I haven’t journaled food or made effort to count calories in weeks. I weigh 212.
I’ve been eating anything I want, really, even spaghetti and gingerbread cookies, so long as I eat something because I want it and when I am truly hungry. Geneen Roth has taught me to eat when I am hungry and to eat what I am hungry for.
Coming for me next week will be a Stamina Jogger. I’m excited to have new exercise, something that I can do while I watch TV but doesn’t allow me to sit on my butt in boredom (stationary bike…zZzZZz…), and is low impact. Gillian McKeith puts just about everyone onto one each episode of You Are What You Eat, so I know they work. I’m going to have my own trampette!
New mindless eating alternative: mindless adding of things to my Amazon wishlist. I can always find things I want. The only thing I might like more than eating is shopping?
Also: episodes of You Are What You Eat on my DVR every weekday. I am in love with Gillian McKeith and her ideas and crazy-talk. I even bought toasted pumpkin seeds yesterday.
I’ve weighed between 211 and 212 consistently since the end of last week.
But I haven’t been eating perfectly. I had my first Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday, will have my second on Thursday like everyone else, and my third on Saturday. We eat in my family.
I’m not going to stress myself out over it, seeing now that I didn’t gain real weight after all. My firm goal will be <210 by 11/30. Body, food choices, and God all willing.
Why do I diet? I sometimes diet because I am suddenly vain (it only took me 24 years to get there), but mostly I diet because I want to be healthy, I want to feel better about myself.
But the easiest way to feel worse about myself is to let my diet run my life. In the About Scales and Exercise chapter of Breaking Free from Compulsive Eating, Geneen Roth says:
Scales have the power to turn a previously depressing day into one with sunshine, a previously bright day into a miserable one. When we get on the scale, we say, “Tell me, machine, how I should feel about myself today.”
We’ve made the scale our symbol of authority, of worth, of truth. If we’ve been “bad” there’s no denying it because it shows up on the scale. If we’ve been “good” getting on the scale will be its own reward. The scale, like God, knows all.
A scale, however, is just a scale–a cold, lifeless piece of metal–until we give it its power. We make it into the instrument that tells us if we should like ourselves that day or not. And we do that by accepting societal beliefs about the goodness and the rightness of being at a lower rather than a higher weight and also by continuing to weigh ourselves day after day. As if you can’t tell by the way your clothes fit whether you’ve lost or gained weight. As if you need punishment to force you into losing weight. As if you weren’t a feeling, thinking, capable human being who can decide for yourself what kind of day you’re going to have and how you’re going to feel about yourself.
Throw your scale out.
Or, paste your ideal weight on it so that when you ask if you’re allowed to feel good about yourself that day, it says “of course.”
Maybe less. I ate a little before I weighed myself. (Okay, I’m probably stretching with that, but I was REALLY glad to even see that number at all.)
And maybe something miraculous will happen between now and Friday, putting me only a week behind in the progress I know I am capable of making. (I seriously don’t care if I weigh 209.9)
I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning. I am anxious to see if I lost enough weight since my last visit for him to even notice on my file (I’m never there to actually talk about my weight.) I am a dork.
I’ve weighed in the neighborhood of 213 every morning since Wednesday, and as much as 217 every night. I stopped exercising over the weekend because I had a big fat “why bother” attitude, and as of a moment ago had a before-bed weight of 215. Experience puts me at 212 tomorrow morning.
In my scale-climbing sadness, I ate a baby bag of peanut M&Ms today. I should have counted, but I think about 10 were inside. They were 80 calories. And delicious.
I also had a baby Snickers… which I remember Snickers being way better than this was. Have I evolved or was it too small to taste?
I asked my mom to not bring peanut butter cups into the house–ever–especially at Halloween when we are bound to have lots left over. I forgot to request no peanut M&Ms, since they are my second favorite. I say that because I haven’t had candy in forever and those are the two that come to the front of my mind when I am literally daydreaming of shoving food into my mouth and it all being calorie- and guilt-free.
What I did skip were Kit Kat and Three Musketeers. Both always seemed too “adult” to me as a child and I never grew attached to them melting on my tongue. There were also mini bags of candy corn, which I can’t remember if I even like. Weird. I promise I’m not going to try to find out.
Posted in Just Life 
No Comments »