Back in October I joined Weight Watchers at work. The premise is pretty simple: you get so many “points” (assigned by calories, fiber, and fat content) per day, with some extra weekly points, and you tote up your daily points, subtracting “activity” points, trying to stay under your target. Counting one’s food is abhorrent, but so is eating yourself sick, so there you go. It also works, but only because under the WW regime I ended up eating only a fraction of my typical daily intake. For example, on WW I got 20 points a day. Here’s what I would normally eat, pre-diet:

  • Bagel: 8 points
  • with peanut butter: 4 points
  • 3-egg omelet: 8 points
  • with cheese: 3 points
  • actually, more cheese than that: 3 more points
  • large orange juice: 4 points

Already 10 points over the daily limit, and that’s just breakfast! (And, you know, I would have considered that a perfectly healthy breakfast because there was no donut.) I’ve gone from wondering why it’s so hard for me to lose weight to marveling at the speedy metabolism that’s been keeping me from reaching “morbidly obese” for all these years.

It’s an unpleasant and somewhat terrifying experience, feeling your body consuming itself. There is a sort of panic that sets in when you’re burning more calories than you’re eating, not to mention a kind of anhedonia when you realize that there will be no joy in breakfast, lunch, or dinner for the foreseeable future.

Did I mention the TIRED? I didn’t exercise at all the first four weeks because I was just too damn exhausted to drag my butt anywhere. Then when my energy started to revive, I thought, hey, I’ve just lost x pounds; why should I go for a run? (I’m sure Doctor Mama would have a good rejoinder, but lalalalalala…I can’t hear her.)

I also suffered a strange kind of body dysmorphia that prevented me from realizing that my clothes were now far too big. I had been the same clothing size since high school (of course, the sizes have grown along with me since then). I kept visiting the mirror, wondering why 25 fewer pounds didn’t LOOK better on me. I finally twigged to the fact that one’s trousers weren’t supposed to sag in the ass like that, and I bought some pants a size smaller, but they still seemed baggy. Then I decided, just for grins, to try on the next size smaller and, incredibly, the next size. I am finally clad in something that does not make me look like a hobo (although Aitch says that my new red Converse make me look like a clown).

Another odd effect: I am now continuously COLD. I’ve lost some insulation, it’s true, but I’m still on the higher end of a normal BMI; I’m adequately confit‘ed. I’m convinced it’s my body slowing way down in a panic over the lack of incoming sustenance.

Happily, over the last month or two, my metabolism seems to have revved up a bit. During ski season, I added a weekly bagel and ice cream sundae to my menu, with no ill effects. I no longer record every bite, but I do weigh myself every day, and when the scale starts to creep up, I cut food or add exercise. Sounds like a fun existence, doesn’t it?

A disclaimer: I don’t think there’s any particular virtue in being thin, nor any great vice in eating recreationally. Both are the result of habits, and once a habit is entrenched, it’s pretty easy to follow. I’m happy now to have some habits that have pulled me from the brink of pre-diabetes.

Unfortunately, arteriosclerosis still has me in its sights. A few months ago I went to a new primary care doctor (more on that later) who tested me for Vitamin D (the hot new deficiency) and cholesterol. The Vitamin D was fine, but my cholesterol was over 250. The doctor sent me the lab result and wrote on it, “Modify diet and retest in 3 months.”

“Modify diet”? I’ve MODIFIED, baby. That ship has sailed, with an all-night buffet loaded with everything I’m no longer eating.