So yeah, get the little play on words there?
It happened. It finally happened. I weighed myself a couple days ago and the scale that I have taken for granted all these years finally socked it to me.
It read TWO-hundred pounds. Exactly.
TWO. ZERO. ZERO. Ouch.
I was no longer in the one hundreds. As they say on The Biggest Loser, I was no longer in “One-derland.” I was shocked, and I was devastated. I had never in my life seen that number on the scale before, at least not when I was the one standing on it.
I can remember a day about 5 years ago, stepping on the scale and having it read 161 pounds. I remember even back then, thinking how fat I felt then, and how I needed to start losing weight. I remember getting down to 150 pounds, and thinking it was exactly where I wanted to be.
OH MY GOD. Now look at me. How could I have been embarrassed back then of the way I looked, when I sit here weighing even MORE? Five years since I weighed 150 pounds, and I’ve gained fifty pounds. FIFTY FREAKIN’ POUNDS.
It’s embarrassing, confessing this to the world. But maybe this is the only way that I will finally come to terms with the fact that this is a real problem and it needs to change. I’ve made so many plans in the past to turn this trainwreck around, and I won’t even bother to link back to all the times I’ve professed to all of you that I’m starting this diet or that diet or “this time it will work dammit!”
How did this happen? Where did these fifty pounds come from?
I will make no excuses. The three reasons this happened are:
1. I take in more calories than I burn. Period.
2. I do not exercise.
3. I do not exercise proper portion control.
Some other factors that are contributing to this:
I am currently taking two different medications that have a side effect of “possible weight gain.” I am not using this as an excuse, because I have not been taking either of them for all of the five years. I’m just saying I should be responsible enough to know that I need to be careful and pay attention to my body and take care of myself.
So where do I go from here? What do I do next?
Typically, in the past I would have immediately rushed out and signed back up for Weight Watchers, stuck with it for a week, and then fizzled out. It’s happened at least ten times now, and I sit here now weighing more than I ever have in my life, including being nine months pregnant.
Last night, I had good intentions of starting to exercise. I have no excuses. I have an elliptical machine, a treadmill, and a weight bench in my house. I don’t even have to leave my house to work out, yet these things don’t get used– because I don’t make time for them. But after that 200 was staring back at me, I decided to do something– ANYTHING– to make that number away.
After dinner, my daughter and I went down to the basement to start cleaning off the equipment. Over the last several months, everything had collected dust. Our treadmill had turned into a clothes hanger and box holder. I got it cleaned off, we turned the TV on, and I went upstairs to get my tennis shoes on.
Then, my teenage daughter and her boyfriend noticed that “Oh cool! Everything’s cleaned off!” They spent the next 20-30 minutes messing around on the equipment, and I was NOT going to have them watch my fat ass sweating away on the treadmill, so I plopped down on the couch and waited for them to finish.
Then the phone rang. One of my friends was calling to gossip about some drama going on in our small town, and I ended up spending an hour on the phone.
Finally, I get off the phone and see it’s already 9:40pm.
And of course it’s too late to exercise now, right?
So then the quest to not be fat gets put off for another day.
And the vicious cycle just keeps going, and going, and going…
