I was standing in the local coffee shop in Yarmouth this morning, waiting for two cups of coffee to go, one for my colleague, K, and one for me. I was waiting and looking at the baked goods in the glass case.
There were raspberry muffins (I've seen him eat one before) and lovely, enormous scones, scones nearly as big as my head.
Scones beyond reckoning.
Maybe not that big, but you get the idea.
And the tiny little bird on one shoulder said, "Oh, why not?" "You can take a muffin for K and a scone for yourself. They look delicious!"
And the tiny little bird on the other said, but only after a long moment of hesitation, "Nope."
It's not because of Lent that I've returned to the discipline of following Weight Watchers, but the Lenten themes of fasting and sacrifice certainly seem appropriate, even if we're hoping to do something that will be a life change instead of a "diet."
Don't Let's Call It a Diet. That's the category I assigned to posts about my weight loss journey when I began it in earnest in 2007. I reached a point in my life where my doctor threatened blood pressure medication unless I got myself in hand, and as those of you who've known me or been reading along for a long time know, I spent the next year following the program pretty faithfully, despite running into the roadblock of Rheumatoid Arthritis in the second part of the year.
Illness was one thing. I continued to lose weight when I first got sick. Maybe that's *why* I did, at least in part, lose as much weight as I did. Prednisone put a stop to weight loss, in the short term, but mostly feeling sorry for myself did. I spent the fall of 2008 feeling sorry for myself and eating. Around Christmas I decided it had to stop, went back to a Weight Watchers meeting in January, and got back on track. I wrote about it. I followed the program. But I didn't successfully change my life.
I can see it in the Weight Loss graph and chart on the WW website by looking at the last date I weighed in (March 26, 2009) and then looking at the number I had to chart in January of 2010. In between there's a vast empty place in my memory, a sort of blind willfulness about what I put into my mouth. Work was stressful, my husband's absence for work stressful, whatever whatever whatever was…stressful.
I'm trying again, and I've been reluctant to blog about it, because, seriously, we've been down this road before, and why should this time be any different? I can't promise it will be, but I'm trying. I'd like to get back to a point I reached almost two years ago. That's my goal for now, but my real goal is to relearn eating and to have a conscious relationship with food.
It's embarrassing to think of the number of times I've read books on the topic. How many attempts are we allowed in this life before there are no more chances?
I believe in redemption, that we can change, that where there is life, there is hope. But I know it's hard. I know the source of hunger for scones instead of bread is not some external tempter, but an inner condition.
I know the devil that tempts me looks less like a serpent and more like me.