Hello, hello, hello!
How are you, my friends?
Look here! It’s a Friday, and I’m ready to write! It’s been awhile since I’ve managed to be on time, but I’m here today!
Alas, I don’t come bearing good news, however. Unfortunately, my weight is up again this week:
Last Week’s Weight: 239.6 lbs.
Current Weight: 241.2 lbs.
Weekly Change: +1.6 lbs.
Total Weight Lost: 77 lbs.
I am frustrated, to say the least. I’ve been plateaued for months, and by months, I mean nearly an entire year. My weight, sadly, hasn’t really changed since August of 2015. Since then, I’ve just been juggling the same few pounds. Some of this time I’ve spent extremely dedicated, while other parts of this period have been spent knee deep in deep dish and pints of Tonight Dough.
Funny, isn’t it, that for years on end I ate like crap and ballooned up like a beluga wale, yet these days I can pretty much do what I want and just maintain my weight…
It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Go figure.
On Fridays, I now have the pleasure of working the very meeting that I lost all of my weight (thus far) attending. It’s a pretty incredible experience to go from the heart of the meeting to the sidelines. It’s incredible to see all of the people that I’ve grown to know and love over the past 19 months hop on my scale and look at me as though I have all of the answers to life’s greatest mysteries.
That’s the thing about working for Weight Watchers: once they put you on the other side of the scale and give you that shiny name tag, things change, and they change pretty drastically. When I’m working a meeting, members don’t look at me and see the excess weight that still lingers on my frame; members look at me and see someone who knows what they’re doing—at least seemingly better than they themselves do—and they look to me for help, guidance, and understanding. They could honestly care less about the number I see on the scale each week—to them, that’s not significant whatsoever.
That’s why it’s so easy to get lost in the shuffle.
As much as I love my job, I miss being part of the group. I miss sitting down for a meeting, participating, and collecting my thoughts. I miss being on the receiving end of the help, guidance, and understanding… I miss just being a member.
Stephanie, who has been my leader throughout this process (and who is now one of my absolute favorite co-workers) knew today, I think, that I needed some extra help—that I needed to slip back into my old shoes and just be a member.
After my shift ended, I stayed back just to chat with her. We sat down with a plan guide and I told her how frustrated I was feeling and how stagnate my life felt. I told her that sometimes I feel guilty standing at the scale, preaching to our members that it’s so important to go “Beyond the Scale” and celebrate our non weight-related victories when that, personally, feels hollow to me.
Do I feel better? Yes! Do I look better and smaller? Yes! Do my clothes fit better? Yes! Am I more physically fit? Yes!
But when the scale still says 241 lbs. in spite of all of that, those other victories don’t feel as good anymore.
It’s a tough tightrope to walk.
Stephanie, over time, has become a little concerned about my plateau. Today she even asked if maybe I had some unknown medical issues rearing their ugly head. My response? Who knows.
Because Stephanie is the wonderful woman she is, though, this week she and I devised an eating plan that we’re going to try together. That’s what makes Stephanie such an incredible leader—she won’t tell any of her members to do or try something that she, herself, won’t do or try, too.
This week, we’ve decided to cut out all processed foods—nothing sugar free, fat free, or chemical-laden… nothing that’s not a whole food, and nothing that’s not as natural as we can possibly get our hands on.
I’m not sure if this is going to work, but at this point, anything is worth a try.
Two weeks ago, I was completing some training for Weight Watchers in a town about 45 or so minutes away from my home. The meeting I was working at uses an iPad-based weigh-in system, and it was my first go around with it (hence why I needed the training).
One of the women who came to my scale wanted to re-enroll in the program, and as I fumbled around on the unfamiliar system, she was kind and patient with me. She started talking to me in an attempt to take away the obvious anxiety I felt as I watched the line of customers build up and stretch out the door behind her in response to my extremely evident deer in the headlights green-ness.
As I tried to work to re-enroll her, she told me that she reached Lifetime status back in the early ’90s (around when I was born), and how now, more than 20 years later, she’d put all of her weight (and then some) back on. She waxed poetically that she’d likely never again see her former goal weight.
