I snigger at those Life Alert commercials. It’s sad when old ladies fall down for realz, but the actresses they use in the ads are so horrible they’re funny. They must hire the producer’s grandmothers. They stretch out on the bathroom floor and ham it up with all the subtlety of the ingénue confronting Lon Chaney in a silent horror film.
They’re usually fully dressed in a nice outfit, hair perfectly coiffed, makeup applied just so, manicured and wearing their pearls. Is this a typical day for granny, just hanging around the house ready to go to the opera?
I digress. The thing is, I’m living those commercials.
I’ve fallen…off my diet. And I can’t get up.
Those who have been following this blog for a while have shared the hope, the despair, the highs and lows of the family weight-loss challenge that began last year. (For the whole, sordid story, check out the category Biggest Loser: Family Edition in the right hand column. ) You experienced (almost first hand) my moment of triumph at finishing the challenge with 63 pounds lost. Now you can share my rude awakening as we dial it back to 58 pounds lost.
If I’m a shining beacon of weight-loss hope for some of y’all, I apologize for what I’m going to say here, but we have to keep it real.
Ever since I reached my goal, I’ve been struggling. I keep gaining and losing the same 5 pounds.
For a while there – whole months, in fact – I was in the zone. Healthy eating was easy. It was the only choice. What else would a thinking person do? I thought I was in the end zone. I had spiked the diet football and stopped the clock. Apparently not.
I seem to be in the danger zone instead. The Ho-Hos, Ben & Jerry’s and Good & Plentys, all of which lay dormant for so long, have found their voices again. They sing their unrelenting siren songs to me and I answer. Damn how I answer.
I weigh myself every morning, right after I wake up. I know, I know. Shut up. I weigh in right after I use the bathroom (natch), but before I brush my teeth. Just in case I accidentally swallow some toothpaste calories. Don’t judge me. I strip down to my undies, pull out the scale, say “the truth shall set you free” and step lightly aboard. I really do say that every time, although I don’t say it out loud. I’m a little eccentric; maybe a little OCD, but I’m not nuts.
You’re still judging – I see you over there, judging!
My friendly foe, the bathroom scale, has revealed upward swings even higher than the much-lamented 5 pounds. I suspect I may have hit 10 pounds, but I refused to weigh myself for a few days last week until I got my eating back under control a little. So the official toll was 8-1/2 pounds regained. Now I’m back down to 5 up. If that makes sense.
The best time in the entire last year for me was ’round about March. There was a period when I was strutting around, looking good in my size 10 jeans and high heels, and not being on a diet. It’s every Faticia McFatty’s fantasy – to look hot AND be able to eat and drink whatever the hell you want.
That lasted about 1 week. Then the “whatever the hell you want” meal plan had the predictable “hell no, these jeans are tight!” results.
If only I was addicted to crack-cocaine or something else easier to kick. Ha ha! Just kidding. Of course I’m kidding. But not really.
You can quit smoking. You can quit drinking. You can quit drugs. It’s not easy – I KNOW it’s not easy. Please believe me, I’m not downplaying the struggle nor in any way dissing those who wrestle with it. I am full of admiration for those who master these powerful addictions. The thing is, you CAN quit. You can go cold turkey and never smoke, drink or shoot-up again.
You can’t quit food.
Every hour, every meal, every day…
Every lunch or dinner out with friends…
Every stroll down the aisle at the grocery store…
Every night, staring at the contents of the pantry and fridge with the munchies riding hard…
Every stinking time you put something in your mouth for the rest of your life…
you have to make a choice.
The quinoa or the Dairy Queen Cappuccino Heath Blizzard. What’s it gonna be, Peg?
I am resolved to make the right choices. That resolution is shaky; as wobbly as a whole Weebleville full of wobbly, but I am resolved.
It’s just really depressing.