Throwback Thursday: The Same Five Pounds
A few months ago, I finally joined the rest of the world and watched “Miss Representation” (a rather fabulous documentary about the portrayal of women in the media). It made me cry, as just about everything does these days, but more importantly it convinced me to get rid of my scale.
That’s right: my New Year’s Resolution was not to lose weight but rather to stop weighing myself. It’s been three months and I feel fantastic. I’m also pretty sure I look fantastic, especially when I drag myself out of bed, stop watching Breaking Bad and wash my hair, and even though I don’t have the numbers to confirm this, I don’t care. I am happy without my scale.
But I wasn’t always this way. In fact, I used to be ever so slightly obsessed with my weight. Not in an eating disorder sort-of-way (you need will power for that, or at least the ability to throw up on command), but… well, you can read for yourself.
I gain and then lose the same five pound over and over again. I go from The High End (a three digit number that ends in a “0” or sometimes even a “1”or a “2” if there’s cookie dough to be had) to The Low End (a three digit number that ends in a “5” or even if a “4” if I’m really lucky) on a weekly basis. This is why I don’t own any sexy underwear.
Shall I explain?
A while back, when I was living in a city I’m not going to name because I’m all about living in the present and I’m living in Philadelphia now, I decided to buy myself sexy underwear as a reward for maintaining my three-digit-number-that-ends-in-a-five weight. My goal was to maintain that weight for a week—just one simple week—and I almost made it once but then Asda had a sale on fair-trade chocolate bars and it seemed a shame not to buy them. Criminal even (and yes I know that Asda is owned by Wal-mart and Wal-mart is evil incarnate but fair-trade chocolate trumps evil as far as I’m concerned).
Needless to say, I didn’t exactly maintain my ideal weight. (I did however make a substantial contribution to the Divine Chocolate Co-Op, in fact they’ve probably built entire cities, universities and even highways to connect them thanks to my commitment to the fair-trade industry).
I did nearly achieve my goal upon returning to the US, mainly because I was depressed, I walked to work on a daily basis and I was so horrified by my boss’s eating habits that I forced myself to have salad for lunch every day (in the rare moments when Head Boss wasn’t prepping us for a visit from Corporate, she used to joke, self-deprecatingly about her “breakfast of champions” which consisted of bag a of Doritos and can of Coke from the vending machine in the break room).
Of course, my months at The Shop comprised a very dark and traumatic period in my life, one from which I emerged (surprise, surprise) without a boyfriend. So even though I nearly earned the sexy underwear, I didn’t bother to buy any because aside from my lucky red knickers, I see no point in wearing sexy underwear if no one’s going to see it.
(And no matter how you may feel about the relationship between self confidence and matching underwear sets, I can assure you, there is absolutely no relationship between sexy underwear and the meager paycheck that comes with a dead-end job in South Philadelphia’s finest retail establishment. Unless of course I had been sensible enough to purchase a Beddazler before my “leave of absence” robbed me of my employee discount. Then I could have made my own sexy underwear.)
I’m fairly certain that I won’t be needing any sexy underwear for my third date with #9 (we’re just going to dinner, but then again I ended up snogging my first Republican after we went to church together during my Junior Year Abroad days, so it’s anyone’s guess really).
What I do know that it’s been a while since I’ve worked out the “3-4 times a week” that I claim to work out on my Match.com profile. And I’d really like to reach The Low End by the time I see Date #9 again, so I guess it’s time to lay off the chick lit and bring on the crunches.
Just as soon as I finish this piece of chocolate (I’ve got a village in Africa to support).
2 Responses to “Throwback Thursday: The Same Five Pounds”
Good for you!! I can’t remember the last time I weighed myself at home. I went for a checkup at my new doctor’s office a couple of days ago to get acquainted. It’s a military hospital, so my “doctor” is actually a nurse in BDU’s, and she was training a young male assistant, also wearing camo. After talking about my birth control, my period, and other feminine concerns, she said, “Now on to the fun part! Your weight!” The poor guy, who had to set up the scale, looked apologetic. But I was all, “Yeah I don’t care! We weigh what we weigh.” And sincerely. I didn’t.
The thing is, the less you weigh yourself, the less you honestly care. If you weigh yourself frequently (several times per week), you notice those seemingly drastic fluctuations. But guess what? When it’s only every 6 months to a year during doctor visits, the changes are much less drastic. (Unless, of course, you’re on an active diet plan. Either way — not weighing = good.) Of course, that’s not to say I don’t stare at myself in the mirror to see how much skin squishes over the top of my panty line…
Wow. Long comment. Maybe I should just write a post about this. 🙂
No matter what number you think it ends in, wear the sexy undies. You will be suprised how good they make you feel!
I promise you!