Suburban Snapshots

Not Without My Mayo

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

A year and a half ago, I joined Weight Watchers for the fourth time since eighth grade. In all my thirty-eight years I've lost weight repeatedly, usually by doing grossly unhealthy things like eating only salads for a month, sticking to a limit of five-hundred calories per day, or having a boyfriend whose blinding hotness made me too nervous to eat — unless I was drunk — for a good two weeks (true story).

Needless to say it never stuck, and I'd always end up squeezing myself back into the two pairs of jeans that didn't suffocate me. I wasn't comfortable. I had lumps in places I didn't enjoy. I was self conscious, jiggly, and dimpled, and I never felt quite like I was rocking anything I wore.

This month marks a full year for me at my goal weight. In total I lost twenty-three or so pounds, depending on which day I'm weighing in. I still step on the scale once a week, and check-in at The Dub-Dub once a month. I still don't love working out. I still refuse to acknowledge fat-free "half and half" as a real thing. I still eat the fries Anna leaves on her plate. I still have a dent on my ass big enough to stage a moon landing, and I still have an ass big enough to accommodate that dent.

But things have definitely changed. I haven't cringed at a full-body photo of myself in over a year. This summer, I confidently wore a bikini in public. When I lie in bed, I don't curse myself because there's belly lying next to me, or because my thighs are putting my hands to sleep. When I walk, my rear-end doesn't feel like a horse trailer roped to a Yugo. I stand up straighter, I seek out form-fitting jeans, and now when I try something on that doesn't fit, I blame the manufacturer instead of myself.

I'm not here to evangelize for Weight Watchers or to tout the 'new me,' because I'm still the same me. I still have a thirty-eight-year-old body with ripples and wrinkles and dents. But with those twenty-something pounds I also lost the whole vocabulary I'd used to guilt myself, and that makes me feel lightest of all.

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