Almost There

Leading up to my decision to start Weight Watchers, I wasn't exactly a fan of the program. I viewed it as I did pretty much all diets, it was for people who were too weak to exercise and control their calorie consumption. Not ME. I was accidentally overweight. MY weight was due to a difficult pregnancy. And it was just a matter of time before it fell off of me. Fell off, people. But three and a half years and it wasn't falling off. I was working out like crazy and feeling like I was eating sensibly, but I wasn't losing weight. Clearly, I was one of those people who couldn't control my calorie consumption.

So one day while sucking down a milkshake at Chick Fil A, (And I wondered why I couldn't lose weight. REALLY?) Katie suggested we do Weight Watchers together. I should note here that Katie is a very dear friend for doing this with me because she didn't really need to lose weight but she knew, cause she's intuitive like that, that I needed a nudge, and maybe that nudge was someone to go to meetings or weigh-ins with me. So that very night we went to the neighborhood Weight Watchers and signed up.

Since then I have been to exactly two meetings. But I go for my weigh-ins every week and I follow the points system religiously. And people it is WORKING. I've lost 30 pounds! I'm down two sizes and, most surprisingly, a half a shoe size. I'm running more and faster and easier. My heel spurs are gone. I didn't realize how much weight I was carrying in my face. I swear I've lost a pound of nose alone. I'm smaller than I've been in eight years. I look like me again.

I'm not to my goal yet. And frankly, I was hesitant to write a "look at the fabulous job I'm doing" post yet because I really want a big before and after reveal when I hit my 40 pound goal. But its been a long road and I felt like talking about it a little. So there you go. Status updated.

Itsy Bitsy

I went to the gym this morning, as I do most days, all part of the continued effort to recover my 25 year old derriere. After depositing Sophie at child care, I headed for the locker room. I dropped my bag off in one of the lockers and walked toward the long mirror that runs along the wall across from them.

As I approached the mirror, I adjusted my iPhone armband and reached up to tighten my ponytail. Now just a few feet from the mirror, I noticed a small black spot on my neck. Peering closer, I noticed that the spot was MOVING. I reached up and brushed the spot, looking at my hand as I did. Which was when I realized that the spot was actually a tiny spider and quickasaflash I whipped my hand out with a scream, flinging that spider off into locker room oblivion.

With the threat now gone, I chuckled at my reaction and gave thanks that I was alone in the room. I'm not especially freaked out by spiders. In fact, I generally like that they eat all of the other little creepy crawlies that I really don't like. I am not a fan of having them ON MY BODY, but barring that, I'm a pacifist. Live and let live, I say.

But then the itching began.

A spot on my arm. Another on my leg. On my head. My chest. My skin was crawling like a meth addict coming off the crank.

Now, I couldn't actually see any other spiders, but I am fairly certain that hundreds of the little bastards were working their way up my body. My best guess is that they were hatched from an egg sac in my belly button and they were on a mission towards my brain where they planned to burrow in and take over my body. I was ground zero for a massive spider conspiracy to take over the world.

Damn my innie genes. If only I had an outie, the rise of our arachnid overlords could have been averted.