I had a moment in Target earlier this week. I feared having a total meltdown in the fitting room while trying on jeans.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve driven home in tears after clothes shopping. For women of a certain size, it can be an exercise in futility, and humiliation.
Damn you, fashion designers! Cruel bastages…
It’s no secret that for the past several months, I’ve been working towards a significant weight loss goal. I am this ][ close to that goal, but I seem to have reached my plateau. The scale needle has not moved in two weeks.
The steady drop leveled off, and I know why. I’ve been sabotaging my efforts. I got cocky and thought I could go back to eating whatever I wanted as long as I kept exercising.
Walking five miles a day burns off a lot of calories. Then again, sneaking jelly beans and M&Ms, noshing cookies and donuts, and chomping handfuls of potato chips, add up to a lot before you know it.
I call it the Conspiracy Law of Rotundity. The closer you approach weight loss goals, the more insidiously you conspire against yourself to achieve that goal.
E ⇒ mI(s) < J ⇑ m³(s)
(The energy expended to reach ideal solid mass is less than the impulse facilitating magnification of total solid mass.)
In an effort to break through my weight wall, I’m trying to bump up the burn. I’ve donned a weight vest and wrist weights during my morning walks. I should have incorporated weights from the beginning… Conspiracy Law.
(Aside: The vest is only eight pounds, but I can feel the drag of the extra weight. Eight pounds doesn’t sound like a lot, until you recognize that I have lost the equivalent of FIVE of those vests.)
I know that snacks and junk food are the antithesis to losing weight, yet I continue to bring temptation into the house … Conspiracy Law.
I exercise every morning, then have crullers for breakfast…. Conspiracy Law.
Drinking two full-sugar Cokes in a day instead of diet soda, unsweet tea or water… Conspiracy Law.
When a cup of plain frozen yogurt would do, adding sprinkles and fudge sauce… Conspiracy Law.
If I’m anything, I’m Law abiding.
Back to the fitting room.
(I call this, “burying the lede.”)
About the same time I started this stroll down Weight Loss Lane, I went clothes shopping. I was attending a concert and needed a new pair of dress pants. I had to get a size 18. That was one of those moment when I drove home in tears.
This week, I tried on, and fit into, a pair of size 10s. I haven’t fit into a size 10 since Reagan was President. This time the tears were because I broke the Law.