So I am a Weight Watcher.
For the past 18 months, pretty much every Thursday afternoon I've parked my butt at an official Weight Watcher's meeting. I'm the one in the third row, middle seat. I still have about 10 pounds to lose to get to my "doctor certified goal," which is nine pounds greater than the one WW has set for me.
In WW-speak, I need to "get to goal" and become "lifetime." What this means is that a magic number appears on a scale and I can come to these meetings for free, and have that $48 a month to buy more wine or pay a bill or something.
It's all starting to seem odd.
The people are nice, but the only thing we all have in common is that we are not happy with ourselves the way we are. This makes for some tension sometimes.
Barb, our leader, is perky. She is close to sixty, but from row three she looks younger. She is very tan and has cute clothes. She is always happy. But then again, she is "at goal," and "lifetime." So of course she is happy.
No one else is happy, unless the magic scale said they were down .2 or more. Then the happiness is overwhelming.
There's one gal, let's call her Anita, because that is her name. She sits in row two and has lost over 100 pounds! Anita joined WW the same week I did. I have not lost 100 pounds, but then again I never needed to. Barb calls her by name and practically bursts with excitement when Anita has any sort of victory. Anita still has quite a bit of weight to lose, but she is a winner. I'm not, because I haven't lost 100 pounds. This is starting to not make sense.
Teresa (also her real name) sits in the front row, and she pays herself a dollar every time she drops a pound. (I'm using real names because if any of these gals have the misfortune of coming across this, they will recognize themselves right away anyway. Might as well be upfront and honest.)Teresa has lost about 60 bucks worth. She pretty much glows with self-assurance and good advice about weight loss. She should know; she's done this before. I happen to know that because she used to work with my husband. He told me that the first time she got skinny, her husband bought her a sports car. By the way, her husband is fat in a sort of Humpty Dumpty way, and he used to come to meetings, too, but for some reason he doesn't anymore. Maybe he's pissed that no one ever bought him a sports car. Anyway, I don't think she will be able to buy herself new wheels this time, if she's counting on the cash in the jar. And no one is buying me a sports car. So what will motivate ME, huh? What's keeping ME from looking like a character in a nursery rhyme?
Every day I count points and track food. Pretty much every evening I drink wine and eat things like croutons without counting them, and the scale pretty much stays the same. Has for about six or eight months now, but still I spend 36 minutes every week hearing how Anita is now able to walk for three miles at a time and Teresa has extra dried peanut butter to sell, because she just bought a case online and it is low points and delicious.
This is all starting to seem odd.
But I'm not quitting anytime soon, because "getting to goal" and "becoming lifetime" takes my mind off the real problems in my life. Watching my weight is way more fun than watching cars get repossessed or children make life-altering decisions or parents grow old. And besides, Teresa might order low carb tortillas next. And I really am wondering if she'll get a new car.