In keeping with my theory that you learn more from your failures than your successes, this is what I’ve learned on the path to failing with weight watchers.
I began my weight watchers commitment by drinking smoothies for breakfast. Add spinach to blender, frozen fruit, almond milk, and 1 tbsp. coconut oil, because I read coconut oil was a superfood. After calculating the points of this smoothie, I realized that 9 points is probably too much for breakfast and discovered an egg mcmuffin is actually 8 points. I had to plan a little better. Next morning I made a smoothie with water, abandoned all thoughts of coconut oil, too many fat and calories. Smoothie is now spinach, frozen fruit and water. Chew smoothie.
Social events are my biggest downfall with the weight watchers plan. At home, calculating points is easy. When I have to have meals away from home however I find it stressful, and impossible to succeed at the plan. So when I had a fundraiser come up, I knew that I had to plan ahead. Following the recommended advice of weight watchers for planning ahead, I discovered that the meal was to be served family style and consist of roast chicken and potatoes, salad and pasta. No problem. This is actually a bonus because it’s family style so I can serve myself the portions to stay on plan, I can save my weekly points, make some lighter choices for the day, and skip the bread basket. I will limit myself to one glass of wine and alternate with sips of water to make my wine last longer. The plan is in place.
The reality of the aforementioned event, and plan, is as follows. The first course arrived in the form of a creamy Italian soup with I think was sausage and potatoes. I passed on the soup. I watched my slim women friends at my table devour the soup, they encouraged me to try a little bit, but I held firm, confident in my plan. I realized my friend beside me was on her third bowl. I drank a glass of water to quell the grumbling in my stomach due to having only eaten a 1/2 cup of yogurt with fruit for breakfast, and a salad for lunch. I cursed myself for not considering the probability for the lateness of the dinner. I made idle chit chat trying not to sip my wine so I could have it with my meal. The pasta course arrived in the form of lasagna. I hadn’t accounted for this. My anxiety level climbed as I watched the platter passed around the table, each person taking a large piece and placing it on their plate, the cheese stretching between the platter and plate, sauce dripping. I was quickly trying to calculate the points, and make a decision regarding this unforeseen dilemma. When the platter reached my husband he presented it to me to take a piece, feeling brilliant I cut a piece in half and slid it to my plate, deciding that I should probably calculate this as 10 points. Just to be sure. The bread basket was handed to me and I resisted the crusty italian bread and passed it to my husband. Buoyed by my positive choice I sipped my wine savouring the flavour as it complimented the lasagna. I was feeling confident. I excused myself to the washroom, my calculated 9 cups of water were catching up to me. When I returned to the table however, I realized that my 1/2 glass of wine that I had carefully metered out in careful sips to last the entire dinner was now a full glass of wine. I had calculated with much debate with my husband that the original glass of wine would have been 5 ounces. Erring on the side of caution. I turned to my husband and demanded in a hushed tone who filled my glass up, assuming it was him. He shrugged and returned to his conversation, oblivious to my dilemma. I decided that I didn’t want to be fretting over a couple more ounces of wine and decided to count my wine intake to 2 glasses. Just in time for the main course, roast chicken and potatoes and salad. I felt slightly relieved, this I knew how to count. I took a small chicken thigh, passing over the legs and breasts justifying that the legs don’t have much meat and the breasts could have too much and if I took the thigh meat off the bone it was probably about 3 ounces. I felt fearless. No potatoes for me thank you, the pasta was enough. Salad, 0 points. Superiority washed over me as the giant bowl of iceberg lettuce and tomatoes was passed to me. As I lifted the salad tongs it became apparent that this salad was previously tossed with oil and vinegar, the oil lay on the leaves in streaky rivers. Superiority gave way to the mental anxiety of realizing that I would have to calculate the points for this betrayal from the kitchen. I quickly dropped two scoops of salad onto the plate and fought back the urge to stab my friend, who was complaining that no bread was given with this course and trying to coerce her husband into finding her some bread. At this point I have the overwhelming feeling that I had done the best I could. I ate my chicken and salad, passed on the dessert and my willingness to dance was probably a clue that my careful ministrations of my wine intake were grossly miscalculated. In the end, my attempts to make good choices caused nothing but anxiety.
When I recounted this experience to a friend of mine she pointed out that I didn’t actually fail at weight watchers, weight watchers failed me.