Numbers

Well, I turned another year older this past weekend—yippee.   I had to get a new driver license, and of course the checklist was asked, “hair color, eye color, height, weight…”  Ahhh!!!  Weight??!!  NOOOO!!!  Anything but that!  Let me pose this question:  does ANYONE tell their real weight on their license?  Who wants to tell some random BMV worker what they weigh, much less let some hottie cop see it when they get pulled over?  “Oh, sorry officer, I didn’t realize I was going that fast.  What?  Do I lie all the time?  My weight?  Ohhh.  See, I just lie about that, I really didn’t know I was speeding.”  I chuckled, and stammered out, “umm, well, it’s a little bit higher than what you said.”  I could have melted into the old checkerboard floor when I said the magic number and some guy in there looked at me like, “you have got to be kidding me!”

The scale.  My nemesis.  There is this odd suspense I have when I stand there waiting for the scale to beep back at me with the black digital number reading.  It’s like the feeling of waiting for your prom date, or going up “Drop Zone” at Kings Island—terrified, but excited.  That butterfly feeling in my stomach hits with the anticipation of losing another pound, then is quickly overcome by a tightening with thinking I’m going to be let down.  I like to weigh myself in the morning before I get in the shower.  In my creative mind, the less clothing I have on, the more “real” my weight is.  Ahh, who am I kidding—I like just seeing a smaller number.

Our class on Saturday couldn’t have come at a better time.  We talked about just that.  Why do we let a number rule our lives?  Why do we tell ourselves that just because we aren’t in a certain weight range, that we aren’t worthy of anything?  The speaker said after she lost X amount, she got rid of her scale.  WHAT?!  Yes, she got rid of the scale.  So often we base weight loss on just how many digits are dropped, we lose sight of the real factors.  I couldn’t tell you how often I am asked how much I have lost, but rarely do I get asked how I feel.  Of course I love saying I’ve lost 10 pounds, but I love saying how great I feel even more.  I have more energy than I’ve had in a long time.  I’m sleeping better.  My skin feels better.  My attitude is better.  Flat out, I’m healthier, and I know I’m doing it the right way.

Anyways, I did manage to survive the birthday dinner.  My grandma makes this authentic German dinner—and it is to die for.  Sauerbraten and spaetzels…mmm, mmm, mmm.  I managed to stay within my calorie intake, and for the first time in my German eating life, I didn’t gorge myself to point of no return.   She made the meat with deer (sorry, but Bambie is very lean), and instead of cake, we had the guilt-free Cool whip dessert.  It bit the big one though that I couldn’t pour sauerbraten gravy all over a plate of spaetzels, but such is life.

Till’ next time…