Tales from the Scales

But first.....

......size 12s, baby!!! Yeah-ya!

OK, fine they are still a little muffin-toppy, hence a loose shirt today, but I really needed another pair of pants and I wasn't going to waste money on another pair of 14s. 

That said, let me tell you a little story about the scale and how ridiculous I am, and probably how most of us are about what it tells us. As I am sure I have mentioned before I am an everyday weigh-er. However, it only counts on Wednesdays, which is when I record it in my WW app. Not surprisingly my weight fluctuates every day in a pretty predictable pattern. Starting on Weigh-In Wednesday, it gets lower on Thursday, lower still on Friday, spikes back up through the weekend and drops again on Tuesday and Wednesday. But then last week I stayed at exactly 190.0 for about 5 days straight. Which I thought extremely odd. Then my college buddy came into town and I did not weight myself at all till Monday. A Monday that followed a weekend of using up all of my weekly and activity points and then some. Scale still read 190.0.

Ok, clearly something is amiss. So I started fussing with the scale, took the batteries in and out and ended up with numbers from 189.9 to 194.5 At which point I figured I must need new batteries. While at Target picking up the batteries, I saw a cheap dial scale and figured, "Why not pick it up for back-up?" So I brought it to work, followed the directions for calibration and it says I weight 215 lbs.

What? What? WHAAAAT? (insert Kyle's Mom's voice here)

I...I can't really still be over 200lbs, can I? Has the other scale been really off for a long time maybe? What if? No. That's silly, I have to be somewhere in the low 190s. Don't exactly know where but.....I couldn't possibly be? Could I?

(head shake)

So what exactly do I weigh? Honestly, for a few minutes I felt panicked. But I talked myself down off the ledge fairly quickly when it dawned on me: What in-all-that-is-holy does it freakin' matter? I'm (almost) fitting into size 12 jeans, my 14s are loose. In terms of fitness I am in better shape right now than I have ever been in my entire life. I surprise myself weekly with what my body has been accomplishing. And I'm going to give myself an anxiety attack over a number? No, sir. That is NOT what this past year has been about.

Now THAT said, of course I got new batteries for the scale. Let's not get crazy here, it's not like I am going to just throw the scale away. It is a very good tool for making sure I stay on top of things. 

But a number does not define me. My accomplishments and behavior are what define me.

Old habits die hard

An old college buddy visited for a long (though entirely too short) weekend. Even though we did a fair amount of physical activity (a challenging zipline/obstacle course one day, over 8 miles hiked another) we ate out a lot. Even though Kelly is a very health-minded person she was understandably in vacation-mode. Which was hard for me in a couple of ways. Sometimes I made the right choices, but then I felt like I might make her feel guilty for her's by comparison...or in order to not feel like I was acting "better than her" I would make an indulgent choice. Clearly, the answer is to make the right choice. A real friend, which she most certainly is, understands my food choices and is in fact quite proud of me.

It was very enlightening to realize in retrospect how much of our relationship in the past revolved around food...and how easy we find ourselves rationalizing our choices. I remember in the past (and sure enough, again this weekend) we'd both say "Well, we surely walked off so many calories walking around the mall, or hiking (etc) we totally deserve this (insert indulgent food here)."

I grew up having the same conversation with my mother and even just to myself. What I realize now is that my body doesn't "earn" indulgent food. I think, perhaps, I should view it as the opposite. My body earns, or deserves good food. Indulgent food is actually a punishment for it. Now, don't get me wrong, I wholeheartedly agree there is nothing wrong with a little something-something outside your usual caloric/fat/whatever choices. But I need to make sure that that something is something I really want. And it needs to be indulged in really infrequently.

Through Saturday afternoon I had been making really good choices. We were at the mall and she suggested a Cinnamon Sugar Pretzel. I agreed and it was wonderful. I savored every bit of it. And had that been it, there would be nothing to feel guilty about. But of course we ended up going bowling that night, which led to bowling alley fries and the next you thing you know I'm having another burger and more fries for lunch the next day. By yesterday evening I felt like crap mentally and physically. Mostly mentally. I couldn't believe I'd let myself slip into those old habits.

But it's a new day. I'm proud of how many meals I didn't go whole-hog on, and in a bizarre way I am actually glad I feel so guilty about the bad choices I made. Because in the past I would not have felt bad at all. I'd just default to "Oh, I'll just start eating better later." or even worse and most likely, not even realize how very bad the choices even were. Looking up Point Values while out to eat continues to be such an eye opener to me. We played "What's the worse things you can order?" game several times and it never fails to blow my mind.

We went to breakfast this morning before I went to work and she headed for the airport. I made good choices and I'll be running at lunch today, just in case this evening gets too busy. I enjoyed my friend's visit immensely, but  my body and mind are ready to get back to routine.