Week Six Weigh In

Bummer.

I really hoped some miracle would happen last night and I'd be down 2, 3 pounds this morning. But it just wasn't meant to be. I got on the scale and it was exactly where it was yesterday:

218

I only lost half a pound.

Sigh...

I saw it coming, so it isn't a shock. I guess I could come up with a list of why I didn't lose more: maybe the stress of the week produced higher cortisol levels that made my body stubbornly hold onto the fat; maybe the two meals out were much higher calorie than I could estimate or had so much sodium in them that I'm bloated from it; maybe I need to rev up my exercise, switch some things around, and add on another half hour or so to revitalize my metabolism.

You notice I didn't mention daily caloric intake. The truth of the matter is, the last few weeks I've been averaging around the 1,200 calorie mark, and I've read enough to know that all the experts warn you to not go below that level. In the distant past my mother and I went to the diet doctor at the mall (how scary is that!) and besides giving us a cornicopia of funny pills to take, he also put us on an 800-calore a day diet. Yes, I know now that 800 calories a day for a teenager is a BAD MOVE; it propelled me into the wonderful world of eating disorders that I flirted with for several years.

Those were scary and sad days. If I wasn't striving to eat less than 800 calories a day and making myself weak and ill, then I was sneaking off to the grocery store and buying those plastic tubs of cake icing and eating it with a spoon in my bedroom. And of the course there was the time immediately following the startvation plan that every bite of food made me nauseous and vomit, to the point of dehydration and a hospital visit. My body chemisty was so screwed up, it's no wonder I had my first bad bout of depression by 15 and gallstones by 16.

Anyway, back to today. It's times like these that I wish I had my own panel of experts like they do on Celebrity Fit Club: a doctor/nutritionist, a psychologist and a personal trainer to coordinate and give me the best plan possible. But until I become a B or C list television star, I doubt that's going to happen.

I'm going to have to fine tune this program myself. And truth be told, if I'm going to be increasing my exercise, I'd almost have to increase my caloric intake to 1,500 or so to make sure I have the energy to do it. Of course, I'm sitting here wondering how I'm going to fit another 30 minutes of exercise into my day with the impending move and the holidays on the horizon. I'm already getting up at 5 a.m. to get my hour in the morning. It might be tricky.

Of course, I'm going on and on about this, all over the fact that I only lost half a pound this week. Hey! It's still a loss! I knocked off about three pounds last week, so maybe this is just my body balancing out.

I know I'm walking a very fine line here. I'm so worried about failing, especially with this holiday/moving double whammy. But I can't let my anxiety ignite my perfectionist, all or nothing thinking. If I push myself too hard, I run the risk of saying "f#$! it" and sitting myself down to a platter full of gnocchi smothered in Alfredo sauce every day.

So what if I only lose half a pound a week until the end of the year? The way I see it, by Dec. 31 I'd be at 214.5. That's a heck of a lot better than shooting back up to 220, 230, or 240, right?

I wish this was easier. But it isn't. It's frustrating, aggrivating and exhausting. There are days I get sick to death of counting calories, protein, carb and fat grams, and worrying about how many I have left for the end of the day. There are times I'm embarrassed when my family watches me measure my food or listens to me order special things at restaurants. It can make holidays and parties a dreaded experience instead of something I can look forward to.

But what else can I do? I can't in good conscience go back to the way I was. For as unhappy as I can get when I turn down dessert, it doesn't compare to the state I was in when I weighed around 330 pounds. Yeah, I may let myself get down when I don't see the number on the scale go down more, but it's a lot better than going to the plus size clothing store and realizing their biggest size will soon be too small for you.

I know this was a bit of a whiny post, but hopefully I didn't irritate anyone too badly. I'm still not sure if I feel much better, but I've at least expressed it, and hopefully that will keep me from diving into the roaster of macaroni and cheese tonight.