Small Slice

Day 7 of fruitfruitfruitfruit.  It's an all watermelon day, and I'm hanging in here, although it pretty much sucks to be eating watermelon when the skies are grey.  I want to eat warm things.  Warm things in big bowls.  Topped with cheese.

My friend and I were talking about the times in our lives when it was effortless to keep the weight off.  Any truly slender times in my life were notable for one, or several of these reasons:

1) I was angry about something.
2) I was broke and I couldn't afford food anyway.
3) I was too busy to eat.
4) I had iron-clad rules to follow.
5) I was getting a lot of attention from the menfolk.

I'll be the first one to admit that last one is pretty sad.  But it is true, so there you go. 

When I made the crazy decision to try this fruit thing, it was an act of desperation.  After reaching 168 pounds, the last two weeks of October found me eating irresponsibly, and three days after Halloween, I stepped on the scale and was greeted by a flashing 178. 

Well, there's weight loss success bullet point number one - I got mad. 

Really, really mad.  Almost seven months of this so-called dieting, and I regained almost every pound lost in a flurry of bad eating.  (Some of this weight gain was related to my monthly cycle - but still.  That number had me seeing red, big time.)

This morning I stepped on the scale, and I'm at 169 pounds.  I have three more days of fruit before I plan to return to a balanced diet.  But here's the hitch -

The regular eating I've been doing?  Even though I think the portions I've been eating are reasonable, I'm realizing that there must be quite a bit of unconcious eating going on during the day.  All day long, I'm finding myself pausing in front of the fridge.  When I'm preparing a meal for the rest of the family, I'm constantly stopping myself from putting morsels in my mouth.  It has to stop.

The doctor's visit I had last week was perfectly timed.  Although I was looking for information on why my hair might be thinning, the doctor managed to drop a few words into our conversation that got me motivated.  Pre-diabetes, anyone?  Risk-factors?  Obese?

I'm taking a stand.  No more messing around.  I will not eat myself into diabetes. I will not pretend that I didn't hear the man say "obese" and comfort myself with the thought of my big bones and three babies in five years.

I'm angry.  I'm really angry.  And if I have to count calories, or eat papaya, or get up at 5 am daily to workout, I'm going to do it. 

I've also put my husband on notice that I expect some major catcalls and compliments.  Sad, but effective.  Heh.