Today was my first public Weight Watchers (WW) weigh-in; you know, the one after I spent my first week craving chocolate chunk scones and deliberating over every bite of food before I put it in my mouth. My week passed in a blur of points calculations and new recipes. I wore the same clothes today as I did for my initial weigh-in (the one prior to all the deliberations over what to eat), mostly because the WW receptionist suggested it; she said I would get a more “accurate” measure of how much I’m losing week to week if I always wore the same outfit. (She also told me my jeans weigh 2 pounds! She’s right, although I never thought much about actually weighing them until I joined WW.) If I stick to my weight loss plan, though, these jeans will play a major role in my journey — I have a recurring daydream of them puddling around my ankles on an inhale during a future weigh-in. Scary thought? Not at all! I think my fellow WW-ers would applaud me standing there in my underwear; they are a supportive bunch!
While I waited in line I watched as fellow WW-ers checked in. The first woman stepped up, head held high, handed her pass to the receptionist and proceeded to undress: off came her coat, sweater, and shoes; she smiled, tossed back her hair and stepped on the scale. The receptionist looked at the scale readout and smiled, congratulating the young woman on losing 4 pounds in a week!
Next an older woman walked hesitantly up to the receptionist; she handed her pass over, then s l o w l y disrobed: Off came her gloves, coat, shoes, hat, vest and jewelry – 4 rings, a bracelet, watch and earrings by my count — then I think I saw her fingers hesitate at the top button of her jeans, but she ended up picking a piece of lint off the front of her shirt instead. The older woman carefully stepped onto the scale and hung her head. Low. The receptionist looked at the scale readout and I saw her brow crease then smooth out. Wordless, she handed the older woman her pass. The older woman walked away, head still hung low.
It was my turn. I smiled and handed the receptionist my pass. Imitating what I saw the others do, I stripped off my coat, sweater and boots; I left my jewelry on since I didn’t want to look like I was desperate to squeeze out a negative number. Besides, I reminded myself roundly, no one can make me feel badly about my week unless I let them. Public opinion be damned; let’s see how I did! The receptionist looked at the scale readout and she looked at me. Her face was expressionless for a moment then she broke into a huge smile.
“Congratulations!” she said. “You lost 4.6 pounds!”
I stared at her, dumbfounded, as the number sunk in.
She leaned forward and asked, “Have you been going hungry all week?”
“No,” I replied seriously. “But I am suffering from serious chocolate chunk scone withdrawal. It’s bad.”