Denial. Bad. The story of my crummy weigh-in.

Allow me to remind the world for the 39th time that travel is hard on my regimen.  This is particularly the case for my biannual trips to Australia.  Though native Australians love to complain about their national airline, I have to tip my hat to Qantas for running a pretty tight ship.  In particular, I still hold that they serve the best airline food around, though this is an admittedly low bar.  Combine their almost-haute cuisine with 24 hours of non-stop travel time, and it's a recipe for eating disaster.  I tried my noble best to not careen completely off the rails, but I was only marginally successful.  I exercised hard this past week, but there is only so much working out before the crushing tide of too much food overwhelms.  Basically, I just got back from a cruise.

In general, I have to say that the past few months have been pretty rough from a staying on-plan perspective.  I don't ever recall a time in my professional life with quite as much travel and work socializing as I have experienced over the past few months.

All of this is a lead-up to 6 PM last night.

Fun fact about my house:  we keep a Weight Watchers grade Tanita professional scale in our house that was acquired from a medical supply shop several years ago.  Its presence means that I can have a Weight Watchers worthy weigh-in any time I like.  Yet, for the past few months, I have avoided this hideous device like the plague.

I was in three consecutive Sydney-based Weight Watchers meetings this past Tuesday, and I could have weighed-in at any of them.  I didn't.

Why?  The very obvious answer is that I really didn't want to know the truth.

So at 6 PM last night, I was fishing something out of the guest-room closet where I keep our Tanita scale, and I had the sudden impulse to man-up and step on the scale.  What ensued felt a bit like being hit with a club.  6 pounds over goal.  Ugh.  I proceeded to toss myself into a one hour tail spin replete with rampant self-abuse and prolific self-cursing.  In an effort to further propel my self-flagellation, I grabbed my waist and shook it, cursing myself all the way.  Boy did I suck.

Two observations about this little hour of sunshine and the time that led up to it:

One:  What's with avoiding the scale?  There is something so dumb and self-destructive about my avoiding weigh-in's.  I know that I'm slipping, yet somehow denial will make it all the better.  In the process, I miss the opportunity to more quickly self-correct and get back to a more sane and healthy choices.  Avoiding the weigh-in results in a building cycle of not so awesome choices followed by further avoidance.  This my friends is how I successfully gained six pounds.

What's the definition of denial?  Courtesy of Wikipedia (courtesy of Pyschpages):  "Denial is a defense mechanism postulated by Sigmund Freud, in which a person is faced with a fact that is too uncomfortable to accept and rejects it instead, insisting that it is not true despite what may be overwhelming evidence."

There is some really interesting research that has come from a project called the National Weight Control Registry, run by some really sharp academics.  This research project has studied a large group of people who have lost significant weight and have maintained their weight loss for many years.  One shared trait among them is that they weigh themselves or get weighed regularly.  When they see their weight creep up, they use this as an early indicator that they are falling back on old habits and they course correct.  This is how they avoid gaining back 30, 50 or 100 pounds.  Usually the tolerance for re-initiating is about five pounds.  For these folks, this is not being a slave to the scale, but rather using the scale as an objective lifestyle feedback mechanism.

Lesson for me?  Take advantage of the Weight Watchers meetings I am already attending for work purposes, and get a weigh-in.

Two:  What's with the self-flagellation?  There is a widely held belief that men don't get emotional about their weight.  I don't know who came up with this theory, but based on my own giant sample size of one, I find this to be wholly ridiculous and untrue.  I believe that the only difference between men and women on this topic is how they express it.  My theory, based on my own self-observations, is that men have a tendency to bottle it up and try to put it into a safe little box in the back of their minds.  Based on my own experience, this is not a good practice -- at least not for me.  

I've been at goal, not moving more than 2-3 pounds in either direction for well over two to three years.  It is only natural for me to be disappointed and irritated with myself now that I have significantly deviated from this.  Owning this publicly, either on this blog or at a Weight Watchers meeting, is a better way to exorcise the demon by being honest about the fact that I slipped up.  It is the full opposite of denial.

This said, my self-flagellation was pretty over-the-top and definitely distorted.  I mean really, six pounds on a six foot three inch man is not worthy of a bridge jump.  I do realize that I tend to be a little ridiculous about this kind of stuff.  What can I say?  Don't do as I do!

So how to re-frame all of this?  First off, I need to be relieved that I finally stepped on the scale and confirmed what I already knew to be true.  Better to find out at six pounds than twenty.  Secondly, slapping myself repeatedly about the facial region is wholly unnecessary.  This isn't complicated.  I just need to break out the old tracker and get back on program.  Give me a month, and I can easily be back on goal.  Again, this is not a cause for stress, but rather it's a relief.

In summary, denial + self-abuse = unhelpful.  Proactivity + self-belief = good outcomes.

I get to spend an entire week in my normal routine (i.e., no travel).  Seems like a good opportunity to get back to basics.

Cheers,

dk