Tag Archives: weight

Five Pounds

You may recall the “incident” when I went to a new doctor in Boston in mid-May, and peeked at my weight. I felt relieved at that time, because it wasn’t as high as my catastrophic-thinking-mind had thought it’d be.

Now a little less than four months later it was time to go back to the doctor yesterday morning and check in. And as much as I tried not to look at the scale, I caught a glimpse of my weight on the computer screen after the physician’s assistant had typed it in – and I felt my heart drop into my stomach.

Five pounds. That is how much higher the weight was, after a little less than four months.

The doctor came in and, while looking over my vitals, commented that my weight looked good. I gave a little snort and she looked at me inquisitively. I said I didn’t feel that it looked that good and she said to me, “Well, you gained weight. Now you’re at the low end of normal BMI. And to be honest, you look better now than you did when I first saw you.”

But I didn’t really care about any of that and none of it made me feel better. The thoughts in my mind told me that the best looking people are not a normal BMI, they are a lower BMI. They have less body fat than what is “healthy”. It’s often hard for me to take compliments that I look “better” or “healthy” or “good” because to me that just screams “NOT SKINNY”.

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I Peeked

I’ve told my scale story in the past. I haven’t had any plans to step on a scale in quite awhile. I haven’t even felt tempted. But last week during a visit to the doctor, after I stepped on the scale backwards and asked the nurse not to tell me my weight, I began to wonder. And once we got to the examination room and she set the clipboard down, I couldn’t resist a sudden urge to look over at the paper where she’d written down my weight. And I peeked.

So I saw how much I weighed, and I actually breathed a sigh of relief. Because in my mind, since I’ve been feeling as if I go out too often and don’t work out enough, I felt sure that I’d gained a significant amount of weight. I often find myself hating the way my pants feel, and without a scale in my life, that’s been my personal measure of body change. But the number I saw wasn’t as high as I’d assumed it’d be. And that made me happy.

Today’s shorts – I used to absolutely need a belt with these (last summer) but now I can get away with not wearing one. I’ve definitely noticed.

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My Scale Story

I’ve been MIA because I just haven’t felt like blogging much while on vacation in Florida…but I head back to CT today. While I have some things to say/share about my trip, I’m about to head to the airport and don’t have time to write a post today. So here’s a post I wrote on the plane ride down here…

I’ve been meaning to write a post about my scale journey for awhile now, and recently Sarah did one discussing her current relationship with the scale. I wrote a novel comment in response (check out the rest of them…great discussions on this post!) That really made me realize I need to get on writing my post. So here I am, ready to share with you all my relationship with the scale from start to finish…and also what I think it would be like if the scale and I were friends (or frenemies) today.

My first scale wasn’t even mine…it was my junior year roomie’s. But that also happened to be the year I decided to change the way I ate and “tone up”, so it was convenient for me to have a roomie who was also into the same goals. I had a number in my head that I wanted to hit, and quickly it became easy for me to use the number the scale showed me to discount any hard work I’d done at the gym or any healthy meals I’d eaten that day. I could feel excellent about my healthy habits, step on the scale and see a “bad number”, and suddenly all I was thinking about was what I could have done differently to make the number go down.

Start of my junior year, ready to tone up...did I really need to?

Start of my junior year, ready to tone up…did I really need to?

Eventually I got to the point where I was stepping on the scale more than five times a day. I’d use it to purposefully feel bad about myself; stepping on the morning after a night of drinking was my way of punishing myself for the night before. Even right after I’d eaten dinner, I’d step on just because I knew the number would look higher and I’d feel shame. I wanted to associate eating with shame, so that it’d become easier to resist the urge to eat. And not just eat unhealthy food…I mean resist eating in general.

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