So, last night's weigh-in was good. How good? Good. Four pounds good. And I couldn’t tell you how, but I can’t complain. I got a haircut – maybe my curls weighed more than we knew.
Anyway, as we’re waiting for the meeting to start, several of the women started talking about At-Work meetings and how their weight loss was too personal to share with co-workers.
And you know, circa 2001, I’d have agreed whole-heartedly. I told very few people what I was doing, and I cringed when my mother told me she’d mentioned it to someone.
But let’s fast-forward a decade, shall we?
One of the nicest things about being 36 is that I’ve stopped worrying so much about what other people think. And let’s be honest, even when I did care, it was far less than the national average.
So, when I started WW this time, I told basically everybody. My husband, my family, my friends, my co-workers… and here’s the interesting thing; people care. They honestly do. It’s not like anyone is surprised that I started weight-loss program. And nobody is cruel (or clever) enough to say, “Well it’s about damn time, Fatty McLardlestein!”
But they want me to succeed. And that does surprise me. Not because I expected them to want me to fail, but because I didn’t expect anything. What I’m learning, though – is that if you expect nothing, then anything above that is a pleasant surprise. Now in fact, what blows my mind even more is that the guys in the office are as supportive as the ladies. Which proves to me that we’re all insecure.
And that I’m not the only person who ever self-medicated with raw cookie dough. And that most of us want some plastic surgery down the road. And that everyone has things they avoid doing because of how they feel about their bodies.
Of course, it’s not time to rest on my laurels. I need to get up, get moving and stay the course. A thousand points of light.
Eighteen and life to go.