goal-setting

For most of my life, I didn’t own a scale.  I was thin, ate what I wanted, and never thought about my weight.  And then, one day, in the late summer of 2009, my mom said, “A friend of mine saw you the other day and almost didn’t recognize you, you’ve gotten so heavy.”  I was vacationing on the Cape, and this was my last day before leaving.  We had just come from a dinner at a local restaurant where I had actually ordered a broiled swordfish instead of the fried clams I wanted.  My mother’s words offended me. I mean really, did she have to be so blunt on the last day of my vacation?  But then, would I have acted on her words if she hadn’t been?

Immediately upon returning to New York, I joined Weight Watchers, got a scale, followed all the rules, and lost 40 pounds by May of 2010. 

In the two years since, I’ve pretty much kept off all the weight I’d gained. I no longer track what I eat, but I still weigh myself most days, and am conscious, though not compulsive, about what goes in my mouth.

Wednesday was my Weight Watchers meeting day, and I used to love going.  I liked the people in the group (still do), the leader (who left last fall), and my weekly report card  (known more familiarly as my official weigh-in number). 

Now I am a Lifetime member and need to stay within two pounds of my goal weight, which is 124.  Another requirement is that I must weigh-in at least once a month.  Today I go just to weigh-in.  The last time I went was only two weeks ago, and I’m down a pound (I weigh 124.6, and stand about 5’4 to 5’5”).

I miss the discipline of having a goal.  Especially a reachable one. I am probably one of the few people who actually enjoyed the process of losing weight.  Too bad I can’t be a surrogate weigh-loser for others.  Now that would be an interesting job.  I bet it would pay well too, considering how much the demand would exceed the supply.