It’s Saturday morning and I’ve been up since 5AM, waiting for my weekly moment of truth — the Weight Watchers weigh in.
If I lose weight, it’s what I call a Good Weigh. This means I can enjoy my Saturday bacchanal which starts with a café mocha (turbo charged with three extra pieces of hazelnut chocolate), Energy Kitchen breakfast sandwich and end with a good bottle of wine and sushi hand rolls teeming with rice, avocado, spicy tuna and tempura. But a Bad Weigh means I have to repent. I don’t always deny myself when I have a Bad Weigh, but I certainly feel crummy about myself.
This is why the last days and hours leading up to The Big Weigh are important. 72 hours before the weigh in, I dramatically reduce what goes in my body, up the cardio, and avoid all forms of carbs, dairy and sodium, like a boxer preparing for a fight.
Except I’m pretty sure no matter how spartan I’ve been, this is not going to be a Good Weigh.
Overall, WW has been good to me. I got into my best shape of my life 15 years ago and have come and gone has needed. I rejoined in January and lost 7 lbs, but have gotten careless over the past few weeks. I skipped two weeks of weigh ins and can feel my muffin top beginning to creep over my waistband again. Plus, I’m constipated and I’m sure poop adds several pounds. I would avoid this week’s Big Weigh all together, but I wrote a post last week about how those extra 10 lbs were at the top of my Beauty Pain Scale, so feel an obligation to walk the walk.
At least there’s John, the bald, 60-ish WW volunteer and occasional “Law and Order” extra who weighs me in. He’s what imagine a warm and fuzzy parole office might be like. I like John because he doesn’t judge me for removing every possible piece of clothing that might add extra weight (like earrings). He knows that my weekend begins and ends with the results he delivers. No matter what the outcome, he musters up every ounce of motivational substance in his brain to keep me in the game. It usually winds up being one part Yoda, one part Oprah, but I appreciate the effort, because I think he’s really cares.
The only downside is he’ll chide me into staying for a meeting. I prefer my WW in small doses, meaning my iPhone and weekly weigh ins only. The meetings remind me of detention. I know for many they’re magic, but I don’t find personal revelations like “nothing tastes better than thin” (hey, now I’m unstoppable) or people getting giddy over 5 point noodle kugel recipes helpful. The last time I attended, I figured I would ask a question, but wound up with a humiliating “Super star” sticker for admitting I lost 1lb. If I feel the need to follow protocol and attend, it’s without the name sticker and sitting in the back, with sunglasses and a hoodie.
Meeting or not, Good Weigh or Bad Weigh, what I know for sure is that its better than No Weigh if I really want to get in shape.
And if Better Draper can do it, so can I.