Chronicles of a Late Bloomer

Before I finally got back on the wagon this week, I had long, drawn-out debates with myself about the philosophical merits of which wagon was best. Atkins? South Beach? Jenny Craig? Nurtisystem? Weight Watchers? Counting Calories? Spark People? Cyberdiet? Voluntary amputation? Cryogenic animation of my disembodied head?

I’ve followed both of Weight Watchers’ programs, including “Core” (a sort of narrowly modified South Beach program) and “Flex” (a.k.a. Calorie Counting for Dummies), and I do have a clear favorite. The strange thing is that, for now, I am going with the dark horse candidate — my non-preferred method of losing weight.

In fact, my original willingness to join Weight Watchers came when the Core program was introduced, since it is the “no counting” plan and since (at the time) I was morally and ethically opposed to the idea of paying someone to deprive me. I couldn’t imagine paying someone to add to my already stressful workload of school and internships by insinuating that I should be keeping track of what I ate.¹ Plus, the meetings! I can humiliate myself in public already, for free. And if I needed guilt, I could just go back to church. So why would I otherwise pay?

In spite of weighing 340 pounds, joining Weight Watchers in September of 2004 actually marked the first real attempt to lose weight that I had ever made².

I hated the idea of the Weight Watchers army — hoardes of what I imagined to be soccer moms and erstwhile drones who had fallen victim to manufacturing and consumerism. “Fake foods” (i.e. fat-free cheese, “energy bars,” and other suspicious substitutes for perfectly good food) freak me out, yet all I understood was that, according to the standard diet wisdom, food in which the sugars and fats were replaced by chemicals were believed to be superior to whole foods, intact vegetables, meats, and whole grains. These impossible excuses for meals were considered good for you. Virtuous. VERITABLE HOLY RELICS.

So, I joined Weight Watchers on the premise that I could eat all the fruit I wanted and would not have to allow the word “points” to cross my lips. (At the time, I also could not say the words “Weight Watchers,” “diet,” or “eating plan” without triggering an involuntary gag reflex, but that’s what therapy is for.) I selected the Core Plan because it was more in line with the lifestyle that I imagined myself to live someday — a consciousness of food types rather than food statistics. A healthful understanding of nutrition and satiety rather than 2-for-1 coupons for sugar-free, fat-free, carb-free, “guilt-free” frozen yogurt.

At the same time, I was also in therapy (and had been for 2 years) for, among other things, Binge Eating Disorder. Because I had never tried to restrict my eating, because my idea of “normal portions” involved 3 McDonald’s super-sized extra-value meals and a medium pizza, and because I had worn the poor nubs of my “I’m Full” indicators down to virtually nothing³, the Core Plan wasn’t quite right for me.

Yes, I lost weight on it. I lost weight on it very fast. But, here is what I learned about myself on the Core Plan:

• My body wanted to lose weight. My body wanted to lose weight so very, very badly that it quickly, willingly, even gratefully flung the pounds away like a flower girl at a hippie wedding once I actually started trying.
• At some point, my body lost weight so fast and so consistently that my emotions, my closet, and my sense of self could not keep up.
• These non-tangible factors are just as important to my physical health as my waist size or my basal metabolic rate.
• I couldn’t understand healthy portion sizes, even when it came to eating healthful foods.
• I was so disconnected from my body that the idea of monitoring hunger/fulness/satisfaction signals was simply beyond my repertoire.

That’s why, when I re-joined Weight Watchers in September of 2006, I chose the Flex Plan. I need some kind of externally-imposed structure on the amount that I eat. I had never had the universally-female experience of weighing and measuring foods. I did not believe in the alien superlogic of “normal” or “average” portion sizes. I needed boundaries and limits. I needed someone to hold my hand. I needed a diet mommy to tell me yes and no and to occasionally wag her finger at me until I learned how to do it on my own.

I needed to re-train myself.

So, here is my ideal plan.

I would very much like to ultimately live an organic, whole foods, nutrient-focused lifestyle. I would prefer to use measuring cups only for baking and scooping dog food. I would prefer to leave the counting to Transylvanian Muppets. However, I need to go through this period of re-training, first.

Perhaps I will follow a Flex Plan or count calories through the first 75 pounds of weight loss. Then, though, it is my hope to transition over to a more sensible, sustainable method of eating. Do I intend to weigh and measure my food from now until forever and ever amen?

No. Hell no.

But, is a quarter cup of peanuts much smaller than I would have imagined a quarter cup of peanuts to be?

Sadly, it is.

Is it, however, satisfying in its own way? Does it adequately fill my hunger? Does it nourish my body and help me to feel good, clean, and healthy? Does it do so in the same way that I imagine 2, 3, or 4 cups of peanuts would (but don’t, really)? Does it do so much better, in fact, than a fast food meal or three would do?

Yes.

That is the plan.

1. The nerve. [↩]
2. This discounts the 8-week stint in 2000 when, at approximately 375 pounds — an approximation because the doctor’s scale wouldn’t weigh higher than 350 — and coupled with a brand new PCOS diagnosis and insulin resistance, my doctor told me to “Cut out the carbs.” The resulting blitz of a carb crusade would have put Dr. Atkins (may he rest in ketotic peace) to shame and I lost 35 pounds. Wham-o. I suppose I’m not counting those 8 weeks in my assertion because they were free. That awful, unhealthy regime was authored by yours truly and sponsored almost exclusively by my all-or-nothing, black-and-white thinking. Let’s just say I even avoided lettuce when I realized that it was a carb. [↩]
3. By (a) never allowing myself to be hungry, (b) regularly eating way past the hunger point, and (c) developing a complete disconnect with my body and all of her signals… [↩]