Weigh Ins are for Wussies. Or Honest People.

Four weeks. That is how long the fat reserves held out that my body was storing. For the first four weeks of my affair with Weight Watchers I couldn't have been happier. Portion sizes were awesome! I could eat anything that I wanted! The points system was so generous! I was never hungry!

Four weeks is how long it took for my body to realize that it was slowly being starved to death. Now? Portion sizes suddenly shrunk, the points are closing in on me, and I'm always hungry. While I can still eat anything, I now need all my points in filling foods (like carrots and bread) and can't afford to squander half my day's portion on half a chocolate bar.

I hate dieting. If I had the will power to keep myself from getting into this shape to begin with, I wouldn't have to diet. I'm grateful for Weight Watchers, mind you, but not happy about it.

One can only eat so many carrots and so much lettuce before one feels the need to snare a rabbit to fry. I wonder how many points an entire rabbit would be? And do they really taste like chicken?

I lied on my weight last week and am now being punished for it. I was down twelve pounds total from the start (*me, smiling so hard that you can hear it*) but just before weigh-in I gained a few pounds. Those few pounds didn't allow me to meet my weekly goal set for myself, and since I'd been below that goal a day before, I fudged. I figured that I'd lose it again by the next day, but I figured wrong. Instead I spent the week gaining more weight. Don't even try to tell me that it was muscle gain from the treadmill because that does not make me happy. Just in case that may have been the case, I stopped with the treadmill last week. (Mostly because of the crazy week that I had. Don't yell at me.) I still haven't lost that weight that I gained, so not only did I fudge last week, I'll have to fudge again this week to make it look like I didn't actually gain. Which I did.

Cheaters never win, but that's alright because I just want to be a loser. Unfortunately that's not even happening. I can run without wetting myself (much) and sprint without panting though, so that's something.

But trying to focus on the positive, I've lost way more inches than I have pounds. This makes me very, very happy. Also? It's funny how the last time I weighed this much I thought I was horribly overweight. While I was (and am still) it's so much better than what I was four weeks ago.

Also, I hate pictures. My mirror is whispering sweet nothings in my ear about how good I look compared to what I did, and my clothing isn't hugging me quite so tightly. I love this. But I saw a photo of my arm the other day and daaaang that thing is huge. Huge-er than my mirror says it is. Huge-er than I really think it is. It's not purty. I hate photographs. That's also probably what other people see when they look at me. For that, I'm sorry.

That right there is good enough incentive for me to continue nibbling carrots.