It’s Tuesday Fit-Day. A weekly meditation on fitness goals, successes and failures. Thinking about it once a week is a step toward making it a part of everyday.
This week fitness and weight watchers didn’t jive.
This week I earned more activity points than daily overages. I even had enough left over to gorge on a 58 point meal last night for Valentine’s Day and be within my weekly ration (daily ration is 29 points). I fit into a designer dress I haven’t been able to wear since 2006 (but have kept because it cost more than my rent at the time). I bought a skirt in pre-Pete size and fit into a borrowed dress two sizes smaller than usual. I ran 4k on Monday morning without stopping.
I gained half a pound.
It’s only a half pound which is nothing. It’s a long trip to the bathroom. But it was a let-down after the great week I thought I had. And at the weigh-in it was greeted with horror. Not really helpful. My leader asked if I was wearing different clothes than usual. I have no idea, but is that really the point? To get the lowest possible number by stripping down? I’m not a runner and I frickin’ ran 4K! Shouldn’t an increasing level of fitness be applauded? I asked if muscle gain could be a factor and my leader told me that unless I have been doing major weight lifting that it won’t make a difference (and then suggested that I make a trip to the bathroom before weigh-in). But how does she explain that my measurements have continued to decrease this week but I gained on the scale? She couldn’t. Not the most inspiring leader I have to say.
So I cried. Even though I knew I was healthier and fitter and smaller than I had been the week before, I cried (after leaving the meeting, of course). I worked so hard and failed because the scale spit out an arbitrary number. Maybe I have hit a wall. My weight loss has been slowing despite getting better about activity points and overages. I haven’t been this weight since our first anniversary. That’s four and a half years ago. I have lost 12 pounds in about 9 weeks. Perhaps my body is freaking out and is holding on. Or maybe it is muscle. Who knows. But in the eyes of Weight Watchers, or at least its monitoring tools, I failed. I don’t think that is a healthy way of thinking about my body. Up until now I have been pretty happy with my WW experience and advice, but now I am annoyed with the emphasis on a number. Last night I didn’t want to eat the meal we had been looking forward to so much in the past weeks that it had made it on the calendar (PIZZA!). I had made special black forest brownies, set up a living room picnic blanket with pillows and flowers and candles, and chilled champagne for our first married Valentine’s Day and all I could think about on the way home was, I failed.
Don’t worry, I got over it and downed four slices, 2 flutes of champers, a brownie and Hageen-Dazs. Because, damn it, it’s just a number and I will enjoy this evening with my husband. I’m not going to meet the number goal I had for the cruise, but I am going to fit into fun cocktail dresses and old bathing suits. Screw the number and bring on the drinks with umbrellas!!!
*Whenever I hear this phrase I think of Midsummer’s Night Dream. I know most people go to Floyd, I go to Shakespeare. I remember a particular adaptation, I think it was at the community theatre, and an actor holding up a placard painted like a brick wall saying, “I am the wall.” It wasn’t the words, it was inflection, and it cracks me up just thinking about it. Although now that I think about it more, it might have been the more recent movie version, but I swear I was much younger and in a darkened theatre with my Mom. Or maybe that was the puppet Tempest we saw in Oberlin (which is the best I have seen to date). Oh well, this tangent has gone on too long. “I am the Wall.”