I spent a good chunk of my pubescent years in Weight Watchers meetings. I can remember listening to blue-haired biddies’ latest shish kabob recipes while I scribbled notes on Lisa Frank notebooks hoping the mere act of writing would burn off some of the Coke I drank that day.
I can remember, as a middle schooler, laying spread eagle on our dining room floor telling my mom I felt faint. She (seriously) told me it was because I ate some vegetables and my body wasn’t used to it. I was astonished. Wasn’t I supposed to feel better? Coke didn’t do me wrong like that.
Since then, I have been in a constant battle with the scale and surrounded by other women trying to lose weight. Ask any woman and she will tell you her goal weight faster than she can tell you her own birthday. It seems every single woman in the world has had this number in her head her entire life and once she sees it on the scale, she will take over the world. In her tried and true attempts to reach her goal, there’s some weird, dark, sad shit that races through her brain. Shit she only tells her friends who sob to her about their latest midnight rendezvous with their freezer cheesecakes. Shit that she has thought day-in and day-out for as long as she can remember.
Here are a couple examples:
- She considers an eating disorder. At some point during her many attempts at losing that dreaded muffin top, she considers what it would be like to have an eating disorder. Probably not the one that you don’t eat, but maybe she could eat and then puke it up? Or what about laxatives? Then, she remembers the women out there who really have these diseases and feels immensely guilty. She adds this thought to her laundry list of issues to discuss to her future therapist.
- She doesn’t hate being sick. Vomit and diarrhea have a little bit of a silver lining during diet season. While she sits on the toilet with her puke bucket in hand, she Googles how many calories she earned back from being sick. Even if it’s just a cold, she is grateful for the time asleep instead of in front of the fridge.
- She misses things about her fat body. She’s doing it! She’s losing the weight! The numbers on the scale are becoming tolerable. But, what’s this? Where did these wrinkles come from? Since when does her arm jiggle like that? Now that she doesn’t have the extra plump, her body is shriveling and she is having flashbacks to Fat Bastard’s thin body and wondering if she would rather be fat and less shrivelled.
- She takes not-quite-before pictures. Her iPhone is loaded with pictures of herself in her skivvies in the most unflattering of angles. However, they are never quite at her heaviest since she wanted to make sure she was actually going to lose weight before snapping photos of her FUPA for the world (or even just herself) to see.
- She spends a lot of money. Obviously, she needs a Ninja for her smoothies, new Tupperware for her meal planning, 14 new pairs of yoga pants, running shoes, a Fitbit, a veggie noodle-maker, gym membership, a new purse for starting this journey, Spotify membership, sports bras, Absolute Nutrition visit, Whole Foods run, 5K entry fee, some “goal jeans,” and the list goes on and on. Don’t question her. Hell hath no fury like a woman on a weight loss mission.
- She considers everything exercise. She skips the elevator to the second floor and checks out her calves for definition in the break room mirror. She is more interested in sex after reading the Cosmo breakdown of how many calories each position burns. She obsessively checks her Fitbit after each trip to the bathroom.
- She feels invincible. Every woman who’s making strides to get healthier glows like a beam of sunshine. She is determined. She looks like Michael Phelps at the starting line. Ain’t nobody knocking her down. This is her time. This is the last time. She is woman. Hear her roar.
What weird shit do you do when you’re trying to lose weight? Let me know in the comments!
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