It's a New ME ... Maybe

On April 1st, when I showed up for my housecleaning job on Friday instead of my normal Thursday, I forgot my weigh-in book because my routine got all screwed up. Of course, it was the first thing Janet asked for when I entered the kitchen. "I forgot it," I informed her, "but I lost .6 this week." Not my best, but better than a gain. I was happy, especially since I had celebrated my birthday, eating cake twice, and going out to dinner once with my hubby.

"I'm really getting tired of the 160's, I want you in the 150's!" she huffed.

"Oh really? Well, bite me! I quit!" I stomped out of the house, leaving her slack-jawed in the kitchen to fend for herself to get her house cleaned.

Every time I turn around, she's saying something negative to me! A couple of weeks ago, she said, "Before you lost weight, I didn't think you'd fit in my tub!" Not sure why I would be in her tub, but that's beside the point. She just wants to rub in the fact that I was so big. And at almost 230 lbs. (my heaviest was 237), I know I was big! She doesn't have to remind me every chance she gets.

Another comment she made was when I was filling the bucket to mop the floors. She has an island in the middle of her kitchen and sets up the ironing board between the island and sink. She stands at the ironing board, and I'm behind her, filling up at the kitchen sink when she says, "Look! Now we can BOTH fit in here now that you've lost weight." I resisted the urge to dump the bucket on her head and walk out.

I never did "win" the bathing suit when I left for the cruise in December (has it really been that long since I've posted?). I lost 58.6 lbs., not the 60 we agreed on, nor did she make an exception and give me a bonus anyway. She gave me my traditional Christmas bonus, but that doesn't count towards the bathing suit bonus. Oh well, I got enough of an earful about gaining 9 lbs. while on the cruise when I got back. Before I left, she said it would be okay for me to gain "a little, since you don't go on a cruise every day." But when I showed her my weigh-in book and the 9 lb. gain, I felt like a little kid caught with my hand in the cookie jar with the way she chastised me. I didn't care what she thought, well, actually I did, but I wasn't going to beat myself up over 9 lbs. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I knew I was going to gain. I just had to re-lose it all, that's all. And I have, and then some!

Okay, so I really didn't say "Bite me." That part was an April Fools. I simply said, "I'm doing my best," and smiled graciously.

She walked over to her laundry closet and opened the doors. "As incentive for getting into the 150's, I'll give you this picnic set." Her eyes gleamed as if she was handing me a Tiffany Egg. The set was bright orange, plastic, and used. What did I want with a used set of plastic dishes? My husband celebrated his 50th birthday two weeks ago, and she gave him a nice copper casserole dish. Sure, it was used, but she polished it up all nice and clean and it was beautiful! A week later, he hammered in a wall anchor and hook for them to re-hang a clock in their living room. Took him all of 30 seconds. She polished up another copper frying pan and gave it to him for a thank-you gift. I've lost 61 lbs., am running 4-6 miles 4 times a week, I'm training for a 10 mile race in Garden of the Gods, and all I get is a set of plastic dishes? What the ...???

I tried to seem excited. Why can't I get up enough courage to tell her off? Now, if she wanted to give me the rest of the copper dishes, that would really float my boat, but I can't get excited over some plastic plates. She turned to face me, "And, when you reach 150, I'll give you a one-hundred-dollar bonus."

Now that was more like it, but money didn't motivate me. At least, not that much. Strange, I know. I acted appreciative, but still, her words kept running through my head, "I'm tired of the 160's ...." After all my efforts, all my running, all my weight training at the gym, none of it was good enough for her.

Her comments took a toll on me the rest of the week. On Monday, I was so depressed, I didn't even go for my run. I couldn't shake the funk I was in. On Tuesday, I binged on junk food. I even took the edge off with a mixed drink, and I rarely drink unless it's a special occasion. I bought Whoopie Pies at the grocery store and sucked them down so fast I barely tasted them. The pies weren't enough, I threw back a couple of frosted sugar cookies. With sprinkles.

I felt wretched. I wanted to choke her! It was all her fault! I cried myself to sleep that night.

When I awoke on Wednesday, things looked a little better, so I went for my run. I pushed myself to go further than my standard 4 miles. My furthest so far was 5.6 miles, but today, I had a lot of calories to burn off. So I went 6.75 miles! I couldn't believe it! Granted, I took an Aleve when I got home and iced my knees like my coach suggests, then took a cat nap with the puppies. But I feel great now.

As soon as I get off here, I'm going to write her a letter. For real this time. And when I arrive tomorrow afternoon, I'm going to hand it to her and make her read it before I let her say anything to hurt me. After she reads it, we can discuss the "new me," and how I won't let her make comments like that to me anymore. No more justifying her callous remarks because she's "old," or "she doesn't realize she's doing that," etc. No, like my favorite song says, "It's a new day, it's a new dawn, it's a new life, and I'm feeling goooooooooood." (Incidentally, it's the unofficial theme song for Weight Watchers.) That includes a new ME, and I'm going to stick up for myself from now on.

Maybe.