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# of lbs lost as of last Wednesday: 3

# of miles speed walked today: 2

# of calories lost from speed walking: 200 (that’s all???)

# of martinis I drank last night: 2 really big ones

Here’s the deal: I have always struggled with my weight. I mean ALWAYS. For as long as I can remember I suffered from being just a little too chubby. The only reprieve I ever got was shortly after I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes and lost a ton of weight. But honestly, it’s only because I went in to ketoacidosis and since I was 9, being thin at that age really doesn’t count. But right around the time I turned 15 I gained a ton of weight…and sadly, I’ve never taken it off. In fact, I’ve done quite a good job at putting more on. I am now proud to say that I am at the absolute heaviest I have ever been in my entire life. Isn’t it funny how when you’re a certain age you’ll look at yourself in the mirror, or step on the scale and say, “omigod. I am so fat. I need to lose weight.” But then like 10 years later after you never really did lose that weight and only gained more you step on the scale again or look at an old picture of yourself from back then and say, “Damn! I was thin back then! If only I could look like that now.” The fact is, we always want to be something that we’re not, and for a lot of us, what we are is seemingly never good enough. Like my friend Christina says, “You can never be too thin or too rich.” No shit!

About two months ago I decided to join Weight Watchers® for the 4th time. I joined it once when I was 16 (but only because my mother made me), once when I was about 22, once at 24/25 and now again a year later at 26. When I joined WW the second time I actually lost about 10 lbs. Not bad! But then I got lazy, decided it was better to eat my emotions than to deal with them, and gave it up. Since that time I have gained back those ten pounds and even put on 10 more. Lovely. I tell ya. I have the absolute worst willpower in the whole world—at least when it comes to food anyway. When I joined the program again two months ago I was sure that I was serious about it this time. No more excuses! No more screw ups! No more stretchy pants because my jeans don’t fit! Yes, I was determined. I was a woman with a plan.

I think I am probably the only person in the world to actually gain weight while on Weight Watchers®. I went in my first day (May 22nd) weighing a particular weight and a month later I had successfully GAINED 4 pounds. And no, it wasn’t just water weight. Because when I went back the next week I weighed exactly the same. A four letter word came to my mind when I found out my result. And really, why mince words: FUCK. What was I doing wrong? EVERYTHING. I was doing absolutely everything wrong. I wasn’t counting my POINTS® (the WW word for calories), I wasn’t exercising anymore, I was snacking on candy at work (bad diabetic!) and I was drinking too much. So, after a candid conversation with my brother who basically told me that I could either be serious about doing WW and lose the weight or not be serious and not lose the weight, I decided that I was sick and tired of being lazy, fat, and cranky and so I decided to go back to my basics—to go back to my roots if you will, and I made myself a weekly menu just like how my mom used to do for me back in the day when I was a young diabetic. And let’s face it: back when I was healthy, in shape, and at an appropriate weight. So, I wrote up my menu and for that whole week followed it religiously: measuring my food, not snacking, drinking lots of water, and making sure most of all, that I didn’t feel deprived. And when I walked in to my meeting last Wednesday after having followed my menu plan for the past 6 days, I discovered that I had actually lost 3 pounds. Hot damn! I am not looking forward to this Wednesday though. I think I fucked everything up this weekend when I ate my mom’s cheese enchiladas and homemade guacamole. Like I said earlier, When it comes to food, I have no willpower. I am totally weak and it’s something I’m really going to have to work on.

Today on my lunch break I decided to go to the gym. I can’t go after work. I’m just too tired. Plus it’s so easy to come up with an excuse: I have to stay late at work; I have a WW meeting to go to; I have an appointment with my therapist; it’s Monday; all the mean Armenian women hog the machines. There are always a million and one excuses why I don’t go to the gym. So, thanks to a friend who pointed out that there’s a branch of my gym not too far away from where I work, I decided today to go to the gym during lunch. It was perfect. I was one of maybe 10 people there, I still had plenty of energy since up until then I had only been sitting at my desk for 3½ hours instead of 9½, and now I can go straight home after work and relax with a cocktail instead of feeling guilty for not working out first. But I’ll tell you something. I am seriously out of shape. 30 minutes on the treadmill walking on a 2.0 incline at a speed of 3.6 almost put me over the edge. And all of that to lose only 200 calories?! You’ve got to be effing kidding me! I’m consuming more calories right now in my cup of Progresso soup than I lost at the gym this afternoon. And, do you know what’s even worse? On the treadmill next to me was this tiny little girl, who couldn’t have been more than 16 years old. And while I was walking and sweating balls this little thing was running effortlessly next to me. And at one point after she started running I felt this cool breeze kinda blow by me and I thought to myself, “I wonder if she turned on the personal fan that’s on her treadmill,” until I looked over and realized that no, her fan wasn't on. That breeze I felt was her—the air she was churning—as she ran past me. Well, like they say in AA: one day at a time.

I don’t consider fat a disease. I mean, c’mon, who had the gun to my head? Nobody. What gene in my body says I have to eat four cakes instead of two? It’s a choice.

~Kirstie Alley~