Ya know, there are times I think I am doing so well. Look at me! I haven't counted calories since June 30th. I ate a ponza rotta over the weekend (pizza, folded over and deep fried) without becoming hysterical. And I haven't cried about missing the last 16 workouts I scheduled in my head. Woop woop, success!
But then, my scale. My damn Achilles heel. That 14 inch piece of plastic and springs that I love in a really fucked up way.
She's dying.
At first, I thought it was just a battery dilemma. I thought I could resuscitate her by popping in two fresh AA batteries. When it didn't work, my denial told me that the batteries weren't qualified to power such a personified machine. But even the freshest Energizers couldn't completely revive the one I affectionately call "Scaley."
Sure, I can get a reading, if I want to step on and off of her 4-5 times, waiting approximately 25 seconds between each attempt. But this has significantly hindered my ability to know my weight at all times. I can't hop on when I am half asleep, having woken up because I love drinking all the tea at night. I don't have the time to check my weight real quick before I run out the door to work, for the third time that morning, or when I'm home on my lunch break, trying to take care of the puppy and household cleaning duties.
I can't weigh myself - shower - weigh myself- get dressed - weigh myself - do my hair - eat breakfast - weigh myself. Now, if I want to know my weight, I need to dedicate a solid 2 1/2 minutes to accommodate my dear friend's ailing health.
Thankfully, even I realize that spending 25 minutes per day standing on a scale is a little ridiculous, so I have reduced my weigh-ins from about 10 per day to maybe 3. I know, so normal, right?
The turmoil extends beyond not just being able to know my weight to the tenth of a pound all day, every day. A part of me seriously fears that maybe I'm not getting the accurate numbers anymore. I have depended on this scale for over 6 years. And because it's me, that is probably over 20,000 registered weights. I am not ready to part with the consistency of using the same scale. I am not ready to give up what has validated my success and condemned my failures.
I don't think I could ever love or trust a new scale, but I don't think I could ever live without one.
This puts me at a crossroads, one that I feel like many people could relate to. It's not going to be a scale for everyone. But maybe it's an abusive partner. Or a bottle of Jack. Do they take that brave step away, into a scary life of self-reflection and freedom? Or do they turn around only to find themselves looking for the next jackass or next bender - different, but somehow exactly the same - because it's the only way they know?
What am I if I don't have the tangible proof of my gravitational pull on earth?
How will I be judged if not by that number?
Am I ready to find out?
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