Sunday, September 4, 2011

The Scale

I know everyone has a totally different relationship to their scales. My mother, for instance, gets on the scale every day at least twice. Beginning of the day and end of the day. She will bemoan every single ounce gained and celebrate every ounce lost. In fact, in the apartment I grew up in, the scale is directly in front of the bathroom sink. Totally unavoidable. You practically have to step on it to wash your hands. My father, on the other hand, only steps on it when my mother tells him to.

When I'm at my parent's apartment, the temptation to step on the scale is too great. My days revolve around running to their bathroom to see how much I've gained or lost. That's an exaggeration, but it's not uncommon that I would weigh myself 4-5 times a day.

At my old apartment, we didn't have a scale. I was okay with ignoring my weight for the most part and then just checking in once in a while at a doctor's appointment or at my parent's apartment. When I started losing weight, I would weigh in once a week with Christine. And for months and months and months I could count on the facts that I was 1) sticking with the diet and 2) going to lose weight. Once I hit 60lbs down, losing weight became far more difficult and unreliable.

I was supposed to see Christine last week, but due to the hurricane, she couldn't get into the city from Vermont and this week she took off because of Labor Day. After two weeks of not weighing myself and not OVERDOING it, but not completely sticking to my diet to a T... I was going crazy. Every part of my body seemed to be getting bigger and I started panicking that I was eating my way back into unhealthiness. Every choice I was making to drink a beer or to have a bite of chocolate was stressing me out. Again, I didn't think I was making outrageous choices, but this simple fact of not knowing what I weighed was freaking me out.

Despite the fact that this kind of thinking is probably not vaguely healthy, I knew what I had to do. I wandered down to my parents apartment. Took off my jeans. Stepped on the scale.

And, of course, I weighed about what I've been weighing if not a little less. But the fact that I went 40 blocks out of my way just to know that made me question how far I am on my journey. I also wonder if I should buy a scale or if that would make me even more weird/obsessive. I can usually count on Christine weighing me once a week and going on my third week of no Christine is not a situation I usually deal with. But Christine will not always be there. And is supposed to be a tool, not a crutch.

However, I did manage to be on my own and not put on any weight. That's a success right? Should I be celebrating this?

On a different note, I'm making this DELICIOUS chicken chili recipe for dinner tonight for some roommate bonding. I highly recommend. It's also a really good weekend dish to cook up and then package away for work lunches. Seriously, it's so good. Eat it.

Also I know I owe you all a 60lbs down picture. It's coming soon! Do not fear. 

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