Just to clarify, the earlier post with a similar name was Shifter's post. He's a real tall guy who runs a lot. I'm a short round gal who doesn't run unless she's being chased by something really unpleasant.
As a short, round gal, I've been avoiding the scale. I weighed myself a few months ago when the scale first got here, and I thought, huh, not so bad. I had actually, if memory serves, lost a little weight, which is amazing, because I had been in hunker-down-and-hole-up-at-home mode, which involves eating a lot of cookies.
A couple of days ago I wore a pink-and-black striped silk blouse that used to be one of my favorites. It fit me just right--I couldn't button it, but this was true of any blouse that wasn't an enormous tent, so that didn't worry me. I'd just wear a camisole under it and not button it, and most of the time it looked like it was a plan. I even thought it made me look kinda cute. I wore it on super-special occasions.
But the other day I put it on and something was wrong--it just seemed all flollopy and ill-behaved, despite being freshly pressed. I couldn't really figure it out until I saw it in the mirror at work (because my only mirror at home is so high that I can only see myself from the neck up). It was enormous. I was so angry with my dry cleaner. Somehow she had found a way to stretch my silk blouse. That bitch!
This morning I saw the scale looking at me and I thought, okay you bastard. We've been staring each other down for a few months now, and it's time for you to kick my ass. I gave myself a little pep talk, reminding myself that I had just eaten breakfast and was fully clothed (I never do either of those things when I'm planning to weigh myself), and that therefore the number I was about to see shouldn't depress me.
I stepped on the scale and saw a number I have not seen since college (and then only briefly as I whizzed past it in my quest to gain 60 pounds that totally didn't belong to me). A number that I think even Weight Watchers would consider acceptable. I actually stopped going to Weight Watchers because I could NOT break the 133 barrier for more than one week at a time, and the Weight Watchers acceptable weight for my height and age was somewhere on the other side of that number. My body just would not do it, no matter what I ate or didn't eat, and no matter how much I exercised. My body was just like, "You weigh 134. Be happy with it." And so I was. Because honestly, what were my choices?
This morning, 127. Now, yes, I joined a gym. But only two weeks ago, and I have to tell you that I have joined a gym several times in the past and that 134 never budged. I have been trying to eat more salads, but as anyone at my work can tell you, it is a halfhearted effort that consists mostly of ordering a grilled salmon salad and then eating the salmon and enough lettuce that they don't make fun of me, which is not a lot. I have been walking, but in the past I had a treadmill and walked for 45 minutes a day for probably four to six months. And guess what? Nothing. 134--if I was lucky.
It's a mystery, but for once, it's a mystery I can get behind. And even if I don't see this number again ever in my life, it's nice to see it again.
Excuse me, I need to go and buy my dry cleaner some flowers.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment