September 24th, 2021

ARGH!  My Arch Nemesis!  The Bathroom Scale!  Actually I recently lost 8 pounds.  Yeah, I know, big whoop.  Eight measly lbs. Doesn't sound like much an of "achievement" does it? And yet, it kind of is. 

My struggle with the number of the scale has been life long.  As a kid, I'm sure it didn't help that my idea of a good time was either reading, writing or playing the piano.  All rather sedentary activities.  Oh like all other kids of my era, we went sent outside to play.  But my play usually included me sitting under a tree somewhere with my nose in book.  I dabbled in the odd game of tag or hide and seek of course.  And I always enjoyed a good "explore", heading out with sneakers tied and an eye to the horizon. But I was never the kid on skates or climbing trees or  playing baseball.

So rather than being short and slim I was short and, well not slim.  Looking back at old photographs I was never actually fat, but there are no photos of me looking wispy either.  I guess I was just regular with a stocky, sturdy little short person's body that had long slim legs.  I've said it before, my body shape can best be described as a box on sticks.  When I am thinner it's a smaller box, but a box nonetheless.

And I've heard my entire life that it wasn't good enough.  Pudgy, chubby, chunky,  plump, hefty, tubby, round.....the list goes on and on and I've heard them all and more.  I heard it from "friends" and relatives and adult neighbors who were "helping me".  Teachers, random strangers,  movies, television, fashion magazines all pointed out to me, over and over, that I needed to lose weight.  And the group of people who talked about it the most were doctors and people who work in doctors offices.

It's the same thing every time, "you need to lose ten pounds".  Always 10.  No matter what the actual number on the scale was, I was told I had ten extra pounds that Had To Go!  There was one doctor office in particular  whose office was populated by exceedingly beautiful and thin women (a male doctor which comes as no surprise I know) where I dreaded my appointments.  Every single time, one of the beauties would ask me to step on the scale, then compare that number of the number in my chart, sigh loudly and look at me sadly, shake her head and say to me, "You still haven't lost those ten pounds". Every. Single. Visit. I failed my appointment once again.

It got to the point where I so dreaded upcoming annual doctor visits that I would be consumed with anxiety.  Not because I was afraid that there might be something terribly medically wrong with me but because I had to get on the scale. How warped is that thinking?  Not concerned that I might learn that I had a dread disease, but that I'd be told, one more time, that I was too fat. Crazy.

My current doctor hasn't ever said a single word about my weight to me. He is awesome.  He is also an excellent physician but I no longer dread my annual well patient visits and, my goodness, that is such a relief.

So about  the 8 ell bees that I am down currently?  A small miracle I assure you.  I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong in all honesty.  I just wanted to lose a few pounds for myself.  Making my clothes fit a little better really, loose and comfy fabric in hot weather is much better than snug fabric.  That was my goal. Not a specific number just a feeling.  So I looked at what I ate.

I bake a lot, but I don't eat much of what I bake.  I give a lot of it away. I stuff the rest it in the freezer.  So while I talk about eating cookies and ice cream and cake (cake!)  it's the exception rather than the rule with me. Let's call it the 80/20 rule.  80% of the time eat healthfully, 20% of the time throw the rules out the window.  Even my Pilates teacher agrees with that idea.  And that's kind of what I do.  I eat lots of salads, very little meat, less and less bread as time goes by, I love veggies and fruit.  So what's wrong with that?  Nothing.  I walk miles every day and do Pilates at home soo I am getting exercise too.  It was a mystery.

And then I realized something.  It wasn't about what I was eating.  It was When I was eating and Why I was eating.  It turns out that the biggest and best change I made was so easy.  I had to stop eating just because it was time to eat and only eat when I was actually hungry.  

We have been trained since we were babies to eat 3 meals a day.  Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner.   Well as it turns out, I don't actually need to eat 3 meals a day.  And in fact, I don't pay any attention to meal "times" for myself anymore at all.  I wait until I'm hungry and then I eat until I am comfortably full and then I stop and I don't eat again until and unless I am actually hungry.  Wow!  I cannot believe it. What a simple logical idea.

Oh I still cook actual meals for Tim and anyone else who happens to be in the house, but unless I am hungry I politely decline.  I will sit with whoever else is eating. I will talk and laugh and have my ever present glass of water, but otherwise nope.  And if it makes them uncomfortable, I'm sorry, but this is working for me so I'm not eating just to make someone else feel less awkward.

I'm old now so I can make my own, possibly unpopular, choices, my own decisions.  This is what I am doing.  It is working for me. I cannot say that it would or should work for anyone else, but it absolutely did the job for me.

My goal was not met. I was shooting for those damned 10 pounds that everyone seems to think I need to shed and I fell short by 2 lbs. Oh well.  Apparently this is where my body wants to be.  And so here I shall stay.  

So yes, I lost 8 pounds. Please do not bother looking for them. I do not want them back.