Okay, so the mean British lady on my scale snickered this morning when she announced my weight at 159.2 lbs. I swear she did! Sure, it's only a half-pound gain, but when you've been on this journey as long as I have, it gets a bit frustrating when you backpedal, especially when you didn't cheat, not even once, and the scale is still nasty. I know there are tons of factors that can cause this, everything from water retention to stress to Aunt Flo to the general condition of the universe. There is also the whole "muscle weighs more than fat" thing, but I can guarantee you it isn't that; the only part of me that gets a workout on a daily basis are my typing fingers. You should see the definition in my right space bar thumb! I've had a few losses the last few weeks, but it's such slow-going. It is like running the last six miles of a marathon through a desert, in stilettos, and someone keeps moving the oasis another three feet away.
So what do we do when our efforts don't show up on the scale? Well, first we vent. For me, this takes the form of yelling at the scale, posting a grim status on Sparkpeople, typing "sigh" a lot during my Wednesday Weigh-In post on Facebook, and apologizing to my little brown dress from the get-into crate that I may not be able to take her out on the town just yet. After that, it's time to get back to work.
So, here I am, in a coffee shop called Kairo's, an awesome place nestled in the corner of a Christian bookstore, a place I consider my satellite office and travel to a couple times a month when the couch becomes too humdrum and I grow weary of three dogs sitting on me while I type. I have my 57-calorie apple. I have my zero-calorie Vitamin Water. I have my 65-calorie boyfriend, all dressed up in his Almond suit (Coffee's version of Armani) and wearing his sugar-free hazelnut cologne.
When bad things happen, like that scale moving in reverse, it is very important to focus on the good things and where we have come from. This morning, I got to babysit my nephews, whom I adore. I have a serious crush on this younger man who hobbled out of his room in his Ninja Turtle jammies this morning, and as I was sitting on the couch with him today, I realized how much I've changed in his under three years of life. Jacob looked at me strangely today, put his little hand on my shirt, and said, "Aunt Hottie, where'd your belly go?" (They all call me Hottie when they are little, because the oldest one did, because he couldn't say Autie. Personally, I've got no complaints. It isn't often younger men walk around calling me Hottie these days, so I'll take it!) It was so sweet that I almost cried. I was much larger when he was much smaller, and that is one of the good things.
Another good thing is that I can now have more interludes with my boyfriend, because my sister gave me a Keurig! Sure, it's a hand-me-down, but who cares? If you read my blog the other day, you saw that this is one of those things on my wish list, and it has now been crossed off. On a day when the scales are mean to me, easier dates with Coffee take some of the pain away. Some other pluses of the day include finding a pair of Skechers butt-buster sneakers at half-off at the thrift store, running into an old church friend at the checkout at Kroger, and "my" window seat at Kairo's being open when I got here.
Not only that, but as I was driving to the Coffee shop today, I was thinking back on all the sweet and encouraging comments you Sparkies left on my disgruntled status today, reminding me of something my wise Baptist preacher grandpa always says: "Always remember from whence you came." I got out of my car thinking of another number, 169.8. That is what I have lost. I glanced back at my old, clattering Corolla that is now making some new noise that has me freaked out, and I saw those old tires, two of which actually still have their hubcaps. Thinking of my own spare tires that I tried so hard to get rid of, I immediately Googled the weight of the average tire on a car like mine. The answer? 22 lbs. Do you know what this means, folks? It means I have lost the equivalent of almost 8 Corolla tires! Seriously! When I think of 8 of those babies stacked up, and I realize THAT is what has God and a little effort have peeled off me, those measly two sticks of butter I picked back up this week (quite accidentally and for unknown reasons) don't seem so bad. It also tells me that if I just keep doing the right things, that remaining 1/5 of a tire I want to take off is going to hit the road sooner or later.
When I envision that goal of mine, I imagine myself in some flowy white dress on a ridiculously romantic and tropical beach, at sunset, running toward that number, with my arms open, ready to reunite with that 155. I say "reunite" because at some point in life, I had to be 155 lbs., right? Even if only for a day? I am relatively certain Mom didn't birth me at 329 lbs., because she lived to tell about it and had two other kiddos after me. I envision that 155 personified, an odd, humanoid number wearing tennis shoes, running toward me with his arms outstretched, and we collide there on that beach, weeping, and telling each other, "It's been too long! I've missed you so much! I'm never gonna let you go again!" I imagine that "Reunited and it feels so good" song playing in the background. Corny, I know, but I'm gonna get to that collision someday, and I'm gonna do it by refusing to re-tire.
Vent, sigh, question, and cry if you must, but don't give up - not when you plateau, not when you gain, and not even if you have an incident at a Chinese buffet or cave in and eat the ears off your kiddo's chocolate bunny! You may not burn rubber, but you will still get to the finish line if you just get back to work and keep driving!