The thing about writing a memoir in the present tense is that the present has a way of changing things up on you. Plan A involved setting my mind on losing weight, telling the whole world I was going to do it via Twitter and blog posts, and then, well, getting off my ass and doing it.
Put up or shut up, ya know?
But Plan A relied on a few factors I had conveniently ignored. Had I, in fact, gotten fat just because of sheer laziness and gluttony, then changing my behaviors and eating habits would have had me on my path to weight loss like, say, four chapters ago.
But here I sit with only a 10 pound weight loss to hold on to since I created my Word document for this book, and the scale just ain’t budging any more. Except for a few weeks of having to take it lighter due to a sinus and ear infection that kept coming back, I’ve been religious about my workouts at the gym. And I’m now sporting a BodyBugg that tells me I’m being a very good girl, indeed, when it comes to my calorie burn, intake, and activity level. In all respects, I should have said hello to a slimmer waistline and goodbye to my Lane Bryant jeans by now. But instead, I’m sitting here trying to figure out how to be funny and snarky in a book about weight loss when I don’t have any to report.
So it’s on to Plan B.
My doctor wants me to see an endocrinologist because she’s just as confused as I am, and I’m also scheduled for an MRI of my brain to see what that pesky little pituitary gland tumor I have is up to, since it also plays a huge role in my ability to burn calories effectively.
Until then, it’s up to me to keep myself motivated when all I’ve got to look forward to is a great big question mark. I’ll chalk my pity party dairy queen blizzard up to a moment of weakness and like a good little hamster will jump bag on my wheel again tomorrow. There’s nowhere to go but here until I get my body figured out.