It's true. Sometimes, especially when life gets in the way and I am pulled in a thousand directions, I don't want to write it down.
My food, that is.
I have recorded, or "journaled," as it's called in Weight Watchers' parlance, every bite of food since 2002. (Well, OK, I may have forgotten a bite or two. Um, I don't remember.)
So. Why do I do it? Still?
Actually, I was asked this recently.
A couple of quick reasons -- not the main one, but important, all the same:
- I have "food amnesia." I tend to forget what I've eaten during the day. Consequently, I tend to eat too much. "Oh, sure, I can have a hamburger; I've barely eaten anything all day." Yeah, right.
- If I write it down, I will see, in black and white (well, in screen pixels, anyway), whether I need to cut back for a couple of days. "But you've already eaten it. What good does it do to write it down?" Because: if I see, after the day is over, that I've eaten 500 calories more than planned, I can adjust my intake for the next day, or two, or three. Or five. The point is, I don't have to rely on faulty memory, if I write it down. I know what I have to do, and I go and do it.
Could I maintain without journaling? Possibly. I do tend to eat the same things day after day . . . for breakfast and lunch, anyway. No doubt I could get away with not writing stuff down, at least for a while.
But, y'know, I don't want to.
Daily journaling gives me a focus.
I lost weight, a lot of it, once before, back in my late 20s. I dropped 60 lbs and hit my 30th birthday fit and trim, a runner and a weightlifter. I also did aerobic dancing. I felt wonderful. I kept the weight off for a couple-three years.
Then I decided to go back to school, at night. Caught up in learning a new vocation, lacking (or so I thought) the time to both exercise and study, and not paying much attention to my food intake . . . well, what can I say? I began a slow weight regain. I pushed my weight, and my health, to the back of my mind. I stopped exercising. I eventually climbed beyond my former high weight (about 185) and above 200. I reached 220 before I decided (some 15 years later) to finally take matters in hand again.
Let me tell you, I ain't doin' that again. This time, it's final. I have a secret weapon: focus.
My life, just like yours, is enormously complicated. People, work assignments, housekeeping tasks, my own wants and desires -- all of these jostle for attention in my little pea brain, each and every day. If I didn't have some daily ritual forcing me to pay attention to my weight, it would be frighteningly easy for me to just forget about it all.
So I keep journaling. It's a very minor price to pay . . . for health, confidence, good looks, and (someday, I hope) a vigorous old age.
