burning blubber?
I weighed in tonight at 250 pounds. I grinned because my mental spreadsheet told me I’d finally cracked the magical 100 pounds lost mark. It seemed poetic somehow, so neat and tidy; the perfect milestone to wind up this chapter of my lard-busting adventure.
So how does one break up with Weight Watchers? Do you go for a long, tearful goodbye or just walk out the door and never look back?
Donna was surrounded by a horde of New Year’s Resolutionists, helping them fill out the membership forms. I smiled and waved, mouthing goodbye.
“Off to your weights class?” she called out.
“Oh yes. Gotta make some muscles!”
“Have fun!” She smiled and turned back to her brood.
Maybe I should have thanked her again, for her kind words and encouragement; for helping me through the shittiest moment of my life. I know I’ll always be grateful for that. But there were dozens of new recruits who needed her.
So I’m going to do this on my own now. I want to keep learning how to think for myself. There’s a tiny gnaw of doubt that it’s too soon, that all the exercise endorphins are pumping me with false confidence. But I’ve got to try.
I bought some new knickers the other day. Still the same horrible Bonds Cottontails, as worn by nuns and spinsters; but these are a size 18. They’re hardly dainty compared to Rhiannon’s but still look much smaller when hanging on the line next to my ancient size 24s. Weight Watchers helped me shrink my smalls, but I did a lot of the work myself. When I come to buy the next size down, I want to take all the credit.
WEEK 56
February 7
248.5 pounds
102.5 pounds lost—83.5 to go
I rocked up for my BodyPump class tonight to find the gym was CLOSED.
Not only was it closed, but there was yellow tape and a burly security guard blocking the entrance. According to the carefully worded note on the window, there’s been a “misunderstanding” between the building owners and the gym management.
It costs $700 for a yearly membership, and there must be at least seven hundred bazillion members, so what’s their excuse?
Naturally I panicked. What if they don’t pay up? What if they’re siphoning my fees to feed drug habits or buy luxury cars? What will I do without the gym? What about my growing muscles? Will they just deflate overnight? Will all the fat come back?
My body was twitching to get inside. I needed my fix. I wanted to jump on the scale too, to make sure the two pounds I’d lost on Monday were still lost. I almost cried! Can you believe how things have changed around here? I wanted to cry because I couldn’t exercise.
We’ve been assured the gym will be open tomorrow. It bloody better be.
WEEK 62
March 18
(Avoiding the scale)
Apologies for such a long period of silence; I’ve been too busy worrying about the future. I had a total of one billable hour on my time sheet last week. Which means I did bugger all for thirty-nine hours. This was a remarkable improvement on the previous two weeks, in which I had zero billable hours.
My working day consists of sitting at my desk nursing a sinking feeling, wondering what attempts at redeployment will occur today. This involves a lot of rejection. My boss Jill’s phone will ring and it will be the Resource Manager.
“Does Shauna have the skills to do X, Y, and Z?”
“Regretfully, no!” says Jill.
Today I accompanied her to a meeting with someone in another department.
“Can Shauna do A, B, or C?” they asked.
“No, Shauna is a content editor.”
“I see.”
Now I know how people who used to screw things together in factories felt when they invented robots to screw things together in factories. Goddamn technology. Only two years ago everyone was crying out for people to edit content for websites. Now our clients have the software to produce a Web page as easily as a cup of tea. They don’t need me to make things bold and hyperlinked anymore. They’ve finally discovered how ridiculously simple it is, so
I weighed in tonight at 250 pounds. I grinned because my mental spreadsheet told me I’d finally cracked the magical 100 pounds lost mark. It seemed poetic somehow, so neat and tidy; the perfect milestone to wind up this chapter of my lard-busting adventure.
So how does one break up with Weight Watchers? Do you go for a long, tearful goodbye or just walk out the door and never look back?
Donna was surrounded by a horde of New Year’s Resolutionists, helping them fill out the membership forms. I smiled and waved, mouthing goodbye.
“Off to your weights class?” she called out.
“Oh yes. Gotta make some muscles!”
“Have fun!” She smiled and turned back to her brood.
Maybe I should have thanked her again, for her kind words and encouragement; for helping me through the shittiest moment of my life. I know I’ll always be grateful for that. But there were dozens of new recruits who needed her.
So I’m going to do this on my own now. I want to keep learning how to think for myself. There’s a tiny gnaw of doubt that it’s too soon, that all the exercise endorphins are pumping me with false confidence. But I’ve got to try.
I bought some new knickers the other day. Still the same horrible Bonds Cottontails, as worn by nuns and spinsters; but these are a size 18. They’re hardly dainty compared to Rhiannon’s but still look much smaller when hanging on the line next to my ancient size 24s. Weight Watchers helped me shrink my smalls, but I did a lot of the work myself. When I come to buy the next size down, I want to take all the credit.
WEEK 56
February 7
248.5 pounds
102.5 pounds lost—83.5 to go
I rocked up for my BodyPump class tonight to find the gym was CLOSED.
Not only was it closed, but there was yellow tape and a burly security guard blocking the entrance. According to the carefully worded note on the window, there’s been a “misunderstanding” between the building owners and the gym management.
It costs $700 for a yearly membership, and there must be at least seven hundred bazillion members, so what’s their excuse?
Naturally I panicked. What if they don’t pay up? What if they’re siphoning my fees to feed drug habits or buy luxury cars? What will I do without the gym? What about my growing muscles? Will they just deflate overnight? Will all the fat come back?
My body was twitching to get inside. I needed my fix. I wanted to jump on the scale too, to make sure the two pounds I’d lost on Monday were still lost. I almost cried! Can you believe how things have changed around here? I wanted to cry because I couldn’t exercise.
We’ve been assured the gym will be open tomorrow. It bloody better be.
WEEK 62
March 18
(Avoiding the scale)
Apologies for such a long period of silence; I’ve been too busy worrying about the future. I had a total of one billable hour on my time sheet last week. Which means I did bugger all for thirty-nine hours. This was a remarkable improvement on the previous two weeks, in which I had zero billable hours.
My working day consists of sitting at my desk nursing a sinking feeling, wondering what attempts at redeployment will occur today. This involves a lot of rejection. My boss Jill’s phone will ring and it will be the Resource Manager.
“Does Shauna have the skills to do X, Y, and Z?”
“Regretfully, no!” says Jill.
Today I accompanied her to a meeting with someone in another department.
“Can Shauna do A, B, or C?” they asked.
“No, Shauna is a content editor.”
“I see.”
Now I know how people who used to screw things together in factories felt when they invented robots to screw things together in factories. Goddamn technology. Only two years ago everyone was crying out for people to edit content for websites. Now our clients have the software to produce a Web page as easily as a cup of tea. They don’t need me to make things bold and hyperlinked anymore. They’ve finally discovered how ridiculously simple it is, so
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