Waisting Time

I was a preteen when I saw the movie Jaws.  I spent the entire movie, once the shark had grabbed its first victim, with my feet tucked up on my seat so as to avoid a similar fate.

Some fears are irrational.  Some fears are not.

I’m afraid of going to my mom’s lake house.  There is much evil lurking in the dark depths there.

My mom’s lake house is filled with food and family.  Doubly challenging for me.  At home I can somewhat control my environment.  At the lake house there is very little I can control.  Including, it would seem based on history, not even my own actions.  Because somehow I seem to spiral OUT of control in the face of all the temptation and drama.  The kitchen is filled with food.  All kinds of food.  Very unhealthy and decidedly “off plan” food.  Red-light and trigger food.  And I don’t have my routine like I do at home, filled with exercise equipment and the blogworld to distract me from snacking.  And then there is the family drama that seems to be ever-present when you fill a house.  Family drama which for me leads to emotions which can in turn lead all to easily to eating which in turn leads to more eating which leads to negative emotions…

Two summers ago this very weekend I was at my goal weight.  (Yet again.)  I went to the lake.  With a bit of trepidation but the best of intentions.  The first day I held strong in the face of home-baked goodies.  The second day I decided I could dip my toe into the moderation waters.  Further and further in I stepped until, like quicksand, I was dragged down.  And when I returned home, bloated and remorseful, I never really got back on track again.  The slippery slope of weight regain began at the lake house and continued through the fall into winter.  Fast forward to last summer.  Back at my goal weight.  (Yes, again.)  Back to the lake more than once.  And with mixed results.  Some success, some massive failure.  And while I can’t directly link those trips last summer to my regain again of last fall, I suspect they were just one more piece of my yo-yo dieting puzzle.

So, yes, I fear the lake house.  And yes, I am again at my goal weight.

But, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, I am bound and determined to not let history repeat itself.  And the best ammunition I have is you:)  There is no internet at the lake, so no crutch to lean on from the blogworld.  I have to do this one all myself.  But it will help to know you are here waiting for my return and my report.  With several recent social eating successes under my (now smaller) belt, I’m going into this with a sense of, dare I say it, confidence in myself.  But I’m smart enough, or at least experienced enough, to know that confidence isn’t enough to keep my hand out of the cookie jar and the cookies out of my mouth.  So I’m going to set some goals so I can have a clear sense of accountability.

My goals for conquering the lake house this weekend:

• Eat only on plan foods at all meals and for all snacks except…
• Allow myself one treat each day if I really want it and if it is a shared dessert that everyone is having.  But only after dinner so I won’t have time to let the one treat spiral into a whole day of treats.
• Eat no white carbs with the one possible exception of my mom’s popovers if she makes them.
• Get back on track the minute I walk through the door back home.

I think I can.  I can meet my goals.  I can rewrite history.  Well, not really.  But I can ensure that my past behavior does not predict my future behavior.  I can go to the lake and enjoy myself.  I can come home with no regrets.

And through it all, in the back of my mind, I will remind myself that there may be no sequel to this particular horror movie since my mom has her house up for sale.

Do you have a similar place or experience that challenges your good intentions?  Any special plans for this weekend?

Ah, birthdays.  Filled with emotion.  And self-reflection.  And food.

This year mine is filled with optimism.  Okay, maybe “filled” is too strong a word.  Maybe optimism is too strong a word!  If you’ve been reading long, you know that optimism is NOT my middle name.  That dubious honor belongs to “whacked-out crazy yo-yo dieter.”  And I have the history to prove it.

Last year on my birthday I was at my goal weight.  The year before on my birthday I was at my goal weight.  This year on my birthday I am pretty much at my goal weight.  (I know you wouldn’t want me to split hairs about a pound or two left to lose.)  But, and this is a big but from a woman with a big butt, during each of the past years I have once again gotten caught up on the crazy roller-coaster ride of weight regain.  Yes, last year.  And the year before.  And the year before that.  Given my faulty memory that’s as far back as I can attest for sure but, trust me, the roller-coaster ride has been part of my life for a very long time now.  I’ve been screaming with fright, trying to get off.

No more.  That’s the wish I’ll make when I close my eyes and blow out the candles.

Not a wish really.  Because wishes are something you throw out at the universe and then sit back and hope come to fruition.  So I guess when I metaphorically blow out the candles I’ll be making a commitment.  A pledge.  A promise.  To myself.  This is my year.  Forty-eight.  Rhymes with “great.”  And “what I ATE.”  And William and Kate.  (Sorry, couldn’t resist.)  And I can’t WAIT.  And “better LATE than never.”  Which rhymes with “forever.”  As in how long I plan to give up the yo-yo on my way to being normal.  Starting now, with my 48th year.

So here’s to a birthday wish becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy.  Best birthday gift ever.

P.S.  I will not be having broccoli for my birthday dessert!