Avoidance

I got back from Vegas on Monday night, and am scared to get on the scale. Yes, I - a 32-year-old, 5'10" woman - am scared of a contraption made of metal and elaborate pully-weights-thingies.

I don't know why I'm so scared - I didn't go crazy eating-wise in Vegas (we didn't have time!). Yes, I probably had more McDonald's breakfast sandwiches than I should have (sausage is my drug), but I had to walk about half a mile from my hotel room to get them. And I was usually either pushing the stroller or toting my 30-pound niece as I walked. My big indulgence of the weekend was the overpriced margarita from Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville on The Strip - but it was so stinkin' good it was worth it. And, again, we'd walked at least half a mile to get it.

So, even if I did gain weight, it probably won't be as bad as I thought. So why am I so afraid? Because I know me and my fatalistic, all-or-nothing way of thinking. If I have a big gain now, it will likely knock me off track for another several months. I'll fall off the wagon HARD again, and heaven knows when I'll pick myself back up. It's far too easy to go back to all-coffee-and-Swedish-Fish, all the time.

So, I'm easing myself back into routine, tracking Points, drinking lots of hot water with decaf tea, and waiting until Monday to get back on the scale. I'm hoping I won't have lost any ground at that point - and that I'll have enough energy to get up early enough to actually brave the basement stairs and get ON the scale.

All clear...

No time for a big post today, so quick updates:

• Down 0.5 pounds last week. Curses. It's still a downward motion, but each time I hope for bigger numbers. Perhaps I should be chanting "No Whammy" a la "The Price is Right" instead. Speaking of, did you know Drew Carey has lost 70 pounds in the last year? Must be all that running down the aisle for the Showcase Showdown...
• Went to the doctor yesterday and got the all clear for exercising and lifting heavy things again. No longer will my cute little niece need to stay on the floor! Hurrah! Hugs for everyone!
• My new punching bag has arrived at the store and is awaiting my pick-up. Let the pummelling begin.
• I leave Thursday night for a four-day vacation in Las Vegas with my family. I'm dreading stepping on the scale when I get back. I don't want to fall completely off the wagon, but c'mon - it's VEGAS. I want to have a drink (possibly several) and not worry about the points value of said drink (and its companions). I guess I'll do the best I can, and pay the piper on Tuesday when I get home.

Update

I totally forgot that I owed the Internet an update on my Monday weigh-in. The fact that the Internet hasn't risen up in open rebellion shows me just how important my updates really are, but hey - I'm writing this for me, not for you, Internet. So take that.

I was down a big ol' 1.3 pounds this week, which means I'm thisclose (1 pound) to being back where I was in early October. We'll see what the crazy 2.3 pound gain was all about - the doctor has me on new medication that is known to cause weight gain, and I've been on it for about eight weeks. The weight gain usually happens over three months, so I'm hoping this is it. HOPING.

So, seven weeks back on Weight Watchers, eight pounds - not bad. Not as fast as I want, of course, but since when did I ever get anything in life as fast as I want? I remember being disappointed that I didn't transform into a supermodel during 10 weeks at Farrell's, and having to tell myself, "Self, you didn't get this fat in 10 weeks, so it's not coming off in 10 weeks either, right? RIGHT?" (I tend to yell at myself a lot in my inner monologue. I'm kinda dramatic. Just in case you hadn't picked up on that.)

In fitness news, I've ordered my own freestanding punching bag which is currently being shipped to me. For the price of two month's at Farrell's, I'll be able to enjoy the stress-relieving benefits of pounding the crap out of something anytime I want. Plus, I won't have to listen to Motley Crue at 6 a.m. ever again. There is no downside here.

Decisions, decisions...

My father had something interesting to say last night.

(That sentence makes it sound like this is a monumental event. It isn't - my father often says interesting things. Most of them have to do with people who lived in our neighborhood 50 years ago whom I never met, but he does say interesting things on other topics as well. Moving on...)

He was watching me pack up my lunch for today, carefully measuring out grapes and low-fat granola, and said, "You know, Weasel (Shut up. That's my nickname in my family. Use it without my permission and I'll cut you.), you were never happier with yourself than when you were going to Farrell's. You used to come home from there with a big smile on your face every morning."

"Yeah," I replied, "and then I collapsed into a giant sweaty heap on the floor..."

But his comment got me thinking. I really did feel great about myself and my body when I was working out at Farrell's regularly, and I was really proud of what I had accomplished and what my body could do. And now I'm wondering - was it the program itself, or just the fact that I was pushing myself and achieving fitness goals I'd never achieved before? Can I do it on my own, or do I need the structure and external motivation of a program/class setting? I'd like to think I could do it on my own (and save myself the program fees and drive time) but I've clearly not been very successful at motivating myself. As I told the Farrell's Altoona manager when I signed up, and he warned me that he was going to push my fitness levels: "Clearly, I'm not having any success at kicking my own butt - I need you to do it for me. " I thought I had made progress past that point, but the past year shows I have not.

So - verdict? Do I head back to Farrell's (once the doc clears me on the 18th, that is) or try to kick my own butt at home? How do I get myself in "butt-kicking mode" without having an instructor and scary 80s music at 6 a.m. each day? :)

Rollercoaster... oooh oooh oooh...

[Great - now I'm going to have that song stuck in my head all morning. Way to go, Ivy...]

Weigh-in yesterday showed a whopping 2.3 pound gain. I can attribute it to lack of water consumption over the weekend, hormones, the fact that I discovered the glory of old-fashioned oats again on Sunday and had TWO bowls, the Flarah's cheesecake on Saturday, but - whatever. I'm not getting worked up about it at this point. I just don't have the energy. I got back on the scale again this morning, hoping that upping my water yesterday and keeping my POINTS low would help, and it did - to the tune of 0.3 pounds. Again - whatever. I'm not going to obsess about it until weigh-in next week. If I'm still up in this neighborhood, then more serious actions will be taken. I have no idea what those might be, but they'll be SERIOUS. :)

I went to bed at 8:45 again yesterday. I was hoping that by this point in my recovery process I would have graduated out of 3rd grade bedtimes at least into middle school, but clearly not yet. My body is in charge of this process, not me, so I've got to go where it's leading me right now. And it's leading me to bed, after large amounts of old-fashioned oats. See you when I emerge from the carbohydrate coma.

Motivation

I've decided when I get to goal weight, I'm buying these. Possibly in every color. I realize doing so may require me to go without niceties like food or gasoline for an extended period of time, but hey - sacrifices must be made for fashion.