A little warily back in February, I weighed myself. I’d lost about 27 pounds by Dec 31 and was comfy in my size eight jeans, so I counted that as success. There was still a layer – softer, I must admit – around my waist and over my belly but at its thickest – just beneath my belly button – it’s only an inch between my fingers. On my flanks and upper arms it’s about half that. Not bad. Not bad at all.
But I was curious about my weight because I was enjoying a glass of wine most evenings, having a couple of pieces of toast or a muffin a couple of times a week, and on a mini-holiday to Point No Point, I had eaten cookies. Quite a lot of cookies.
Let me put that in perspective.
In the past, the Saint and I could work through a dozen cookies in a sitting. To be honest, we could work through two dozen, pretty evenly shared out between us although he eats faster so he might snag a few more than me just on the basis of speed.
On our little vacation, we got through a couple of dozen cookies – but we did it in three or four sessions, not one.
Does that matter? I mean, I still ate the cookies. They’re still empty calories. Does spacing them out over two days make them less likely to go straight into storage? I don’t know the answer to that, but it’s the kind of thing that bugged me as I debated whether to weigh or not.
Eventually I decided it would be better to know than to continue torturing myself with speculation, so I hauled the scale out from beneath the bathroom sink. I set it on the floor and let the needle settle. (Yes, it’s that old. I calibrated it against the guru’s brand-new battery-operated digital model after our last meeting, so I knew it was accurate.)
I stepped up to the plate, planting my feet firmly as if I had nothing to fear. If the poundage was up, I knew it could only be by a kilogram or two because my jeans still fit and my bras were still loose. It wouldn’t be a big deal to skip the wine for a couple of weeks and as long as I bypassed the cookie aisle at the grocery store I wouldn’t be tempted by them, either.
I looked down. The needle’s swing slowed, slowed, stopped.
Hadn’t gained an ounce.
How about that? How great is that? And you know what’s just as cool?
My first thought was not to head for the bakery. In fact, I didn’t celebrate with food at all.
That is cool.