Week ten: Falling off the face of the earth

Life happens in the weight loss world. People take unexpected trips, holidays unfurl a bit earlier than expected, plans are hatched and acted upon and ones weight continues to drop while their careful exercise scheme stays firmly in place (and who said I wasn’t a fiction writer?)

Gentle readers, if you exist, I must tell you paragraph one is only half true. Yes, I’ve been away, and yes, I neglected my blog for almost two and a half weeks. Has my weight changed since my return from the inglorious Abacos where I imagined myself hauling lines with knotty forearms and swimming masterfully through the surf to dine on the sun soaked foredeck of our sailboat on freshly caught fish and lime juice?

Well, yes and no. My weight loss did not continue during my vacation but (here’s the good news) I have done something about that besides returning to the gym, browner and plumper.

If I am indeed in week ten of this one-pound a week odyssey, I am behind in my weight loss journey. I did not loose more then a few ounce while away. I also did not drink lime juice exclusively. An exquisite three-rum punch is to be found at any number of Tiki bars on the outer islands of the Bahamian archipelago. And yours truly has sampled them all. Have you heard of sweet potato fries? Say no more…

I am proud to confess I didn’t gain weight. But I didn’t loose weight. I just stayed the same. I am eight and a half pounds down according to a number of scales (the gym, my own bathroom, friend’s homes, houseware departments of large stores, produce scales in supermarkets --how much does my arm weight today? -- and my new favorite, baggage scales in large airports) and that’s what I was when I left.

Here is the difference. The good people at the gym who are assisting me in my fitness regime have all told me that toned muscles, which I’m definitely developing, are heavy beasts. They have also informed me that exercise is only 15 to 20% of the strip-down equation of successful weight loss. Food, that stuff I put in my mouth, is the other 80 to 85% of the calculation and portion control is what I have successfully avoided up until now.

Last Saturday morning, knowing full well that eight and a half pounds is not ten pounds no matter how you stretch it, and fully aware that I am behind in my weight loss goals, I joined Weight Watchers, the self help group for fatties who need to re-learn the basics of food consumption.

I have joined WW before. In fact, after the birth of my second child I lost a good 38 pounds on the program. To this day I don’t understand why I quit the program three pounds shy of my ideal weight.

Or maybe I do. I think, back then in my trembling 30s, I had a fear of success. I think the fat that surrounded my body affirmed my maternal state, shouted out to successful motherhood, and the hot curvy babe that almost emerged that one summer many moons ago, quickly became afraid of the attention her non-mothering body was attracting. All this is theory. All this is in the past.

Suffice it to say, I may now have the perfect combination. Less food (Weightwatchers)/More exercise (Korezone)! I can only hope this predictable combo plus my 50-year-old world be damned determination is the key to the 50 pound public declaration that sometimes threatens to choke me. So far, it looks good. Stay posted. I’m still on course for success. M