Raw Drip

Yesterday I joined Weight Watchers for about the 5th time in my life. 

Wipe that look off your face.  It’s all good.  Here’s the thing: I “get” what my problems are - primarily an addiction to bread-based carbs and an overly flexible interpretation of an appropriate serving size.  Indeed, intellectually speaking I could run that WW weekly meeting and do a helluva bang-up job! People would love me – the knowledgeable, motivational fat girl that has clearly been through the program a few times before.   

So if it’s not a question of knowledge, what is my problem?  I’ve thought about this a lot and my problem is that I have trouble thinking long-term.  Like many people, I’m an instant gratification junkie who can only see the short-term satisfaction of eating a warm cinnamon roll.  As I stuff my face with frosted gooiness, all the long-term implications of my actions drift into the background.  I become the Scarlett O’Hara of food telling myself that “Tomorrow is another day…” While, it is another day, I tend to lack Scarlett’s single-minded focus on achieving goals. 

On top of my lack of focus,  I HATE to exercise.  Really - HATE IT.  Walking is fine with me and I have some stellar shapely calves to prove it, but a formalized exercise routine is my personal definition of hell.

Looking back, it’s hard to pinpoint when my struggle with weight and self-image began since it seems to have been with me always.  I’ve been 6ft tall since age 11 with a substantial build so even as a child I was freakishly large, especially for a girl.  My first memory of actually feeling ashamed of my largeness was going to the Orange County Fair (yep, that O.C.) and not being allowed to ride the ponies because I was “too fat”.  The carni operating the pony ride insisted on weighing me as I stood in line for my turn and then shouted my weight to my family and the entire crowd followed by the words, “Sorry folks. Your daughter’s too fat for this ride!”  The weight limit was 100 pounds.  I was 8 years old and weighed 105 pounds.  

Shortly after my humiliating fair ground experience I remember becoming fascinated with a weight loss device advertised in the back of my mother’s National Enquirer magazine.  According to the ad for the magic cube you just hold onto the cube several times a day, thinking positive thoughts and it would mysteriously jump-start your metabolism so you could lose weight without dieting.  Its effectiveness was attested to by several prominent doctors who obliging provided their initials beneath their enthusiastic testimonials.  At $19.99 the magic cube seemed like a small price to pay for thin.  

I never did get around to buying the magic cube, but I did eat a lot of Ayds.  Do you remember Ayds?   They were the (unfortunately named) hunger suppressant candies popular in the 70’s.  I think my mom lived off of those and Juicy Fruit chewing gum for most of my youth.   Anyway, I went through a period of mass Ayds consumption to no avail and then stumbled upon the fantastic weight loss effects of the Jane Fonda Workout during my middle school years. 

I’ve got to give Jane credit – her exercise regimen worked!  I did lose weight and I did notice increased energy.  But after a while I became bored.  How many times can you do the same workout routine?  After a year of almost daily workouts in P.E. I had the routine memorized and my weight loss had reached a plateau.  To this day I can’t listen to that James Ingram song “Find 100 Ways” without hearing Jane cheering, “Lift…squeeze – woo!  Hot cross buns!”. 

Another self-esteem turning point in my youth was the annual public humiliation and torture known as the “President’s Physical Fitness Test”.   It was always unclear to me why Ronald Reagan should care whether or not I could do 10 pull ups or 25 push ups, but my entire middle school phys ed curriculum was structured around conditioning us for success on this test.  Maybe it had something to do with the Cold War…

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that as a tall, clumsy, asthmatic teen I couldn’t pass, let alone perform, any of the challenges on the President’s test.  It was probably the only test I took and failed every year.  Academically, I was a star pupil but when they made me run a mile on the track I’d be in acute pulmonary distress after the first lap. 

So, there’s no mystery in how I got to where I am.  Eats too much – check!  Hates to exercise – check!  Naturally cursed with a zaftig build – check!

The mystery lies in figuring out how I’m going find that place within myself that is happy with how I look and feel and is so pleased with me that I’ll make the necessary sacrifices to maintain my weight.  Following a diet is easy, but changing that part of your life is hard. 

And I know I’m not one of those women who looks at her husband and says, “Gosh. I decided to lose weight for him – to keep that spark alive.”  I’m more like, “Dude, here I am.  Fat, thin, take it or leave it.”  

I also realize that there is no such thing as losing weight for my kids.  There’s a great line in the movie “Terms of Endearment” when Debra Winger’s character is explaining something to her boys and she says very matter-of-factly, “I love you almost as much as I love myself…”  Every time I hear that line it gets to me.  If only I could be that self-possessed!  I love & adore my children and I do want to be healthy enough to be with them a very long time, but I think I’m going to have to love myself first and that’s really tough.  We women are notoriously guilt-ridden creatures.  And I know me and I know how unlovable, stubborn and difficult I can be.  I want to be able to eat that cinnamon roll without guilt because I’ll feel secure in the knowledge that one cinnamon roll doesn’t amount to a dietary tipping point - it doesn’t have to be the beginning of the end.  It’s all about moderation, after all.   I just wish I didn’t suck at moderation so much.