There is a 60% chance of scattered showers and thunderstorms in Louisville today and thus a 100% chance of me not going to the Derby. I’ll save the mint juleps for a dryer year. I wouldn’t want to upstage the Queen anyway.
I cornered my scale in the front closet this week and gave it a little talking to. “You know Mr. Scale, I don’t appreciate your attitude lately. If you want a raise, stop raising the numbers on your shiny face when I weigh-in. Otherwise those AA batteries would be better used running my remote control. Mmm kay?” The intimidation seems to have worked since I’m back down a pound.
When I’m scared I bully my electronic equipment. I was scared because on one Saturday I weighed in at 182 and nine days later I was at 187. Five pounds in nine days is a cruel and unusual weight gain, which is banned by the Constitution, right? I could sue my ass for a civil rights violation if necessary. I know I did not gain five pounds of fat, but something wonky was going on. There was no good explanation either. No birthday bashes where I ate a tray of cupcakes. No food was missing from the fridge, so I wasn’t sleep-eating. I was just gain, gain, gaining and it was not fun.
I’ve been lucky enough not to have any significant gains during the past two and a quarter years of weight loss. This was my first real confrontation with the possibility that I could gain back weight. So, like the level-headed, sensible woman I am – I had a 20 second freak-out. “Oh my God! My body has revolted! Even if I eat only baby spinach salads and cottage cheese and run 50 miles everyday I’m going to gain back a bazillion pounds! I am a freak of nature who has defied the law of physics that matter can neither be created nor destroyed. I can now create energy out of anti-matter from another dimension and I’m storing it as fat. When I die they will use my cellular material to build a perpetual energy machine, which will be good for the world, but bad for me because I will die fatter than I ever was before! Aaah! Aaah! Aaah!…..Aaaaaah!”
Fear made me temporarily kooky. But fear is also a good thing. Fear means the bad thing hasn’t happened yet. If you’re scared of falling off the cliff it means you haven’t fallen off the cliff yet. After the first surge of adrenaline passed through my system, the more informed parts of my brain overrode the primitive reptile part of my brain to tell me, “You are not so special that you can defy physics. You cannot fly. You cannot make chocolate out of your leg hair. You cannot create fat out of nothing. There is no such thing as failure, only feedback. If you adjust your eating and exercise, you can knock off these last pounds. You are not doomed to gain back weight unless you decide to.” And that was that. I decided I am not going to gain back the weight. Choice made.
So that was a relief. Good to know I’m not going to get fat again. I may not always understand everything my body does, but I do control what I feed it and how much I move it around. As long as I control those two things, I can lose weight if I want to badly enough and I’m willing to live the lifestyle it requires, no matter what my metabolism or genes say. Hell, Erin just found out she really does have a thyroid problem, just like most fat girls secretly wish for, and she lost the weight anyway. Screw destiny and fatalism and refined carbohydrates too. Onward and downward! Grrrr!