Our house is a mess but I’m too busy searching for the end of the Internet to clean. There are socks in every room of the house, clean and dirty, and I don’t feel like sorting by smell so I’ll have to wash them all again. The kids knocked over the coffee table a couple of days ago. I righted the coffee table but its holdings are still scattered on the floor.
I did pick up all the dishes and put them near the dishwasher. There are clothes everywhere except the kitchen and even that I’m not so sure about since I’m afraid to open the refrigerator. Toothpaste spit is dried in the kids’ bathroom sink and I’ll probably need a scrubbing pad to remove it.
I need to clean before burglars come and rob us. I’m not sure I could tell if they did. I’d have to lie and tell the police that the robbers ransacked the place. “Clearly, officers, they were specifically looking for clean towels.”
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Life’s too short to be in it for the long haul
I call it my AA meeting. It’s really Weight Watchers, but I’d rather that people thought I was getting support for a problem with alcohol than being overweight. I eventually tell people that my ‘AA’ stands for Asses Asunder.
It’s my seventh week and I’ve steadily lost weight. I follow the plan and track my points, plan my meals and exercise. What I don’t do is support my fellow members. I clap, I gamely smile at their anecdotes about how they couldn’t pass up the sweet potato pie at their mother-in-law’s birthday celebration but I don’t share my struggles or comment on their challenges. I’m ashamed that I’ve let myself go and resent them for sitting in two chairs and reminding me of my failure.
The room is full of middle aged and older women. There’s a few young moms scattered around the room and there’s one man. Every week, he comes in and says that he’s lost a total of 25 pounds or that he lost 2.4 pounds and ate birthday cake and every week he hears, “Well, it’s easy for you—you’re a man.” I wonder to myself, if it’s so easy because he’s a man, how come there are fat men everywhere? Maybe one day he’ll say, “Abigail, you said you lost 1.4 pounds this week? I have dumps bigger than that! It IS easy to be a man!”
The mantra seems to be, “It’s a marathon not a sprint. I’m not going to beat myself up over gaining a couple of pounds this week because I’m in this for the long haul.” I’ve run marathons before and I can tell you that the last thing you want to do in a marathon is go back and run a couple of miles over again.
Or they say, “I gained weight this week but I’m not going to beat myself up over it. Life is too short.” I want to say, “Isn’t that one reason why you’re here—so that life isn’t too short?” I consider that to be supportive but I’m pretty sure I’m better off keeping my mouth shut.
I have some empathy for the women who are clearly in a lifelong battle for their health and are negotiating an unsteady peace with food. But then someone explains that she just had to have the large Jack-in-the-Box Cookies and Cream milkshake because that’s her weakness and the large is only a few cents more than the small and of course she had to finish it because that’s the way she was raised and was shocked, I tell you shocked, to find out afterward that it was 35 points. Here’s my tip: spend a little less time considering the economies of scale and more time thinking about the economy of the scales.
I spoke up once. Prompted by our Leader I explained that my success might be due to the fact that I knew how many points my meals were before I ate them. I said figured out what I should order at restaurants by looking at the nutritional data posted on the restaurants’ web sites. The Leader asked if I could recommend any restaurants based on what I’d found; I mentioned my family’s favorite deli. I would have gotten a better reception had I said, “No, but I like to eat babies. They are tender and sweet and 15 points. But they are worth it.”
One woman practically jumped out of her chair at the very mention of the name of the restaurant. “Why, they have meals that are 54 points! You can’t possibly eat there!” “All that bread!” said another. I calmly noted that they have garden salads and soups and that one could order a small sandwich and ask for it with no cheese or mayo. Some of the group conceded the point but I realized then I should not open my mouth at the meetings.
So this week, when the leader went around the room asking people what they were most proud of or what they had learned, I said nothing. I listened to others and clapped politely. Then she called on me. What was I most proud of? What had I learned? I thought for a moment then shrugged. She moved on quickly to the next person who was proud that she didn’t beat herself up over her setbacks because it was a marathon not a sprint.
I could have told the group that I was most proud of some impeccable decision making I had managed that past weekend. After over a year of abstinence, I decided to celebrate the holidays with a drink. But I was counting my points and I realized that I couldn’t eat dinner and have my planned cocktail. I skipped dinner.
It’s my seventh week and I’ve steadily lost weight. I follow the plan and track my points, plan my meals and exercise. What I don’t do is support my fellow members. I clap, I gamely smile at their anecdotes about how they couldn’t pass up the sweet potato pie at their mother-in-law’s birthday celebration but I don’t share my struggles or comment on their challenges. I’m ashamed that I’ve let myself go and resent them for sitting in two chairs and reminding me of my failure.
The room is full of middle aged and older women. There’s a few young moms scattered around the room and there’s one man. Every week, he comes in and says that he’s lost a total of 25 pounds or that he lost 2.4 pounds and ate birthday cake and every week he hears, “Well, it’s easy for you—you’re a man.” I wonder to myself, if it’s so easy because he’s a man, how come there are fat men everywhere? Maybe one day he’ll say, “Abigail, you said you lost 1.4 pounds this week? I have dumps bigger than that! It IS easy to be a man!”
The mantra seems to be, “It’s a marathon not a sprint. I’m not going to beat myself up over gaining a couple of pounds this week because I’m in this for the long haul.” I’ve run marathons before and I can tell you that the last thing you want to do in a marathon is go back and run a couple of miles over again.
Or they say, “I gained weight this week but I’m not going to beat myself up over it. Life is too short.” I want to say, “Isn’t that one reason why you’re here—so that life isn’t too short?” I consider that to be supportive but I’m pretty sure I’m better off keeping my mouth shut.
I have some empathy for the women who are clearly in a lifelong battle for their health and are negotiating an unsteady peace with food. But then someone explains that she just had to have the large Jack-in-the-Box Cookies and Cream milkshake because that’s her weakness and the large is only a few cents more than the small and of course she had to finish it because that’s the way she was raised and was shocked, I tell you shocked, to find out afterward that it was 35 points. Here’s my tip: spend a little less time considering the economies of scale and more time thinking about the economy of the scales.
I spoke up once. Prompted by our Leader I explained that my success might be due to the fact that I knew how many points my meals were before I ate them. I said figured out what I should order at restaurants by looking at the nutritional data posted on the restaurants’ web sites. The Leader asked if I could recommend any restaurants based on what I’d found; I mentioned my family’s favorite deli. I would have gotten a better reception had I said, “No, but I like to eat babies. They are tender and sweet and 15 points. But they are worth it.”
One woman practically jumped out of her chair at the very mention of the name of the restaurant. “Why, they have meals that are 54 points! You can’t possibly eat there!” “All that bread!” said another. I calmly noted that they have garden salads and soups and that one could order a small sandwich and ask for it with no cheese or mayo. Some of the group conceded the point but I realized then I should not open my mouth at the meetings.
So this week, when the leader went around the room asking people what they were most proud of or what they had learned, I said nothing. I listened to others and clapped politely. Then she called on me. What was I most proud of? What had I learned? I thought for a moment then shrugged. She moved on quickly to the next person who was proud that she didn’t beat herself up over her setbacks because it was a marathon not a sprint.
I could have told the group that I was most proud of some impeccable decision making I had managed that past weekend. After over a year of abstinence, I decided to celebrate the holidays with a drink. But I was counting my points and I realized that I couldn’t eat dinner and have my planned cocktail. I skipped dinner.
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