Hey, Weight a Minute!
I'm not overly focusd on my weight, sometimes I don't even get on the scale for weeks. That's usually in summer ~ active, busy, not feeling winter flabby. But around mid-October, I started to notice a slight weight gain. The digital scale registered the usual 170 (I'm 5"11"), then the next day 171, and then 173 the day after that. A bit unsettled, I started weighing myself first thing in the morning, naked, without coffee, and after peeing.
174. 175.
So I started Kicking My Butt:
I pulled out every exercise video I have; I did Billy Blanks' 1-hour Get Ripped Tae Bo, after a half hour of Gay Gasper step aerobics and Awesome Abs; I did 50-minute Buns of Steel to warm up for Cindy Crawford's Next Challenge.
176!
I trimmed the fat off everything; no chicken skin (even that really good crunchy seasoned stuff), and I didn't sneak (much) of the kids' Halloween candy. I used one-fourth the amount of butter (yes, real butter, no fake yellow grease here) than I used to. No ice cream; no A&W Root Beer; baked chips instead fried.
OMG! 177!!
Then I started worrying.
What if I have a fast-growing cancer that weighs, oh, about ten pounds!?
What if I'm entering menopause earlier than I expected?!
What if I have an autoimmune disorder that slows metabolism at an alarming rate!?
What if my period pants won't even fit anymore?
I mentioned my weight gain to my husband, who, at 20 pounds over his ideal weight according to his BMI, wasn't perplexed one bit. He has the mental ability to readjust his ideal weight goal to one nearer his actual weight. Why didn't I think of that?
But on I fretted. I discussed it with friends who offered support and remarks about how I didn't look like I was getting fat. I even called my mom, who told me horror stories of her five years of menopause, and I didn't feel any better.
Then IT happened.
I was standing on the scale one morning, and it went up to 179, then to 180, then 181, 182, 183... and I yelled Oh My God!
I was ecstatic!
The digital scale just needed a new battery!
I asked my son Torin to bring me a new 9-volt, I put it in, and like magic, I was back to 171. WHEW!!
It seems silly now the sense of relief that washed over me, but I was truly happy as I realized the battery of my digital scale was dying, and that I was not quickly getting fat.
It unnerved me then, to think about how tied I had become to the scale and what I thought it said about me. I had felt like I wasn't working hard enough, I was somehow remiss in my food choices, I had better get with it or turn to mush. I was slowly developing a mild depression that I had not felt before. I punished myself with exhausting workouts and never once considered the now-obvious waning battery.
Questions:
Why do we women punish ourselves to fit an ideal that is not set by us?
Why can't we be happy in the bodies we inhabit, without worrying about wrinkles and stretch marks?
Why do we compare ourselves, our bodies, to photos of airbrushed anorexic stars who survive on dry rice cakes and undressed lettuce?
And why does Kim Possible show her navel? It's a kid's show, dammit, my young sons don't need to see cartoon belly buttons and illustrated cleavage!
I know I'm one helluva woman; smart, sassy, funny, steadfast and secure ~ but I felt I was less when I "weighed" more.
Ouch.