Folks, this is it.
Yesterday, I got my ass out of bed, drove to Weight Watchers, and went to my “first” meeting. Let’s be honest: this is probably my 6th or 7th “first” meeting. But something about this time is different.
I think I’m more pissed off this time around. I’m pissed that I’m overweight. I’m pissed that my sciatic nerve hurts. I’m pissed that diabetes runs rampant in my family and I’m not doing a thing about it. I’m pissed that I get winded going up a flight of stairs. (Yes, one flight. Ugh.) I’m pissed that I get holes in my jeans because I’m stretching them out so much. I’m pissed that I am scientifically “obese”. I’m pissed that I can’t cross my legs like a normal person. I’m pissed that there isn’t a single angle left in which to tilt my head when posing for a photo that hides my double chin. I’m pissed that I don’t feel good.
So I went to WW yesterday morning. I hopped on that scale, and read the number.
235.8 friggin’ pounds. GUH. Really? That was the moment. It’s by far the heaviest I’ve ever been. And I’ve done this before! I’ve eaten wonderfully healthy, exercised like a total badass, and at one point in the last 7 years, I weighed 158 pounds. 158 pounds. That just sounds like a ridiculous number at this point. I mean, hilarious. Like, 158 pounds is just sitting around, cracking jokes, talking about awesome being skinny is. Screw you, 158 pounds. Stop taunting me.
The point is: 158 pounds is not the goal right now. Neither is 180 pounds. Or 200. Or even 230. The goal right now, today, this very second, is to make a better decision than I might have 2 days ago.
So, today Walter and I went to the grocery store. (For future reference: Walter = boyfriend. He’s terribly wonderful, helpful, and a total badass when it comes to weight loss. I totally scored on this one.) We spent almost an hour in HEB, approximately $160, and about 8 trips to the car to bring everything inside.
And then I cleaned my refrigerator. *shudders* Seriously, people, this was an awful experience in my life. I’m fairly certain something had died in there. Anyone who tends to forget about the food in their fridge knows exactly what I’m talking about. Something spills, and it drips down the back of the fridge, pooling at the bottom in a sludgy, disgusting mess. So I attacked it – and half a roll of paper towels later, all the while shouting a string of swear words that would make a grown man blush, my fridge was spotless.
I took a before and an after photo on my phone, although I covered up the mess as much as possible with my Brita pitcher. You didn’t want to see that. Trust me.
EEEK! Look at all that awesome food! I am extremely proud of that. Mostly because I cleaned the SHIT out of that bottom shelf. I might have nightmares. I’m serious.
So, I have food. And a membership at 24 hour fitness. And a Weight Watcher meeting to go to every single week. And this blog. It’s totally terrifying – but I know that I need to do it for me. It is a completely different level of commitment. And if I happen to make someone laugh, or inspire someone to be healthy along the way, then hell yeah.
And lastly, the most terrifying part: a “before” photo. I have been debating a lot whether or not to post this – but I have to. Walter was kind enough to take it for me – sorry about the terrible lighting, but I wanted to get it done. This is Liz Love, at 235.8 pounds:
And that’s it.
Here we go!