Weight Watchers at Work

Still struggling through my final Simply Filling day. Still starving. 

 

One of my coworkers is also doing Simply Filling and I tried asking her how she’s been able to handle it. It turns out that she just doesn’t track anything—she estimates and tries to only eat Power Foods. Well, if I tried to estimate my Points without tracking and measuring, I could easily eat enough for a football team and still pretend like I had 49 Points left for the week. Not that she's cheating herself--I just know myself enough to know that I would absolutely, positively cheat. I'm in no way responsible enough to eat right now without measuring, tracking, and monitoring. I can't be trusted. My brain is too absorbed with food. Which is probably why she is happily chewing a caramel while I’m choking down my burnt 94% fat free popcorn and trying in vain not to think about cheese. 

 

At midnight tonight, I’m officially done with Simply Filling and back to my normal Weight Watchers. Thank goodness! A few more days like this and I would have stabbed someone. 

 

It’s really nice having my coworkers in Weight Watchers with me for the added support, but there are also a few extra challenges. For starters, none of them were really that big to begin with. These are girls who weigh 170 and who are trying to get to 150. I started at 304 pounds and I could still accidentally kill them if I sat on them. They actually joined Weight Watchers before me this time—it’s offered free at work, and we have other incentives (like gift cards) for participating. When they started losing weight after a few weeks, I joined and I haven’t looked back. I love having them here with great healthy snack ideas, Points-friendly contributions for pitch-ins, and for the little extra bit of shame I feel eating bad food in front of them. But, like my girlfriend, they don’t really get it. They’re not fat. They’ve never been fat. They’re fit and getting fitter…I’m fat and getting…well, somewhere. Maybe a little fitter? Sometimes I wish I was in meetings full of people my size, people who know what it’s like to endure the faces of other passengers on planes and busses when you can see them praying you don’t sit down beside them. People who know how it feels to sit through an entire meeting poised uncomfortably on the edge of a chair because you don’t know if it’ll hold you up when you put your whole weight on it. People who have walked into a store and not been able to fit into anything. People who know what it means to have SOCKS that are too tight. Who haven't been able to zipline because no ziplines are safe past 300 pounds. Who love to canoe but can't because the canoe will sit on the rocks. Who pick out glasses based on how much face fat bulges along the sides. Who can only fit one butt cheek into a folding chair at a concert. Who panic when sitting on the floor because there’s not a wall or table nearby to pull themselves up. Who have given up on belts. Who can’t wear jeans. Who cut tags out of shirts so no one will see the size. People like me.


I have a single pair of jeans, and they’re size 26. I haven’t even tried them on in months (although, after losing 30 pounds, they might be more comfortable). When I bought them, I was so ashamed of the size that I was gripped with terror at the thought of my girlfriend seeing the tag. I tore the paper tag up and soaked it in water until it dissolved and I could wash it down the drain. I cut out the fabric tag and snipped it into microscopic pieces, which I then folded into tissue paper, piece by piece, and flushed down the toilet, one at a time. And those were stretchy jeans! When I tried to find some denim shorts for a costume earlier this year, I had gone to the thrift store to find some men’s pants to cut up. I finally found the biggest pants there (size 50 in men’s) and brought them home. I haven’t put on anything that doesn’t stretch in years, so I was completely unprepared for that horrible feeling of pulling up the jeans and not being able to fasten them. Size 50 jeans and I couldn’t wear them. I ended up wearing a dress instead (as usual) and was depressed for weeks. The girls at work could use those pants as a tent, and I couldn’t even stuff my stomach into them. Ugh. 

So when they celebrate milestones like 10% weight loss, it’s after losing 15 pounds…not 30. I’m happy for their support and I’m glad they’re eating right, but I do wish there were more people like me around. Oh well…if I keep working hard at losing weight and working the Plan, hopefully I’ll be like them soon instead!