Every bride wants to look her best on her wedding day. I think we can all accept that as a statement of fact.
Great. Now just keep that in mind as you continue reading.
Over the last several weeks, the leaves fell off our trees. We even had a couple of snow flurries. This is bad because naked trees and frozen precipation sort of depress me. And make me want to eat cookies. That’s when I realized that the wedding is right at the end of winter . . . right at the time that I usually have to put down the s’mores because I’ve gained fifteen pounds. Awesome.
I thought about the two bags of Kit Kats I managed to eat in as many weeks. I thought about the email asking me if I wanted to cancel my gym membership because I hadn’t been there in so long. I thought about all the food-centric holidays coming my way between now and the nuptials. And I made a very rash decision.
Our company just started their second installment of the Biggest Loser contest. Do I need to lose weight? Meh, not really. But I certainly don’t need to gain any either. (Dress alterations are expensive!) Why couldn’t I use the program simply to inspire me to get healthy? So despite ridicule and irritated expressions, I signed up.
Holy shit, people.
Week 1: Horror sets in when I am handed a thick packet and informed I will have to write down every single thing I eat for the next twelve weeks. Paranoia ensues. The Captain has to coax me into eating a piece of my sister’s wedding cake as I repeat “But I have to write it down!” over and over to myself. By the next weigh in, I’ve lost two pounds.
Week 2: Shamed by disapproving looks when I handed in my blank exercise journal, I return to the gym. Jogging on the elliptical nearly kills me. When did exercise get so hard? Paranoia over food recording makes me a little crazy. I start sneaking Kit Kats when no one’s looking. I account for a fraction of them. The next weigh in shows no change.
Week 3 (this week): Sudden rebellion against the diet I didn’t know I was on. I begin eating crap from the vending machine. A LOT. Then I feel guilty and try to make the snacks sound less terrible in my food journal. Lapses of memory are frequent. Recording accuracy suffers. Fear of weight gain makes me fidgety, as if twitching will burn off the calories.
I see a weekend filled with exercise in my future. ::sigh::
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