Heavy
You can predict how much you'll weigh in the morning by weighing yourself at night. When I confessed to my best friend Patricia how I, impatient to track my progress, devised a way to celebrate or self deprecate a few hours early, all relative to the order of three weighty digits, she grinned in recognition. My confided secret, my unsound obsession, was hers, too. And Gina's. And Sherry's. And, I guess, a majority of our colleagues who add points, calories, or ounces of water in order, optimally, to subtract pounds from last week's tally.
Most any weight loss regimen promotes a once a week weigh in, on the same day, at the same time, and in the same clothes. Morning weigh-ins are the ones that count, at least for me. And I, like many determined to lose those last ten pounds or the first ten, ignore the once-a-week mandate in order to get the insider's scoop on just how detrimental that pint of ice cream was to a day otherwise fueled by spinach, diet soda, black beans, and brown rice. Or, perhaps I forgot to count the cashews or underestimated the calories in four fig newtons. Perhaps my run was shorter than planned or I never got around to "Boot Camp" intervals of body resistance and cardio.
I find my backbone softer than the women who, blogging about weight loss success, say they just stop eating once they reach their daily limit, even if they meet it at noon. Weaker than others who claim to up their workout duration or intensity to compensate for the sweet tea and red velvet cake indulgence at a Sunday afternoon baby shower. Unfazed by the revelation that each human tends to eat the same volume of food today as yesterday, rather than the same number of calories--a discovery meant to inspire us to eat the weight of a chocolate bar in lettuce or fruit, to make less calorie-dense choices.
And the mantra meant to nourish my will, "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels," fails by association because I've never been skinny. But I know how good "Moose Tracks" tastes, the fudgy imprints, the drops of coated peanut butter. I know the comfort of homemade french fries, the contentment of honey butter slathered yeast rolls, the creamy warmth of fettuccine alfredo. I know what it means to scour the pantry for something sweet, come up empty, and turn to the can of cocoa for relief, consoled to learn that I do indeed have all the ingredients to make the "'Perfectly Chocolate' Chocolate Frosting" printed on the back.
Pam, I love the details in this post. Instead of saying "low calorie foods" you say "spinach, diet soda, black beans, and brown rice." Instead of saying women "cheat" on a diet, you give the example of "sweet tea and red velvet cake" at a baby shower. You do an excellent job of showing rather than telling, but the telling you do, ie the mantra "fails by association" to "Moose Tracks," "yeast rolls," and "fettuccine alfredo," hints toward the deeper reflection we've been talking about being missing from much of our drafting. While short, this piece is really working toward not just a reportage of weight loss attempts, but a critique and a discussion of the practice with which most women can easily identify. A question I would ask of this draft, and perhaps a way to expand it, is: How many weight-loss programs has the speaker been on? Bringing in details about different plans, could be a way to further explore the cultural phenomenon which keeps these companies in business, our inability to actually lose, and keep off, all the pounds we want to. What about American culture, and its women's perceptions that make these such lucrative businesses. Or as a way to get off subject, maybe this piece becomes about the food, and why we eat it, rather than just the attempts to deprive ourselves. What does food mean to us? Why do we beat ourselves up for eating the "wrong" thing?
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