The Old Watcher of the Weight

Published February 25, 2015 by sarcasmica

Yup, that’s me. I’ve been going to meetings since last October. Four months. Know what i’ve managed to lose?

ten pounds.

That’s it.

Actually, i’ve lost nearly 15, but i’ve been slowly adding pounds for the last three weeks. I’ve been limping into my meetings knowing full well that I haven’t tracked, monitored, activitied, or otherwise. The meetings were the jist of my effort.

Last week my leader asked, “So what are you going to commit to do this week?”  “Track.” “For how many days?” – damn pushy leaders always wanting an actual goal! – “Two days.”   “Ok, that’s a great start.”

I tracked for seven! From zero to seven! Now, about three weeks ago I got a bug up my butt to exercise. I dusted off a DVD a fellow WW-er let me have and did a “cardio dance” portion. Feeling like I needed a real kick in the butt, I invited (sorta) my neighbor to go for a walk with myself and my four year old, her bike, and my mini mutt.

The next day my back went out. Like, out.

I missed that week’s meeting. After about four days, I was well into the kids’ mid-winter break. I had my fitbit on and doing nothing more than collecting data to show me how little I do in a day. I was determined to get some kind of walking in, so I took the kids to the zoo. … along with the population of Seattle, it seemed.

Still, I tracked.

Over the weekend, I went out for a de-stressing dinner with my husband and worked out some of our recent issues. This, of course, involved alcohol.

Still, I tracked.

My son came down with a fever and chills Sunday evening. He made it that much more exciting by throwing in some night terrors and paranoia. He got to stay home from school.

Still, I tracked.

I felt zero motivation to lift nothing but my finger to recline my sofa, let alone my leg to lift a foot for 3K more steps.

I still tracked.

Next my daughter’s croupy cough came back and we all got to deal with the magic of waking up every single night to listen to the barking seal performance. I had the added bonus of administering a tiny  bit of medicine in a clear cup through half open eyes in the middle of the night in a dark room for six nights.

I still tracked.

As of last night everyone’s fever had broken, coughing had diminished (after a trip to the doc for the magic potion) and I was counting the hours until school this morning. (Wed mornings are my WW meetings, btw) I was looking forward to some me time. Solo time. Brain cell recuperation.

But my four year old had other plans. Everyone woke up fine. I gave the cough medicine. Then my daughter announces, “My stomach huuuuuuuurts”

“Here, have a little something to eat and drink to settle it. You had medicine, so you should not have an empty stomach.”

“ok.”

10 minutes later – URP – trashcan barf.

After ushering my whining “Now MY stomach hurts, mom” 8 year old off to school and my husband off to work, I stand on the scale to see that I have lost at least a couple pounds since my weigh in last week.

Figures.

I try to bribe my daughter to go with me to my quick meeting. These people have watched me break into tears, sit silently, wearing my discord with myself on my face. I make a pact with the leader and actually follow through, and now I have to miss the meeting after seeing I actually managed a loss after going above and beyond what I agreed to.

sonofabitch

I do one thing for myself on a weekly basis. I do not get manicures, I rarely get pedicures, I do not zumba or crossfit. I do not gym or cycle or paint or crochet. I do not scrapbook or wine or jog. I simply go to meetings where people talk about lifelong struggles and the tiny, miniscule, itty bitty measures that work on a day to day basis to get through trying to make a healthy choice each and every time they are near food. This is my me time. I have to miss out to play nurse for the idontknowhowmanynow days in a row all to the soundtrack of Nickelodeon in the background and the whiny, “Don’t you want to play with me?” groans from a person who may or may not projectile vomit at any moment.

Sometimes I just want to walk out the front door and keep on going.

I’d settle for being able to send my children away at a minimum of three days a week for 2.5hrs per day.

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