June 22, 2002
I didn’t do well at all this week with staying off the scale. I started strong on Monday, resisting the temptation to see what effect a weekend of mostly not tracking points had had. But by Tuesday night, I was back to my hopping ways. Before working out, nude, I was up half a pound up from the past Saturday morning. Good, the weekend didn’t do any lasting damage. After working out and eating dinner, dressed, I was up two more pounds. That was all right, because I could blame it on the clothes and my full stomach. Wednesday morning, nude, I was down 2.5 pounds from the night before. Okay, but I’d really been hoping for better based on the reading the first time I’d weighed myself the evening before. Wednesday night, dressed: up 2.5 pounds from the morning reading. Not bad because Wednesday was my very high point day. Thursday morning: same as Wednesday morning. Good, because my very high point day hadn’t caused a blip, but wonder if the gain will show up a day later. Thursday night, after dinner, still the same as that morning. What? Could that be right? Off and on a couple more times to confirm the reading, and it holds. Cool, but I wonder if it’s a fluke. Friday morning: down a pound from Thursday morning. Happy, but worry that it’s a fluke or that I’ll screw it up on Friday and won’t have that loss to record on my official weigh-in day on Saturday. Friday night, after dinner, dressed: up 2.5 pounds from the morning reading; worry what the next day will bring.
Gah. Why can I not stop this? I know that weighing myself too often just messes with my head. Why is it so hard for me to act on that knowledge by not acting on the urge to see what the scale has to say once or twice or three times day? I am just wasting energy thinking about what these interim weight readings mean. I can’t really enjoy the low ones, because they might be temporary, yet I get bummed out by the high ones, even though most of them are temporary, too. There is a better way, and I know what it is, yet I don’t do it that way. That’s just dumb, and I like to think of myself as a smart person.
But I can’t spend too much time feeling bad about my inability to stay off the scale because this morning, my official weigh-in day, I was 162 pounds. That means I lost 2 pounds last week, after being pretty much plateaued for two weeks. Yay, me! It also means I’m at the lowest weight I’ve been since May of 2000, and that’s a big accomplishment. (Actually, that May, 2000 weight was probably four or five pounds higher, because it was on the old, less accurate scale). This brings my total loss to seventeen pounds in twelve weeks, which is pretty good.
I shudder to think what the scale will say the next time I officially weigh-in, because that will be after my annual long weekend trip with Mom. I have a horrible track record when it comes to eating sensibly on vacation. “You’re on vacation,” my brain says, “You’re supposed to be having fun. Having fun means eating whatever you want. Here, have another order of fried cheese.” In theory, it’s possible to stay on program with Weight Watchers and vacation at the same time, but I’ve never done it. Well, I’ve never done it more than one or two meals in a row. I need a plan; I need to set some limits for myself and decide which food indulgences are worth it and which aren’t. Gorging myself at the breakfast buffet every morning is probably not worth it, but allowing myself to do it one morning might be a good idea to keep the part of my brain that screams “deprivation” quiet. I can choose not to spend points on meals at restaurants I can eat at when I’m home. I can choose to eat some meals in the room. There are a lot of things I can do; as always, the problem is deciding what to do and then following through. If I have a plan and stick to it, I’ll feel successful even if I do gain a few pounds while I’m gone. I know I can lose them again—I’ve proven that over these last twelve weeks.