood on a theoretical level as something I needed to do.  At the time I was at my highest weight of 260 pounds (some people talk about the Freshman 15…I ate my through the Freshman 40), but to be honest I had no idea where to start, and was more afraid of starting something that would turn me into a yo-yo dieter than I was of not losing weight.  And I didn’t know how to tell the difference between a “good diet” and a “bad one” (short of the most logical ones – if it says all you have to do is eat these magic cookies for two weeks and you’ll weigh a gazillion pounds less…even at my most ignorant on the topic I would have had to stop to wonder). 

And then, at Easter time, my mother randomly decided to check my blood sugar levels (one of her foster kids had recently been diagnosed as diabetic and we were trying to show him not to fear the needle) and the number made her gasp my name, which is never a good thing.  I had an annual check up scheduled anyway, so I brought it up with the doctor, he did an official blood test, and told me I was “pre-diabetes” – another doctor later clarified the diagnosis to “insulin resistant.” 

This, combined with the fact that I have PCOS, which already pre-disposes me to have diabetes at some point in my life, was a bad enough combo to make me cringe at the thought of the amount of effort that was going to be required to fix this before it became unfixable.  But I went back into work and talked to my work-buddy and off we marched to Weight Watchers. 

Over the course of the next three-ish years (minus those unfortunate six months where I fell off the wagon the first time), I saw my weight drop – slowly at times, but always down – to approximately 190 pounds.  That’s a 70 pound loss.  I was and remain intensely proud of that achievement.  It was an incredible victory to break through that “2” at the start of my weight, and an even better one to drop just below the obese line on my BMI (overweight FTW!). 

This was the point it started to get hard.  Up until that point the weight had been coming off relatively steadily without me having to make obscenely drastic changes to my routine – I think over a certain weight even the tiniest changes will take the weight off.  But now I hit my first “plateau” (not a true plateau in the sense that I was doing everything right and still not losing – just in the sense of the weight not coming off anymore).  I wavered back and forth between 190 and 195 for another six months or so, never giving up hope, just slowly considering my habits and routines and trying to decide what I could bear to part with now that the easy changes were no longer giving as good a return on my investment. 

And then the bus drivers went on strike. 

At the time, I did not have a car, nor the license to drive one.  I worked from home the whole time – all fifty-six days of it. 

You might think this would have been a good thing for my weight, and I know for some people it would have been a boon.  But home has traditionally been where I have the most trouble controlling what I eat.  At work my day is structured and finite, and I live and die by habits and routines.  It was easy to structure my eating around my day and control it that way.  At home, my time is free and unstructured, and I’m tired and stressed from the day at work, and if anything emotion is going to happen to me, it’s going to happen at home.  So at home is where I eat, where I binge, where I lose control. 

When that bingeing is limited to the evenings, I could deal with it.  Eat well enough during the day at work, and I could compensate most of the time for eating too much or too badly at home. 

ANd I was at home for fifty-six days.  No car to get out of the house and go somewhere, no busses to take me.  Dead of winter, and far too cold to try to walk anywhere.  I was lonely within a week, and just a little crazy within three.  And bored.  Oh my God I was bored.  Plus it was the holiday season. 

Every single bad habit I thought I’d left behind me reared their ugly heads and attacked at the same time.  Chips found their way into the house again, portion control went out the window, I wouldn’t even look at food if it was green and leafy.  I ordered pizza almost every day and would eat the whole thing.  None of this saving some for tomorrow BS. 

The damage to my weight was calculable – somewhere in the area of twenty-five pounds.  The damage to my morale was not.  More than anything else I was intensely disappointed in myself, and frustrated that all that progress I’d thought I’d made – not in terms of pounds, but in terms of habits – had not been nearly as solid as I had thought.  I fell off that wagon hard and fast and barely even cared as I watched it pull away from me. 

I have been trying since then to regain the good habits and ditch the bad, to get back on the track I had been before the bus strike.  I have managed to maintain at anywhere between 210-215 pounds.  I have not dipped over 215, and that’s a success.  I’ve stopped the weight GAIN, but now I need to get it moving in the other direction again. 

My original goal was 160 lbs or until I was happy with my weight, whichever came first, and that remains the ultimate goal.  But mostly I just want those habits back. 

More than liking what I saw in the mirror, more than being this close to getting to shop in regular stores, I was happy that I was finally in control of my eating, and by extension my life.  I was proud that I had been able to turn around so many of my habits, confident that I would be able to continue down that path.  That’s my first step, my primary goal right now. 

cat

Just get back on the wagon. 

The weight will take care of itself. 


*Same Shit, Different Division

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