Watching and Weighting

Back in January, I wrote about how my body does its own thing when it comes to weight loss and weight gain, and how I don't even bother to diet, because eventually my metabolism just turns around, and it doesn't matter what I'm doing, nothing makes that turnaround come faster or slower.

A week ago, in my ongoing and unintentional effort to prove that no matter what I say I will eventuallly reverse myself, I joined Weight Watchers. Just the online version, because I'm up to my ears in scheduling issues, and can't even conceive of finding time for meetings.

So let me say this up front: I'm not having fun. I don't care how interactive it is, or how logical, or how many flex points they throw my way...I'm hungry. What I've learned in the past week is that I tend to eat pretty healthfully, most of the time, but that I eat in quantities that can't really be described as portions, but rather as loads. Apparently, real people can look at a piece of meat the size of a deck of cards, and a scoop of rice the size of a tennis ball, and call it a meal. And apparently, I am very much not real. Because I'm listening to them, and trying my best, and I'M STILL HUNGRY.

Sigh.

So why am I putting myself through this? About a month ago, I went to lunch with my boss and some of my colleagues in the medical school cafeteria. After we gathered our lunches, we went in search of an open table. Over in one corner, we spied the med school's dean of admissions, who is a good friend of my boss, and with whom I've had lunch on a number of occasions. So we went over to join her. And she looked up, smiled as we approached, and then said, "TC, are you expecting again?"

As soon as she said it, she realized what she'd done. She was already turning beet red when both my boss and I kind of blanched and said, "Um, no..." and she tried to backtrack by saying she thought there was someone in our office who was pregnant but she couldn't remember who...but clearly, there was no other reason than that I currently weigh 20 pounds more than I usually weigh, and 30 pounds more than I weighed a year ago, when I was deep in the throes of being crazy. (Being crazy is a good diet, in my case at least, because crazy for me means perpetual motion and no appetite.)

That comment has festered for a month, especially coming as it did from someone who is bright and knows me and clearly had no ulterior motive, but who looked at me and thought, "Wow, look at that belly. She must be pregnant!" And while I like to think of myself as an above-it-all kind of gal who doesn't care about weight or gray hair or wrinkles or whatever--the kind of gal who only shaves her legs when it's a must and who almost never wears any makeup at all--the truth is, I do care. At least I care enough that that one comment propelled me into the world of deliberate weight loss despite my earlier-in-the-year declarations to the contrary.

And so here I am. And I'm hungry. And I'm not having fun.