She was 23 back then, and she said that she joined Weight Watchers, originally, because she needed to fit into her wedding dress. I offhandedly mentioned that I, too, was 23, and that maybe one day I’d know the pressure of having to shimmy into a gorgeous gown, too—but that that would likely be in the distant future since I didn’t even have a boyfriend, let alone a fiancé.
After a couple of deep breaths, a little more idle conversation, and a lot more fumbling, I managed to get her situated and re-enrolled, and she left me with nothing more than a charming smile and a big thank you.
Like many of my other member encounters, this was an experience I filed away pretty quickly. Meeting nice people is a wonderful part of my day, but it’s not something I tend to dwell on…
Until this past Tuesday morning anyway, when I was back at the same location to finish up my training after a week-long break.
Immediately upon arrival, I was handed a note addressed to me with a woman’s name and telephone number on it.
“What’s this?” I asked my co-worker in complete confusion.
“This woman has been looking for you!” She whisper-yelled. “She asked us last week if we would give her your phone number, but of course we couldn’t do that… So instead, she left us hers!”
I immediately scrambled to recall who this woman could possibly be. Was there a problem? Did she have a complaint? Did I have any type of conversation that could possibly have needed a follow-up?
“You’re sure she’s looking for me?” I asked. “What for?”
With a huge smile, my co-worker then leaned over to tell me that the woman said that I was “so nice and so cute” and that she was looking for me because—wait for it—she wanted to set me up with her son!
At this point I literally laughed out loud. “Me?” I asked incredulously. “You’re sure this woman was talking about me?”
“Oh yes,” my co-worker replied. “She was definitely talking about you.”
Now I’m more confused than ever. I have no idea who this could possibly be until—wait… “Is she blonde?” I asked somewhat suspiciously.
“Yes!” Another co-worker chimed in from across the room. “She’s blonde!”
“The wedding dress woman,” I said quietly. “I’ll bet my next paycheck it’s her. Huh.”
Turns out, I was right—that’s exactly who it was… And after the meeting, she approached me and asked about the note. When I said that I did, indeed, receive it, she spent 10 or so minutes trying her best to convince me that she wasn’t crazy (although, admittedly, she realized that she certainly seemed crazy), and she went on and on about how nice I was.
“I went home and told my son about you,” she said. “I mentioned that I met this really nice, really cute girl at Weight Watchers… I didn’t tell him how much weight you’ve lost or anything personal… I just said that I liked your aura.”
Something about this woman weirdly put me at ease, so I just smiled and nodded right along with her.
“I know dating is such a personal thing,” she continued, “so if you’re not interested or if you do go out with him and it doesn’t work out, I won’t be offended, and if I see you at a meeting, it won’t be weird… The thing is, I just wanted my son to have a chance with a nice girl… I just wanted him to have a chance.”
Before I really realized what I was doing, I’d written down my full name, email address, and phone number on a paper name tag and pushed it in her direction.
“I don’t live in this part of town,” I whispered shyly. “I live in Denver… Is that OK?”
“That’s OK!” She replied eagerly. “This is great! I’ll give him your number and you guys can text and set something up!”
I smiled and nodded my head, and as she walked away, my co-workers both started giggling.
I just sat there quietly for a minute and tried to remember what in the world I’d said to this woman two weeks prior to have made such an impression, but I couldn’t recall anything in particular.
I did my best to put the strange encounter out of mind and simply finish up the day as normally as possible without any expectations of what was to come. By the time I made it out to my car a little later, though, I had a text message waiting for me… Apparently this guy inherited his mother’s eagerness—which was, weirdly, kind of charming.
Connor and I have a date this week… And I’m the perfect mixture of both nervous and excited about it.
His newly 21 status makes him about 2-and-a-half years younger than me, but that thought bothers me more than it bothers him (I think his exact words were that the fact that I’m turning 24 this year “doesn’t matter”).
This whole thing is a complete oddity for people of our generation because, thanks to his mom, this is a blind date.
We’ve only sent text messages back and forth so far; neither one of us knows what the other one looks like, sounds like, whatever…
If anything, this should make a great story, right?
I hope you’ve all had a lovely week.
Eat well. Be well.