...er, well, on. The scale, that is.
Sorta knew I was this heavy, but was hoping that, by some miracle and despite the chocolate puddings (note the plural) that I gulped down the night before weigh-in, I'd weigh less.
Uh, not so much.
So, I forked over an indecent amount of money to some extraordinarily chipper women, stepped onto the scale for another smiling, chatty lady and took my seat, waiting for the weight to magically slide off of me. Hey, I paid money, I'm here in the Weight Watchers meeting - shouldn't I be skinny by now?
Apparently, that's not the way things go, more's the pity. In any case, I stayed. I learned stuff and collected my little food tracking booklet and another, detailing the number of points certain foods garner.
Interesting. My daily intake of points should be 32 (Thank GOD, I'm still nursing Luke, as this gives me extra points. I'm gonna nurse him until he's 5, or I lose all this weight, whichever comes first!) and I immediately flipped to "doughnuts".
It is sort of my "tradition" to pick up a box of Timbits at the beginning of a long drive. I tell myself that they're for the Reds, but really, I only share them - rather grudgingly I'll admit -with the boys. They each get one. With water. And then, while sailing down the 401, I skillfully sip my double-double (extra-large, thank you very much) while simutaneously shoving the remaining 8 Timbits in my mouth.
8. Timbits. Before Cobourg. All by myself.
Yes, I am a sloth and should be shot, but that's not the point. The point IS, a single Timbit is worth about 4 points. EACH. Timbits are 4 points, each.
Which means, on a stretch of highway, in less than 2 hours, I've been inhaling my entire point value for the ENTIRE day.
Good thing I'm learning to run this week. Gotta burn off years of denial and Timbits!