Weighing In

So my first day back as a fully paid-up, meeting attending, tracking-like-a-demon, Weight Watcher wasn’t stellar. But for the opposite reason you may think.

Firstly, the meeting itself. Some fantastic little old ladies who sat up at the front, cackling throughout and coming up with the kind of lines I would expect to hear from an Alan Bennett Talking Head. Loved it, and bless the Leader for attempting (in vain) to keep them reigned in. The scales were less fantastic – I always find meeting scales to be a little bit meaner than my home set (obviously the fact that I can’t strip nude in the middle of a church hall may have something to do with that) but the number…well, it just is, isn’t it? No point crying over it.

That’s not to say that I didn’t have a knot of anxiety in my stomach all morning – the kind that presses against your diaphragm and makes you feel utterly sick. So, aside from a few cups of coffee (milk = 0.5) I hadn’t consumed anything before the twelve o clock weigh in. Lunch was a 6” turkey and ham on wheat with all the salad fixin’s and a good dollop of light mayo from Subway (=5) plus a bag of Baked crisps (=1.5) and dinner was an absolutely gorgeous dish of salmon (=4.5) with fennel remoulade (=0.5)* and wild rice (=3). Which put me on a total of 15 points – way under the lowest WW recommend I go. Add into the mix 4 bonus points earned at the gym (yay!) and I had created quite an impressive deficit.

Now WW lore tells us that to go way under your points is as foolish as going way over. And the legend of “Starvation mode” is pretty compelling – and an excellent way to justify a weekend blow-out once in a while (“I was shocking my body out of starvation mode! Honest, guv!”) But as a Leader of mine once said to the class, “You never see fat anorexics.” Which may not be the most sensitive way of putting it, but I kind of see her point. Anyway, I am not going to stress mightily about starting the week off with a few too many points in the bank. A trip to York races on Friday, where the wine will no doubt be flowing, should sort that out.

*Not wishing to take credit for someone else’s creation, you can check the original recipe out here – obviously tweaked for WW purposes chez Seren.

The acceptable face of fast food?

I have a bit of a post weigh in ritual.

Well, let’s call it more a bribe. I need to bribe myself to leave the office, head ten minutes up the road and face the Scales of Doom. Whether or not I have had a reasonable week points wise, at about an hour before kick off my mouth goes dry, my heart starts pounding a little bit and I start to doubt every single food related decision that I have made in the past seven days. Then, I start to think of reasons why I can’t go. I must finish this piece of work I think, or, it’s raining and if my hair is wet then it will add literally ounces to the result. During the cold snap earlier this year (if a snap can be said to last six weeks) I fretted about picking my way across the icy pavements. Weigh in or keep all my teeth?

So, I bribe myself. Go to weigh in and afterwards you can indulge in some fast food. Specifically, a six inch turkey and ham sub on wheat with salad (hold the chillies and olives) and light mayo which comes in at a very reasonable 5 points.

Subway, to me, is the compromise between wanting to indulge my naughty child’s desire for something “dirty” and my responsible adult wanting to remain on plan. But it got me wondering why it is fast food is such a treat.

I mean, I’ve read some people say that after x number of weeks on y plan they lose their taste for junk food. Not me. After a shitty day at work, a slice of greasy, doughy, nothing-like-Italian pizza from Dominos tastes like manna from heaven. Had a couple of cocktails? What better to chase them down than a cheeseburger the size of a baby’s head complete with a substantial dollop of lurid sauces?

I love beautiful food as much as anyone. I fully recognise that one of those sad little brown patties from McDs cannot compare with the majestic, organic beef burgers made at my local farm shop. And don’t get me started on the cheese slices that are obviously more closely related to plastic than cheese. And yet the taste…is it just the salt and fat and chemicals pumped into these foods that create some sort of cycle of addiction within the consumer? Or are these foods also tied up so closely with memories, with belonging to a particular culture at a particular time, that they are an intrinsic part of who we are?

As a young child there was no greater treat than a cheeseburger and chips at the Wimpy Bar, unless it be the giddy heights of lunch at Pizza Hut. My parents were not big advocates of feeding kids on a diet of junk, but every few months we would venture into these institutions and I remember being so excited at being “out” to eat. Pizza Hut was where you went on birthdays or special family occasions. I wonder if that is why it is that I still regard a slice of pizza as my go-to food when I am unhappy or stressed. I wonder if that slice of pizza represents a safe place, a happy time, a memory of being with the people I love.

Or am I just reading too much into this? Do I just like pizza because it is full of chemically stuff that is designed to make it appealing?

Either way, it seems to keep my naughty side happy by letting her pay a visit to Subway on a weekly basis. Hey, it’s a very minor rebellion and worth it to keep her quiet.