Fear of the plateau...

Five years ago, when I took my brief foray to California, two things told me that this silly Connecticut boy had reached the west. The first, obviously, was the sand. Deserts are a a funny thing, sprawling sand everywhere yet no beach to be found. Rarely does one driving through Manchester worry if his car will overheat or if necessary, or how to field dress and eat a rattlesnake. But damned if those concerns didn't gnaw at me as I drove through New Mexico.

The second sign? Plateaus. Now, these were more evident on my road back to New England, when a buddy of mine took a more northward route through the West instead of heading for wonderland of flat that is Oklahoma. Plateaus are spectacular, rising out of the ground like huge, magnificent stumps. Steep slopes, level top... these were landforms that I had only seen in textbooks.

Now plateaus are on my mind again. However, it's not about geology, but rather the inevitable sense of doom that my pattern of weight loss success is leveling off.

This is a reality I knew I would have to deal with. My success in the first two weeks of Weight Watchers was remarkable. Dropping 12 pounds is like having a bowling ball fall out of your pants (or so I would imagine). If I lost six pounds per week, my challenge to lost 60 total would be over in 10 weeks, and then this blog would be fairly lame.

The scale this week revealed that the plateau is coming. I lost weight again, which I'm delighted about, yet instead of the 3-5 pounds I had hoped to lose, the lady reading the scale scribbled "1.6." The leader lady insists that any loss is a good thing, and though Megan is once again proud, I'm still disappointed.

Dammit, I worked much harder this week to lose weight. That first week, I went to the gym once, did a relatively light workout, tracked my points, and managed to lose 8 pounds. Then this week, I get to the gym 3-4 times, sustaining workouts the likes of which I haven't attempted since my Israel streak. By the time I got off the tread-climber on Wednesday, I'd burned 1,030 calories. If I'm going to work that hard, I want a helluva payoff.

The fact is I should be happier about my week 3 loss. Rounding up to 2 pounds, that's pretty good for seven days. Considering that I could easily gain two pounds through chicken wings on a night at Bidwell Tavern, I should be proud. And I am.

Yet I know the plateau is coming fast. Leader lady says part of weight loss includes weeks where you actually gain weight. I'm dreading that first time I step on the scale and a "plus" goes next to my name instead of a "minus."

This weekend will bring challenges of its own. It's Rosh Hashana, or to the gentiles of the world, one of those days that Jews take off from work. On the Hebrew calendar, the Jewish New Year is ringing in 5770. Like any family, mine's celebrating tomorrow with a smorgasbord of cuisine that laughs in the face of Weight Watchers. Sunday could be even more dangerous, with an engagement party (no, not ours) and the allure of cake in all its fantastic forms (a little Jim Gaffigan there).

My willpower is going to have to be strong. Otherwise that plateau could be very daunting.

Stat Time!
Week 3 Totals

Weeks until wedding: 44 to the day
Week 3 pounds lost: 1.6
Total weight lost: 13.6 pounds
percentage of overall goal: almost 23 percent
Recent culinary delights: Green tea, Skinny Cow ice cream bars, salmon burgers
Former culinary delights: Dr. Pepper, Friendly's Hunka Hunka PB Fudge, bacon cheeseburgers
last time I (purposely) ate beef: two years ago
# of chickens I've eaten instead during those two years: 99,486
Pitching tonight for the Red Sox: Clay Bucholz
Game score at the time of this posting: Red Sox 2, Orioles 1
Red Sox players also celebrating Rosh Hashana- Kevin Youkilis. L'Shana Tova, Youk!