Week 8 turns out to be a week of extremes.
It starts fairly benignly with a sensible Wednesday, despite a trip to Chadstone Shopping Centre for a VIP shopping night. Around 8pm, tired and hungry, I find myself in the Food Court (which, as we all know is the Enemy to WW people).
I stand staring for about two full minutes at my favourite ever dish, meat ravioli with bolognese sauce. The pan is full. The aroma is overwhelming. The queue is short. I feel myself giving in.
Then I speak aloud to myself: “Walk away from the counter”. A couple of people glance at me but I do it. I head for the Chinese food place and have a healthy dinner of steamed vegies and steamed rice. This is the very first time ever that I have had that much willpower.
Thursday starts well, especially as a lunch date in a really good Italian restaurant doesn’t materialise. I savour a Cajun chicken and vegetable wrap and head for the airport to join Orlando in Sydney. My bag is full of WeightWatchers snack bars and corn chips, and a couple of small apples for emergency airport snacking. We eat in a lovely little stirfry place near the Prime Minister’s residence. I choose a vegetarian option and limit my rice intake to two tablespoons. I am on a roll.
For the rest of the weekend we walk our feet off (I have the blisters to prove it). I so my usual away-for-the-weekend thing of two substantial meals a day, and all is on an even keel. Then, over dinner with my brother-in-law on Friday (grilled fish and green salad), we polish off more than two bottles of wine between two of us. That is over a bottle each at seven points a bottle. And doesn’t include the two G&Ts we had in PJ O’Brien’s beforehand. My daily total is 34.5 points versus my daily limit of 20. Even with ten points of exercise under my belt I am a disaster zone.
Undeterred, I charge through Saturday and Sunday making excellent food choices and walking miles. I am redeeming myself. Our last dinner on Sunday evening is at the famous Jordon’s seafood restaurant on Darling Harbour. I ask about the bouillabaisse and the waitress suggests that it is an extremely large dish, particularly for a female. She cautions against ordering it, and I ignore her. “I’m really hungry”, I argued. “I’ll have it.”
When my food arrives at the table it is literally on a dish as big as a turkey roasting dish. Its centrepoint is the biggest crab I have ever seen with claws as big as a lobster’s. It is piled high with salmon, barramundi, calamari, king prawns, mussels. The people at the next table point and laugh. Orlando looks smug with his grilled barramundi fillet and steamed vegetables.
I eat it all.
The rest of the week is a blur but I get back on track. Miraculously, I stand on the weighing scales at Wednesday’s meeting and I have lost 0.4kg. I can’t believe I got away with it.
I resolve to keep my head down and focus this coming week, as I am now 0.7kg (1½lb)away from my goal weight. It is achievable by next week if I work hard at it – but there is our St. Patricks’ Day Pizza And Red Wine Night Out to consider. If not, I will certainly have made goal by the end of March, which will be perfect.