My Damn Diet

There I was, three short years ago, convinced that I was perfectly fine weighing in at over 230 pounds.  After all, a major part of who I am is that I love to cook, I love to eat, I love to eat out.


Then I began to have what I thought were panic attacks.  Doozies.  If you have never had a panic attack in your life, let me just tell you they are terrifying.  There is a real fear that you are going to be unable to take a breath.


And my knees finally gave up on my, leaving me in intense pain.  The magic shots that shoot fake cartilage into your knee joints are supposed to work for six months; they only worked for three.


My GP, who had been hounding me to pay attention to my blood pressure for years, finally hit her mark.  I was ready.  My son was leaving for college, nobody to cook for (i.e. give me an excuse to feel bad because I was dieting instead of making great meals for the two of us), and I was going to prove to my doctor that I could lose weight and lower my blood pressure so I wouldn't have to live my life dependent on pills.


You know, I do remember groaning with the hunger for a "good" meal, but in those first two years I lost 40 pounds.  I went from 160 mg. Diovan to half that.  Then I began to gain and lose and gain and lose again.  The fear of hitting 200 pounds kept me from totally going off the diet.  And it hadn't been that hard.  After I came back from a vacation, or after the various family members visited, I got right back on the diet and took the weight off again.


By year three, I vowed to lose ten more pounds.  And I did, within six months.


And then, over the next six months, I gained them back.


I hate dieting.  And now it's hard again.


The last time family came to visit, I hit that blasted 200 mark again, which determined me to straighten out -- for awhile.


I promised myself a Blue-Ray player, so I can subscribe to Netflix, if I get down to 187.


I can't do it.


If I even contemplate eating dessert, I gain a pound.  Today I began to do the totally craziest thing a dieter can do:  I began to weigh myself  every hour or so.  I figure it's something to do.


This is why I have to diet:


1.  My blood pressure is nearly normal, with 80 mg. Diovan.


2.  I don't get panic attacks.


3.  The reasons I was ignoring when I hit 230 are stuck in my head.  It's nice to be able to squeeze between tables in a restaurant without everybody having to stand up and move their chairs.  I can buckle my seat belt on an airplane, although I have vowed not to fly again until airport security goes the way of Japanese detention camps.  Clothes fit.  I have stamina for walking and swimming.


So now I'm stuck.  I have to diet.  And I hate it.