I've been tossing around the idea of rejoining Weight Watchers for a few weeks now. I'm kind of bummed out about it, but I figure it's better to join now than oh say 30 pounds from now.
I've gained back seven pounds. That might not seem like a lot, but I've been hovering around the same three pounds for weeks now. I've cut back my portions, drank water like it's going out of style, and worked out four times a week. Nada. Nothing. Zip. Up two pounds, down one pound, and so on. It's an ugly cycle that I can't seem to get out of without some help.
I am in some serious self-loathing right now. I worked so damn hard to lose all that weight, and now I have let myself start going down the slippery slope. I have been eating everything in sight for no good reason at all. I rejoined the "clean my plate" club about two months ago.
I don't really fit in with the typical Weight Watchers crowd. When I went to sign up today, I had a bunch of the other attendees glaring at me and I ended up leaving about 5 minutes before the meeting actually started. You could see it on their faces - why is SHE here? I'm here because I need help. I need accountability. I need to be healthy and take care of myself. It's as easy as that.
I'm not a happy dieter. I bitch, I whine, and I'm generally not a happy camper. I end up turning it into a project for myself in terms of promising myself some kind of treat when I finish or reach my goal. I'm not sure what it is this time, but I'm hoping maybe a trip somewhere. Anywhere.
So, Miss Crabbypants registered today and as I was skulking out the door of the meeting, my cell phone rang. It was Cat Door. He's getting ready to leave Thursday for the Grand Canyon to do a little motocross riding and then two days in Vegas. God help Vegas.
There's a problem though. See, Mrs. Cat Door's uncle has cancer, and he happens to own an alpaca farm about five hours from here. Family members have been pitching in on weekends to help keep the farm in order, so even though he was there a few weeks ago he rode down there on Saturday to work for two days.
Alpacas, for the most part, are apparently pretty docile - or at least the ones his uncle has raised are. There are a few that he has that he inherited from someone else that are less than friendly. It's not that they're vicious, but they can be kind of aggressive in that they will try to butt you with their heads, knock you over, etc.
Yesterday, he was cleaning up when suddenly one of the alpacas came over and ended up stomping on the edge of his foot - which promptly swelled up to the size of a grapefruit. Ouch. It's not broken, but he needs to stay off it for a few days and ice it up with the hopes that it will be significantly better by the time he leaves on Thursday. Having a fully-functional foot is pretty important when doing motocross riding, I imagine, since you have to like stand up on the pedal-thingies when you're doing jumps. Not to mention that gimping around Vegas is like so not hot, however it may help keep him out of jail. Needless to say, considering he has already paid for this non-refundable trip he is a little freaked out that he won't get to enjoy it as much no thanks to his furry friend.
I was thinking about it on the way home...there really isn't much difference right now between me on a diet and a crazy-ass alpaca. Well, maybe I smell better, but only slightly. I want a cookie so bad right now I could headbutt anyone out there.
It's official, I am pathetic.