To all this I say, “THBBFT THBBTHTHPPTHTHBBFT.” Which is how Bill the cat used to spell that raspberry/tooty noise that spoiled and disgruntled five year olds make with their tongues when you tell them that they have to clean their room.
Now it is time for you make an aghast face and wonder WTH is wrong with me. Isn’t this what I want? Does this not put me close to third of the way to the noble goal of getting back into MY FREAKING CLOTHES? You are making puzzled eyes and concerned eyebrows at me, and you are right to ask me IS THIS NOT WHAT YOU WANT?
Why yes, I guess so. But not like this. Not in a way that proves EVERYTHING I knew was true is actually true, and indicates that magic is not true. I hoped I was WRONG. I hoped tribes of spectacularly colored Butt Fat Fairies would swoop in, spraying glitter, and whisk my butt fat away if I only did the proper Big Butt Fairy Dance on the night of the new moon and then sacrificed a 5 pound box of Godiva chocolates.*
Here are the awful facts:
Weight Watcher’s works. Indeed it does. Slowly. Steadily. Boringly. Works like a turtle works to cross a mile of meadow to the woods. I count the points and weigh and painstakingly measure and boringly abstain from slathering heaps of butter onto bread that I have cut to be three inches thick…it works.
It works especially well if you do not fall into the WW Snack Food Packaged Product pit. I spend my points on things my friend Julie in the comments called, Food God makes: Bananas and whole wheat couscous and roasted chickens. I do not spend them on those creepy fat free chips cooked up in that oil that may cause “anal leakage” or faux chocolate cookies loaded with Splenda and quasi-hydrogenated light margarine flavored food substitute. I save enough points every day to end with red wine and popcorn or a square of REAL dark chocolate, because otherwise I run mad in short order, but mostly I spend the points on real, actual, TRUE food.
Regular, vigorous, varied exercise works. I can’t just toddle about the neighborhood with my dog, or paddle my elliptical watching excellent violence laden pornography.** I have to go to boot camp. I have to go to the gym and use the machines. Weight training and interval training is making a BIG difference. Yoga makes a difference. This means putting on clothes and leaving the house and devoting TIME to it. And not my working time. My LEISURE time. Time that I COULD be spending watching MERLIN with the kids or reading something delicious or macking on my fine husband.
I keep reminding myself that this is worth it. I want to be healthy. I want to feel the kind of confidence I feel when I know I am in shape. I don’t want to buy a whole NEW wardrobe of size 12s when I have a perfectly good wardrobe I QUITE like built on the concept of being mostly an 8 with some 10 type days.
No. I will be the turtle. For 12/17ths of a Schubert more. I will be the turtle. I will be the turtle. But don’t expect me not to WHINE about it.
*By putting them in my mouth. Natch.
**Here excellent violence laden pornography is defined as “Season 4 of Dexter.” Which is the best season since the first one. And John Lithgow is a freaking MIRACLE of an actor. And Michael C Hall should have gotten that Emmy.