So I went to my first Weightwatchers meeting this week. I was half dreading it and half excited about it. Up until that point I could pretend to kid myself about my weight.
Standing in the queue, I had merely minutes to make my peace with whatever incontrovertible truth the scales wanted to declare. Deep breaths, deep breaths. The scales are not your enemy, I muttered to myself. They can only speak the truth, and the truth will set you free. Or something like that.
Well, actually, that’s not true. I was actually panicking like crazy, asking myself, what am I doing here? Do I really want to know? Isn’t ignorance bliss? Or something like that.
Well, actually, OH MY GOD IT’S MY TURN.
How can I reduce my weight? I know, I’ll take off my coat, and my shoes, and let me put down my handbag. Final breath in. Slow release. Small step up onto the scales, eyes squeezed right shut, fists clenched by my side.
No, I’m not going to tell you my weight. But I will say that it was every bit as bad as I had feared. On the plus side, at least I know that my bathroom scales are reasonably accurate. Every cloud…
And I will say that the leader seemed lovely, it was a very friendly meeting and I left clutching my membership details and my food diary for the next week, feeling motivated and enthusiastic.
I’ll be keeping a food diary and let you know how I get on next week.
However, rest assured that my personal journey has no impact on my sentiment regarding being plus size. I still see it as nothing to be ashamed of, nor something to be overly celebrated. It is what it is. I feel as attractive now as I did when I was a size 8 many years ago. That’s not what it’s about, for me. I posted a week or so ago about why I want to lose weight. But everyone is different. I may just be unfortunate that my health is starting to be affected. But it is, so I need to do something.
I’m actually feeling a bit excited about the whole thing. Is that weird?
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