At the Starting Line

Photo copyright Derek Sivers, 2008

I am staring at the dryer.  My jeans are in there.  I hear the metal buttons tapping against the drum in a rhythmic pattern.  They're not going to fit, I thought to myself.  Every time they come out of the dryer, it's such a struggle.  How do they shrink so much in between each wash?  It's not like I wait a month.  Gross.  I was truthfully worried.  There is a black hole in my dryer; it eats the stretch right out of my jeans.  That had to be the answer.

Except it wasn't.  

I should have had an honest conversation with myself.  I knew why I was about to engage in an intense battle attempting to get the button to meet the buttonhole.  Oh, the gap!  The weight had been creeping on for months.  Realistically, I knew this.  But when you're standing there and the world seems to move in slow motion while you reach in and grab your warm jeans, there's nothing more important than simply getting them on.  I bet Skinny Bitches don't ever have this conversation with themselves, you nut I chided.

I slipped my legs in.  They're never the issue.  I pulled them up around my hips and took a deep breath.  Here we go.  After pulling, tugging, gasping for air, blowing my bangs out of my eyes, jumping around to get everything all tucked in and laying on the floor to make those babies fit, I finally managed it.  I really have to do something about this.  Now.

Like a lightening bolt of divine intervention, I'd just happened to remember that two days later I had scheduled an appointment with my primary doctor.  I'd talk to her about it then.  Maybe she could give me an appetite suppressant or just wire my jaw shut for a few months.  That would work.  Instead, she gave me some handouts (she's big on them, you see) about a local hospital's Weight Management Clinic.

Weight Management.  Now there's a novel idea.  Over the years that's been my exact challenge.  I can lose the weight.  Atkins, South Beach, cabbage soup until you'd like to vomit, detailed calorie counting, excessive exercise, Mediterranean Diet, removing gluten, going vegetarian, Weight Watchers (really?  Where am I watching it go?), Jenny Craig, Slimfast, fat burning pills that made me loopy, 'natural' supplements, acai (the wonder drug that did no wonders for me).  All of them had some qualities that helped me lose some weight here and there, but almost every time I've gained back all I've lost and then some sympathy pounds as well.  Those tears don't fall into empty Haagen Dazs pints by accident, friends.

"I will call them as soon as I'm feeling better," I told my doctor. 

On Monday, I was feeling worse.  But I called anyway.  "What timing!" the woman on the other end of the phone exclaimed, "We have an introduction session tomorrow night.  Can you attend?"


"Yes."  Recovering from bronchitis, I dragged myself to the session.  I was famished.  I'd had a cup (yes, I measured) of quinoa and veggies (thank you Trader Joe's frozen food section) for lunch, but now it was well past my dinner time.  Fortunately they greeted us with chocolate shakes and turkey chili.  This is going to help me lose weight, I thought dramatically, This tastes like a pit stop at Wendy's.


By the time the session was over, I knew this was something I absolutely had to try.  The food was delicious.  There is a lot of accountability and an intense focus on weight management once the goal is reached.  The program is easy enough, in theory.  Three shakes a day, two entrees a day and all the fruit and veggies I want.  But life isn't that easy, is it?


For one, it's expensive.  I'm combating this by re-prioritizing some things in my life to accommodate it.  Secondly, how do you go out to eat with friends when you can't eat anything that's not on the program?   Will I have to become a social hermit until I can eat 'real' food again?  It was a concern for a few minutes until I realized that many things, especially the things that are hard and elusive require sacrifice.  No need to be a martyr about it.  I'll find a workaround.  Salads are acceptable.


And so, I find myself at the starting line once again.  On Monday, I will meet with the dietitian.  We'll meet to discuss my short-term and long-term goals.  Right now, I feel like an 85-95 pound weight loss is what I'd ideally like to achieve.  The really funny thing about this is that the few people I've admitted this to seem absolutely horrified.  Well sure, if you only weigh 150 pounds that seems unimaginable; there'd be practically nothing left.  I assure you, I don't have that 'problem' though it'd be one I'd love to have.  We'll see if the dietitian agrees that this is a reasonable long-term goal for me.


In the short-term, I'd like to work on re-incorporating physical activity back into my life.  Since I've moved to Boston I've had practically no excuse to actually move.  I remember a time only a few years ago when I was doing some impressive work in a Captain's Chair at the gym.  Now, I'd be laughed out of there.  So the short-term goal isn't really about weight, but about getting 30 minutes of physical activity per day at least three times a week.  


Someone recommended that I find ways to 'treat' myself when I reach certain milestones.  They're well-meaning, I know.  But really, reaching those milestones are inspiration enough for myself.  So, as part of this process, I've promised that for every ten pounds I lose, I will make a small charitable donation to local organizations.  This way, everyone benefits.


Now, if you'll excuse me.  I have to walk to the oven to take out the zucchini bread I've been baking.