I feel like I should clarify something.
When people ask me about how I started Crossfit and Weight Watchers—how I’ve slowly lost almost 100 pounds—I almost always tell people that I really didn’t give a shit at first.
And people cock their heads.
And people are like, Huh?
The fact of the matter is, there are a lot of people who start Weight Watchers or Crossfit or any other sort of diet and/or fitness routine with a clear end-result in mind. You walk through the doors of a Weight Watchers or Jenny Craig or LA Weight Loss or Curves with the distinct intention of losing weight. You go to Crossfit or Planet Fitness or Gold’s or wherever else to exercise, with the distinct intention of getting fitter, losing weight, hooking up with new people (let’s be real here), or whatever else. In either case, you have a clear REASON for doing what you’re doing.
But things are different when you’re fat.
Or at least in my case they were.
Like I’ve mentioned before, I’ve struggled with my weight my entire life. I’m no stranger to starting a new diet or exercise routine for the explicit purpose of shedding pounds. And I’m also no stranger to shedding a few pounds, getting frustrated, and then gaining it all back and then some.
And every time that happened, I was devastated. Like, super-crushed upset. It brought me further into the hole of helplessness and hopelessness.
And honestly, I was kinda-sorta okay with being almost 300 pounds (or at least I told myself that). Because that reality was better than the reality in which I super-cared about getting healthy, only to end up way heavier than where I started.
That was my mindset when I started Weight Watchers and Crossfit.
So when I say I didn’t care, it’s a little more complicated than that. I didn’t want to care. It was my way of protecting myself from the guaranteed and imminent disappointment of yet another failure. If I didn’t care, if I didn’t have an investment in whatever it was I was doing, how could I be disappointed when it didn’t work out?
And I actually went around telling people that I wasn’t going to put too much credence in the whole scenario until I had lost a significant amount of weight—like 20 pounds—which would show that it was more than simply my natural weight fluctuating.
So I started tracking what I ate and following the WW plan. A few pounds here, a few pounds there, I didn’t really do a happy dance at the scale ever because I just “didn’t care.” I went to Crossfit and I hurt all the time, but I didn’t think much of any of it, because who knew how long that would last.
And that’s how I went for several months.
During that time, I had obviously made some changes. Even though I “didn’t care,” I was still eating differently and exercising regularly.
But I still “didn’t care.”
I remember distinctly the week that I “discovered” I actually DID care.
When I first started WW, I lost most weeks. If I gained, it was something really small—fractions of pounds.
Obviously, this is not sustainable forever, as I have had to learn over the past year-ish as my weight loss has slowed significantly.
However, one week, I went to weigh-in, and I was convinced that I had done everything right, so I obviously should be losing. I stepped on the scale, and I had gained. And I hadn’t gained a fraction of a pound, either. It was upwards of three pounds or something ridiculous. And I was shocked.
I was so shocked and upset that after the meeting, I actually went into my car, called my mom, and sobbed uncontrollably.
“What’s the point?!” I wailed. “I’m done! I can’t do this anymore! I’m done!”
Obviously I didn’t quit, but by “not caring,” that is exactly the reaction I wanted to avoid. Clearly I cared. I don’t know when or how, but I suppose it’s only natural to have some feelings attached to a situation that you’ve been nurturing and investing in for a few months. I cared. I still care.
And as a result, I now know that I am not allowed to eat Chinese food (even just the egg-drop soup). Or eat it and just know it’s a guaranteed gain (THANK YOU sodium-related water retention!).