Like most women, I am constantly trying to lose weight. In an effort to lose weight, I run (when I can get myself motivated), weight train (inconsistently or when I see my personal trainer every second week) and try to watch what I eat. I especially enjoy watching the food as it is piled on my plate and then makes its way to my mouth. My One and Only has been a part of this ongoing journey with me.
I have repeatedly lost weight and gained weight over the years. Several years ago I lost 25 lbs. A noticeable chunk on my 5′ 3″ frame. My One and Only lost 40 lbs. I slowly gained back about 12 lbs over the years but managed to lose it again in the past year. Through this whole process, my bath scale has been my constant companion. (Why is it called a bath scale anyways? But I digress).
I have a love /hate relationship with my scale. I love my scale when the numbers go down. I’m less happy with the scale when the numbers are up. (Obviously the scale isn’t working properly on those days). Some would suggest that I have an unhealthy attachment with this digital machinery. I weigh myself every morning (sometimes two or three times in a row – especially when the number is either too high or too low compared to the day before). I weigh myself pre and post bathroom use (because a good pee can make a difference of about a pound). And of course I weigh myself without clothes because clothes can add major poundage. I just want to point out that My One and Only has a similar relationship with the scale.
In the past we have tried to limit our weigh-ins to once a week because they say that weighing yourself too often isn’t healthy and supposedly, we shouldn’t be ruled by a number. Instead we should listen to our bodies to decide how we feel. The problem is, my body says “FEED ME” – preferably chocolate, chips and chewy, thick breads….. Needless to say I gained weight using this strategy. Then My One and Only suggested that we make the scale less visible (again in an effort to break its hold on us) – so we hid it under the bed. This hasn’t stopped or even reduced the frequency of my weigh-ins. In fact, my weigh-ins have become a part of my exercise regime because I have to bend over and pull the scale out from under the bed for the weigh-ins which is an exercise that is good for my core. Unfortunately, I can’t convince my personal trainer to count this as exercise (unless I increase the frequency tenfold at least).
So the other day, the inconceivable happened – my scale (my constant companion in my weight loss fight) died. I stepped on it and I didn’t hear the familiar click signaling the digital display. Changing the batteries didn’t help. It was well and truly gone. This I thought would be my opportunity to end this unhealthy relationship, cold turkey. For several days I tried to banish all thoughts of weigh-ins from my mind but my dead scale stared at me reproachfully. How could I abandon our relationship (granted the scale was dead but a replacement waited for me somewhere).
So when I found myself at the mall on Saturday, I caved. I brought home a new bath scale.
I have decided to call her Bernice because after all, when you are in an intimate relationship, you should at least be on a first name basis.