Slippage...And The Scale

Grrrrr...

All right. We all have weaknesses. This is a part of life. Me, I have many weaknesses. And one stands out from the rest. It's really not complicated. If I am in a restaurant run by a chef who honestly knows how to cook, I'm a goner. Forget about online menus; forget about pre-planning; forget about politely saying "no thanks" when the chef herself walks around the room with a platter of "little bites" for everyone to try of new things she is testing out; forget about skipping a course; oh, just forget about it and go for it. All of it. That's what happened last night, and...hmmm...I'll be blunt: I loved every minute of it.

Now, I'm not going to sit here and torture those readers who are fasting right now with long-winded descriptions of culinary delights. That's just not fair, and if I were in that position, it would ruffle my feathers quite a bit. What I do want to explore is how I feel about the whole thing today -- the morning after. The time of reckoning, shall we say. Only one thing is going through my head right now. And you probably know what it is. No, it's really not complicated.

Did I gain any weight?

Folks, I am fighting tooth and nail, fighting like hell (pardon the language) to not get on that scale. I've been able to hold off for five hours. But I know, deep in my heart, I'll be facing it soon. I don't need to know, I have to know what "damage" was incurred -- and I hate that. You might not have the "scale obsession" but now I do. You better believe it. And I'm deeply, deeply concerned by this. This is something I really, truly wanted to avoid, but I'm honestly, openly admitting that I am now drawn to that stupid contraption like a magnet. And the concerning thing is if that number shows a gain, I panic; if that number shows a loss, I'm walking on air. I never, ever used to experience this. And I'm not a happy camper about it.

So I'm going to do a little experiment. I am going to set this laptop down and go upstairs to weigh. Then I'll come back and resume my typing. So hold on a minute...

Okay, I'm back now. The deed is done. The result? No gain. No loss. Dead. On. Even.

Well, let's think about this. How much time did I waste worrying about this? Oh, I'd say it started last night when we were driving home, continued on into the evening, was the first thing on my mind this morning at 4:00 a.m., continued to plague me for hours, and now I am feeling ... relaxed. No, I'm joyful. I "got away with it." Look at me! I can enjoy the day now! See, that number says so.

Of course, you can see where I am going with all this. I'm in a real "pickle" or maybe a "jam" -- whatever you want to call it. A jam made from pickles. The joy of the meal got eclipsed by the worry about weight gain. But now that everything's "okay" I can feel good about the meal. Will this eventually go away? Or will it be ever-present in my life now? I'm confused, worried, not sure where to turn. My husband, bless his heart, doesn't understand it. Heck, I don't really understand it. But I'm worried about it. That is the truth.

Will we be going back to the restaurant? You better believe it. It was that good. I'd wager a guess we'll be back in a month. Will I "surrender" to the menu and the chef? Oh, absolutely. That goes without saying. Will thoughts of the scale potentially ruin the meal? Probably. We'll see. I may have made some progress in this area. I'm going to try to. I'll continue to watch what I eat, and exercise as best I can, in the weeks building up to it. Plan for it. Because return we will. Guaranteed! As for that scale...oh, that dreaded scale. I don't know what to do with you. I'll just leave you alone. You can breathe easy. For now.