Weight Wars

 

This is a sad story.  It is not a new story, or a terribly original one, but it is sad.

At roughly the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Day, the American marketing machine began its annual assault on blubber.  Never willing to miss a chance to capitalize on the foibles of undisciplined, sedentary couch tubers, retailers roll out the New Year’s Resolution brigade to peddle gym memberships, high-priced machines that allegedly evaporate newly-acquired fat cells surrounding abdomens and derrieres from coast to coast.

Most of the time I try to ignore the whole siege.  I don’t make resolutions, New Year’s or otherwise.  I just decide and do.  Or I don’t decide and I don’t do.  More of the latter, I confess, but it’s better than failing to meet a goal!

Two years ago I decided to drop at least 20 pounds in time for my 44th college reunion.  I started in March, 2010 and by June 2010 I had lost 32.  That was satisfying as all get out, but there was a bigger challenge, and I knew it.  Almost anyone can lose weight when they put their minds (and mouths) to it.  The real challenge is keeping it gone. I wanted to accomplish that.

The lowest weight I achieved stayed at that level for exactly one week.  Even though I continued to eat the exact same way I had for the previous three months,  fluctuations in water retention and other bodily functions kept my weight bouncing back and forth by a pound, but never as low as that all-time low again.

Between months 1 and 6 after that low, my weight crept up around four pounds, still with the same eating patterns, but with my mind games starting to creep in almost unnoticed by the conscious me.  Salt and sugar seem to be the culprits in my metabolism.  During the diet period, I was religious about keeping both at bay.  But after the reunion, without a specific motive, my resolve began to slip.  For example, popcorn as a snack is fine if it is popped with little or no oil and salt.  But it is also pretty boring and bland.  So I began “compromising.”  Surely one gentle shake of salt won’t hurt anything.  And I’ll just use one tablespoon of Smart Balance buttery spread to pop it in for flavor.

I got away with that for quite a while, with my weight staying more or less plateaued.  In fact, it worked for a whole year, even with occasional “splurges” of steaks slightly bigger than the palm of my hand and frequent popcorn snacks.  So for some 18 months after the diet, I was holding my own in the maintenance challenge.

Christmas 2011 arrived and with it the need for gifts for people such as the mailman, my former gardener who is still a friend, neighbors and unexpected guests.  I have traditionally made cookies for these purposes.  Last year I resisted the whining of my former gardener friend and skipped the baking.  This year, I gave in.

If I ever doubted the notion that eating carbs causes carb cravings, I know it for certain now.  On the first day of the baking, I succumbed to the habit of licking the mixer beaters and bowl after removing the batter or dough. The sweetness of real sugar was shocking to my taste buds – almost sickening, to be honest.  Next came the warm cookies along with the intoxication of their aromas. One cookie can’t hurt. 

Don’t make me write it.  You know the rest.

It is five pounds later and I am up a total of ten pounds from my lowest weight after the diet.  Add to the mix the fact that I quit going to my gym because of poor treatment of seniors by the staff and have ignored my intention of finding a substitute, and I am pissed at myself. 

There is no getting around it.  Maintenance of a healthy weight takes good habits and lots of movement.  Head games are guaranteed to be lost by the person with the head.  The older we get, the more difficult it is to do.   If I continue to make excuses for myself, my health will pay the price. 

I did it once, I can do it again.  Ten pounds is a helluva lot easier to lose than 32.  Back to reality.  The weaning from salt and sugar has begun, the eyes are steely and the motivation has returned.  My waistband is too tight. Dammit!