Tonight I made a leap of faith. A little over a month ago, my sweet and wonderful (and other sickeningly gooey mushitudes) wife joined Weight Watchers. She explained the reasons on her blog. So, why didn't I join at the same time?
Three reasons, actually:
1) I do not like how the WW organization won't allow for a 'couples rate' and instead will charge the full ticket for those husband/wife teams (or the same sex of your choice, hey it's a free country). Using the 'Monthly Pass' rate of $39.99 a month, that would be right at 80 smackers just to step on a scale and, in my case, be immersed in a pink tub full of estrogen. WW, after all, is typically a "chick" thing. I'm not a "chick", you see. For one thing, there's that phallic-like growth on my ..... well, anyway .....
2) At the time, it appeared I would've been the only one with said phallic thingamabobber. ("Is that a PointsFinder in your pocket or are you happy to see that you've lost weight?")
3) I'm too much the cheapskate. My wife wanted to join Weight Watchers. So I figured I'd just "mooch" off her literature, and act as my own agent. I'd offer immoral support and be her cheering section from the peanut gallery.
So that's how things stood for the glorious month of April. Then several things happened:
- Seraphim hit a small pothole last week. Not much of one, when up against her record so far (I won't steal her thunder about tonight. I'll let her tell that one.), but it was still the slightest gain.
- I felt guilty. It's as if I've let her down in the "immoral support."
- Plus, I've been eating too many cashews in the peanut gallery. Mr. Peanut, damn your eye!
- I cannot trust myself to keep to the points without the aforementioned pink bathtub full of estrogen.
- It's not 100% estrogen. There are now two (2) other men who attend meetings in Rincon. Three's a charm, right? Not to appear misogynistic, but I'm not comfortable as the only Y in a sea of X, if you get what I'm sayin'.
- I need to shed a few pounds. There's been no come-to-Jesus, no doctor's threats, my health -- apnea and gout issues notwithstanding -- is good, my blood pressure is nice and normal (per the Red Cross' assessment during Saturday's blood drive), but I wouldn't mind going back to within spitting distance of 200. ("normal" weight - i.e. what nazis like MeMe Roth have decreed - for a person of my height is 175 pounds).
- While I wouldn't mind having a weight starting with a 1, something I haven't seen since I had the world on a string at the corner of Main and Barraque Streets, I don't see that happening. I'm settling on a personal goal of 75 pounds. The more, the merrier.
- This endeavor is only for me. If my maternal grandmother, who thought I was a fat ass back in college when I weighed 180-185 pounds, takes any credit from above, I'm sure Gran Lera will go over and slug her one.
- Our wonderful (cough!) and marvelous (hack!) federal gumment sweetly placed the sum of $1,200 into our joint bank account. (Ain't election year recessions so peachy-keen?)
- After one tank of gas, that left just enough to cover several months' worth of Weight Watchers dues for my person.
Can I do this? Frankly, I doubt it. But I'll try. I plan on committing to at least four (4) months of WW -- a good Summer's worth. But I have 10 months banked up from what my wife so brilliantly called our "restitution check."
Please pardon my pessimism. At the end of 2006, my wife and I joined our YMCA. Our plan was to lose some weight through exercise and a modification of our diet.
- That went over like a led zeppelin. Much as I wanted to exercise (and I missed the whole Nautilus regimen during my days in Hot Springs), it was more than a little difficult to drag my pimpled white assparts out Highway 21 toward the Y after a long day's work. We fell off the wagon and got creamed by the Wiley Sanders semi behind it. Reupping would only be wasteful. So we didn't.
- The apparent truth is that I have next to zero willpower. All attempts I've made at modifying my eating habits have gone under the Greyhound bus behind the Wiley Sanders semi.
- If I'm not a picky eater, then I'd be what one might call a "very very spartan, basic 'meat and potatoes' eater."
- The idea of further narrowing what already is a slim piece of pavement kinda underwhelms.
- I worry about turning into a royal rhymes-with-swat. Not toward my wife or anyone else I love, however I know how I can be when I'm really hungry. I'm afraid changing the eating habits, portions, etc., will be akin to kicking a cigarette addiction.
- In other words, I know myself all too well.
- I hope I'm wrong, though. If I am, I'll gladly eat crow. (How many points is that?)
I hope this is a turning point.
Right now, the weight is 295.2. Never mind the bathroom scale at home read 291.4 when I stepped on it just before leaving for the meeting -- I wanted to see what kind of discrepancy there was between the scales.
10% is the first goal they set for us. In my case, that'd be 29.52 pounds. Let's say 30. I wonder if I can make that by Summer's end. Then maybe -- just maybe -- I could be down 50 or so by Christmas. And 60 by our next trip to West Virginia. Then 75 by next May.
It doesn't hurt to dream.
Next, some amusing thoughts while at Kroger tonight.
Ciao for niao.
--Talmadge "Do I get 2 bonus points just for spelling my name right?" Gleck